3.3.7. Vastness

“The fool who knows he is a fool is wise at least so far. But the fool who thinks himself wise, he is called a fool indeed.”

— Dhammapada, verse 63 (trans. Buddharakkhita)

It is a peculiar thing to stand on the cusp of a wider view, to sense the mind loosening from its habitual tightness around this life alone. As I continue on this alchemical path toward Citrinitas, my small concerns seem to drift outward, absorbed by a horizon stretching well beyond the span of any single existence. There is a quiet, unexpected relief in letting the story of this particular life take its modest place within a vast and almost inconceivable continuity.

Once the alchemist turns away from worldly definitions and begins to see the hollowness of conditional reality, the mind’s reach naturally extends. I notice that as I study the various realms of beings — some living for spans so long they seem eternal — my own preoccupations fade. Even these immense lifespans, when seen against the backdrop of countless cycles of universal creation and collapse, shrink into something nearly negligible.

Though it may seem purely intellectual to explore such immensity, it has a curious effect. The ordinary worries that once clutched at me lose their grip. Knowing, even if only cognitively for now, that this path is not the fruit of a single lifetime but a thread woven through countless existences makes the thought of this life’s end less daunting. Reflections on the Bardo — the transitional states between death and rebirth — soften the sharp edge of annihilation and even ease fears of unfortunate rebirth. Set against this boundless process of coming and going, what is a single chapter of existence?

At times, I wonder if these teachings on immense spans are meant precisely to draw the mind away from its narrow orbit around “my life.” Time itself is a conceptual structure, with no solid existence to be found. Paradoxes in physics — those strange outcomes in quantum mechanics — may simply be the rough edges of our inadequate models, small glimpses of reality’s deeper fabric pressing through.

As I advance toward Citrinitas, I find myself cultivating a quiet faith in a reality beyond both sense and thought. Some might call it God, or The Mind. Whatever the name, I am beginning to trust it. This brings an ease in letting go of constant concern over conditioned phenomena.

In mastering karma — this interplay of intentional action and its fruits — I begin to experience immediate feedback from my surroundings. I also see ever more clearly how sensory experiences are transient, devoid of lasting substance. They are merely fleeting patterns that the mind habitually treats as real. Old attachments now start to feel burdensome. My life grows simpler by inclination, finding contentment in modesty over extravagance.

The key difference between saṃsāra (cyclic existence) and nirvāṇa lies not in the objects themselves but in how the mind meets them. Ordinary beings understand their world only through reference to a self. The mind rushes out to engage objects it deems significant — whether memories from this life or instincts shaped by countless past lives. Confronted with each object, the mind responds according to prior karma: it may reject with fear or aversion, cling with desire, or remain dulled by ignorance. Thus arise the twelve unwholesome karmic mind moments (akusala citta).

Twelve Unwholesome Mind Moments (Akusala Citta)

Initially, the mind’s hold on such objects is firm. But as wisdom grows, I learn to temper hostility, loosen greed, and pierce ignorance. In doing so, new wholesome meanings take root. An enlightened being, however, breaks through entirely. Having fully seen through the ten fetters — the deep illusions that keep the mind bound — the compulsion to rush outward vanishes. When all fetters are cut, even the notion of “I” dissolves. No longer drawn by the senses, the mind rests naturally.

Beneath our constant mental activity lies a subtler awareness, astonishing in its purity when glimpsed. This delicate knowing is more refined even than the mind in dreamless sleep. A fleeting taste of it marks the path moments — brief recognitions that steer the soul homeward. It is already complete, needing no improvement.

When Citrinitas dawns, the mind finally releases its ancient habit of chasing objects. This release is not merely intellectual but grounded in seeing through the illusion of self altogether. Even if I understand conceptually that the self is a phantom, the old reflexes linger until the fetters themselves are broken. Only then does the mind discover that conditioned existence is a sort of solitary prison, which, once seen clearly, can be left behind.

At this stage, advanced meditators have already stripped away coarser consciousnesses that obscure the mind’s true nature. Realising the fetters opens into an experience of vastness — of time, of space — where every past life is as vivid as the most recent, and all beings appear bound within the same endless weave of mind.

This vastness dismantles any familiar sense of being. The Arahant, free of personal reference, becomes almost transparent — a pure expression of the metaphysical field. From one angle, enlightenment is profoundly destructive. One loses attachment not only to pleasures but also to the terrors that once ruled the heart. Freed from illusions of a mental or physical self, the mind discovers its deeper aspects. These emerge as the three kāyas (bodies of a Buddha), still undeveloped in the Arahant but forming the delicate new foundation of being.

The subtlest of these, the dharmakāya, is beyond words — a vast, still, boundless awareness. Present in all beings and fully unveiled only in Buddhas, it is entirely motionless. The seeming play of movement arises from the mind’s habit of labelling objects, mistaking these fleeting impressions for something enduring.

There is, of course, a danger in tasting such vastness too early. Without stable wisdom, it can breed mania or grandiose delusions. This often appears after the first breakthrough (sotāpanna), but before deeper maturity (sakadāgāmī), though zealotry can flare at many stages. Once the eighth bhūmi on the Bodhisattva path is reached, such disturbances become impossible. Until then, diligence is essential, along with care not to disturb others unnecessarily. Most will not understand, and even loved ones may grow concerned.

So I remind myself gently: keep these experiences mostly private. And above all, be wary of zealotry.

Standing within this immensity, my old certainties grow small and quiet. Freed from chasing objects or protecting a fragile sense of self, the mind rests in a natural spaciousness. Here, concern for the fleeting details of this life fades, replaced by a humble awe at the endless dance of beings across vast stretches of time.

This text is excerpted from the upcoming book Citrinitas: A Course in Modern Alchemy. The complete volume will include additional study guides, glossaries, and extended teachings. Learn more about the book here.