2.3.1. Hollowness

“When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But he laid his right hand on me and said, ‘Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last, and the Living One; I was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore, and I hold the keys of death and Hades.’”

— Revelation 1:17–18

There is a curious paradox that unfolds as the work deepens. Even as resolve strengthens and spiritual direction becomes clearer — what we see blossoming at the stage of sakadāgāmī — the journey remains firmly within nigredo. All that has truly changed is that I now recognise the sum of my presumed being as little more than dross awaiting transmutation. A faint glimmer of light emerges, offering direction, only to be swallowed again by confused darkness and the hard labour that follows.

Confidence at this point becomes strangely divided. There is absolute confidence in the Dhamma, even though my grasp of it remains incomplete, almost skeletal. I sense that great things may come, provided I persist and uncover the right questions. But simultaneously, there is a deep loss of faith in anything tied to saṃsāra, the cyclic existence of birth and death. I am learning to turn away from attachments and from hostility toward conditioned existence itself. This brings an odd symptom: making decisions grows difficult, sometimes even irritating, as the old sense of self shifts beneath me. Occasionally it becomes a kind of mental paralysis — a hostility to decision-making itself, perceived as meaningless through these unsettled eyes.

Spiritually, I feel myself becoming hollow, like a vessel emptying out to prepare for a finer Dhamma. This, I now see, is the deeper meaning of becoming an “empty vessel.” One must clear out old, misleading paradigms to make space for something truer. Yet this cannot be forced; it takes time. The new understanding must be cultivated gently, almost grown within the subtle soil of the heart. There is an old image of the “embryonic Buddha,” pointing to this formative inner emptiness — a state that proves uncomfortable whenever any notion of self stirs.

At first, this hollowness can feel almost like grief. I miss the simple solidity of merely being, of not questioning every impulse or thought. The freedom only becomes visible in retrospect. Behaviour shifts almost invisibly: desires still arise, sensory temptations still whisper, ill-will still tries its old tricks — and will continue to do so until the five gross fetters are finally cut. Even then, past unwholesome kamma (actions) can bear fruit, reminding me that life’s hardships do not vanish just because understanding deepens. “Shit still happens,” as I might once have said. But now there is a subtle break in the chain of habit. Responses feel less automatic, more reflective.

This new hollowness can be hard to adjust to. Over time, though, it becomes something close to refuge, a quiet place immune to the storms of subjective judgments. As understanding matures, even this absolute emptiness of self — which is still just a concept — must eventually be relinquished. For now, however, it serves as a faithful companion through the lingering shadows of nigredo.

I offer these words humbly, as rough field notes from a path walked imperfectly. They may or may not prove relevant to another’s journey. Use these reflections as mere pointers; if you have already plumbed these themes elsewhere, skip ahead without concern. Success tends to announce itself unambiguously. And always remember: there are countless paths, but truly only one goal.

It is wise to keep relative success — attaining a stage, rather than completing the great work — mostly to oneself or within very trusted circles. To outsiders, the ideas we juggle can appear dangerously close to madness, and might stir needless worry. Besides, premature confidence invites subtle traps. One can easily fall prey to what I think of as a skandha demon: an attachment to some state of mind mistaken for completion. Should this happen, it becomes all too easy to slip from the path, at least for this lifetime.

Do not trust any seeming realisation at first glance. Examine it closely. Ask yourself: am I still clinging to sensory phenomena in any form? Does ill-will still find a home here? Even an anāgāmī can momentarily reflect hostility, though they swiftly recognise and contain it. Adjusting fully to each stage often takes years. The greatest danger lies in believing oneself “finished” and then being painfully humbled. Better to remain quietly watchful.

This hollowness is something to be fostered, almost cherished. Catching myself fantasising about identity now comes more easily. The subtler fetters still linger, but they will be realised in time. Until then, this hollow space is my quiet ally.

The stage of hollowness is both disorienting and liberating. As the old scaffolding of self falls away, what remains can feel unnervingly empty. Yet within this emptiness lies a tender ground where the deeper Dhamma may take root. In time, what first seemed loss becomes refuge, and the hollow vessel stands ready to be filled with something altogether more luminous.

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