There was a time when I thought death was something distant – a moment reserved for the end of life, a shadow waiting on the horizon. I never imagined that death could be something I carried within me – a quiet decay of spirit, an erosion of meaning, a slow fading of light. But addiction taught me otherwise. I have known death in many forms. I have died to love, to hope, to truth. And yet somehow, through the mercy of something greater than myself, I have been reborn.
The Tibetans speak of Bardo – the in-between – the realm that exists between one state and another. It is the space between lives, between breaths, between what has ended and what has yet to begin. To live in Bardo is to dwell on the threshold of transformation.
In recovery, I have come to know the bardos intimately. The Bardo of Life – when I wandered half-awake, chasing illusions, mistaking noise for peace. The Bardo of Death – when everything I thought I was began to crumble. And the Bardo of Becoming – when the soul begins to stir again, searching for something real to live for.
Every one of us moves through these bardos, but most never see them. We call it stress, crisis, confusion – but it is the same process: the death of one self and the birth of another. For the alcoholic, this dying comes violently. We are forced to the edge, where surrender becomes the only option. But in that surrender lies a gift – the chance to truly see what life is.
When I look back, I can see the bardos I’ve crossed like stepping stones across a river. The first was the bardo of denial – that fog of self-deception where I built stories to protect the lie that I was in control. Then came the bardo of despair – where the illusion broke, and I fell into the dark, unable to see a way out. The bardo of surrender followed – the blessed collapse, the stillness after the storm, when I could finally whisper, I can’t do this anymore.
That was the beginning of freedom.
What I didn’t realise then was that death is not the enemy. It is the doorway. Every time something false in me dies – a delusion, a fear, a selfish desire – something true has room to be born. The old self, built on pride and pain, must fall away before the soul can breathe again.
In recovery, I have learned that we die many small deaths before we are truly alive. Each time I admit my powerlessness, each time I let go of resentment, each time I choose honesty over ego, I step through another bardo. I die to who I was – and awaken, a little more, to who I am meant to be.
These bardos aren’t just moments in time. They are living teachers. The Bardo of Life teaches gratitude – to see the preciousness of each breath, each sunrise, each simple human connection. The Bardo of Dream teaches awareness – that even our waking lives are shaped by the stories we tell ourselves. The Bardo of Meditation teaches stillness – that peace is not something we find, but something we remember. The Bardo of Death teaches surrender – that clinging only deepens our suffering. The Bardo of Dharmata reveals the truth – that reality is not cruel or kind, but luminous, clear, and compassionate by nature. And the Bardo of Becoming offers rebirth – that what we have been is never all we can be.
Today, I walk among people who have never seen death in this way. They haven’t stood on the edge where everything falls apart. They haven’t felt the unbearable stillness that follows surrender. And so they move through their days restless, distracted, chasing what they already have, searching for what they never lost.
Sometimes I want to shake them – to say: Open your eyes. You don’t know how beautiful it is to simply be alive.
You don’t have to lose everything to find peace. You don’t have to die to be reborn. You only need to stop running. To be still. To listen. Listen – not just to the noise of your mind, but to the silence beneath it. Feel – not just the rush of desire, but the quiet pulse of existence itself. Love – not because life is perfect, but because it is fleeting. Life is yours to create. But creation doesn’t begin with striving. It begins with seeing – truly seeing – that everything you need is already here.
When I speak to others now, whether they drink like an alcoholic or not, I can feel the same hunger that once consumed me: a longing for meaning, for peace, for connection. They build their own prisons – not from bottles, but from ambition, fear, denial. And I realise that the bardos are not unique to addicts; they are the landscape of every human heart.
The difference is that we – the broken ones, the ones who fell – were forced to wake up. We were shown death not as punishment, but as a teacher. We have seen how fragile, how sacred, how miraculous life really is.
And so, I no longer fear the bardos. They are no longer places of terror, but of possibility. Each day, I cross from darkness to light, from self to surrender, from resistance to acceptance. Each day, I am reborn.
The Bardo of Awakening is not somewhere else – it is here, in this very moment.
Between one breath and the next, between one thought and another, between who I was and who I am becoming.
This is where I live NOW – in the sacred in-between. Alive. Awake, and grateful for every death that led me back to life.
The Sacred In-Between
There was a time,
when I thought death waited at the end,
a far-off shore,
a curtain closing softly on the play of life.
But death was nearer than I knew.
It breathed within me,
a quiet decay,
a slow unravelling of light.
Addiction was its name.
I have died many times:
to love,
to hope,
to truth.
Each death a whisper: let go.
Each rebirth a breath of mercy,
rising from a source I cannot name.
The Tibetans call it Bardo,
the space between what was,
and what is yet to be.
It is the threshold,
the trembling pause,
before transformation.
In the long shadow of addiction,
I lived the bardos one by one:
The Bardo of Life,
where I wandered half-dreaming,
chasing noise and calling it peace.
The Bardo of Death,
where everything I built began to crumble,
and silence became my only prayer.
The Bardo of Becoming,
where something ancient stirred within me,
searching for truth among the ruins.
These bardos are not punishment.
They are passageways.
We all walk them,
though most do not see.
They name them stress, crisis, confusion,
but it is the same dying,
the same awakening.
For the broken,
the death comes swiftly.
We are driven to the edge,
until surrender becomes our only breath.
And in that stillness,
life begins.
I see now:
Death is not the enemy.
It is the doorway.
When something false within me dies,
a lie,
a fear,
a hunger for control,
something true takes its first breath.
In recovery, I have learned to welcome death’s small mercies.
To die each day:
to pride, to resentment, to illusion.
To awaken each day:
a little freer, a little truer,
a little closer to the source of being.
Each Bardo a teacher;
The Bardo of Life whispers gratitude:
each breath, a gift unearned.
The Bardo of Dream murmurs awareness:
even waking, we dream ourselves.
The Bardo of Meditation reveals stillness:
peace is not found—it is remembered.
The Bardo of Death teaches surrender:
grasping only deepens the wound.
The Bardo of Dharmata unveils truth:
reality is neither cruel nor kind,
it simply shines.
And the Bardo of Becoming offers rebirth:
the reminder that what I have been,
is never all I can be.
Now I walk among those,
who have never seen death this way,
who chase the next desire,
the next distraction,
the next illusion of peace.
I want to tell them:
You do not need to lose everything,
to be free.
You do not need to die
to be reborn.
Stop running.
Be still.
Listen.
Not to the clamour of your thoughts,
but to the silence beneath them.
Feel the quiet pulse of being.
Love the fleeting moment,
for it is all that is ever given.
Life begins not with striving,
but with seeing.
Everything you need,
is already here.
The bardos belong to all of us.
We all live and die a thousand times,
in the space between breaths.
The difference is,
we, the fallen ones,
were made to wake.
We were shown death as teacher,
loss as grace,
darkness as doorway.
Now I walk unafraid.
Each day, I cross from death to life,
from self to surrender,
from blindness to sight.
The Bardo of Awakening is not beyond this world,
it is here,
between one heartbeat and the next,
between who I was
and who I am becoming.
Here, in the sacred in-between,
I live.
Alive.
Awake.
Grateful for every death,
that led me to live.
