Life & Death: Exploring the Passage

Julia Levy
Feb 22, 2025
20 min read

Updated: Mar 2, 2025

Here is an article containing, I guess, my most precious knowledge, collected and compiled through years of research, readings, traveling, and personal experiences. May this study, which I am finally documenting—a task not easily undertaken—be in memory of אוולין אסטר לואיז ז׳׳ל, and of Kfir, Ariel, and Shiri Bibas. As we say, and will explain, may their memory be a blessing.

Death is an uncomfortable topic for many people. In our societies, we avoid to talk about it. We place our cemeteries far from cities and tell children that a pet rabbit "ran away" instead of saying it died. You may agree with this, or you may not, but one thing is clear: our relationship with the idea of death is not healthy; it's more often terrifying. People usually fear death, and when someone dies unnaturally, it's seen as a tragedy that causes pain. But it's the suffering that is tragic, not the death itself. The sadness comes from missing the person who has passed away, not from death. We will discuss this more in depth later.

Thinking about death is important because it ultimately leads to questions about life. As a child, if you ask your parents what happens when you die, you might only hear about a fantasy paradise and get a scary idea that life ends, your parents will die, and someday you'll be on your own. On the other hand, with so much social pressure, no one hesitates to ask you what you want to be when you grow up. This makes you question the meaning of your life and our existence. Our generation's disease may be this: not knowing the meaning of our existence. This feeling of emptiness and nonsense, along with so much pressure from social media and an overflow of information, can lead to depression. Let's dive into the topic. I hope this will provide some comfort and tools for people in grief, some calming mindful acceptance for those afraid of death, and some motivation and meaning for those feeling depressed.

Let's start.

In Western science, or what we see in our hospitals, death occurs when someone's brain and heart both stop functioning. If only the brain stops, it's not considered death, and the same goes for just the heart. It needs to be both the heart and brain.

What's fascinating about the topic of death is that it's so scary that the sacred texts from various wisdom traditions have remained almost untouched. It's easy to see how, in discussions about death—which is paradoxically perhaps the topic closest to life—all cultures align in the magical process of the death passage. They are truly in agreement even though it's not always so obvious as they describe this reality in their own words. We will look more closely at the Tibetan and Jewish perspectives, but there are many others, of course. These two are just very comprehensive.

I will use the word "passage" now instead of death, because the word death gives the impression that it's the end, but that's not quite right. In French, the passage is "PAS-SAGE," meaning the "wise-step." Death is just a step, a step that the wise have prepared for, that's for sure.

In the Tibetan Book of the Dead, known as the Bardo, as well as in Judaism and other cultures (feel free to comment if this reminds you of something from your knowledge), the passage involves various steps, not just one.

For Tibetans, the passage process begins while your heart and mind are still active, when you are still alive and conscious on this earth. Once this process starts, there is no turning back. Young healers often feel the desire to "save" everyone, but sometimes there is no one to be saved; it's just about accompanying the person through their passage in the most comfortable and aware way possible.

Tibetans explain the passage of death through the elements. Our bodies are composed of four elements: earth, water, fire, and air. At the moment of death, from a metaphysical standpoint, these elements begin to disengage, each being absorbed by the next.

First, the Earth element is absorbed by Water. This fading of Earth starts from the extremities and moves toward the center, affecting the chest or solar plexus area. Physically, it becomes hard to move, and spiritually, the mind becomes static.

Then, Water is absorbed by Fire. As Water fades, it moves from the extremities inward; the body becomes thinner, skinnier, and drier, especially around the mouth and tongue. Swallowing becomes difficult, vision may appear smoky, and the mind feels foggy.

Next, Fire is absorbed by Air. As Fire fades from the extremities to the center, we experience a cooling sensation. The limbs grow cold, and the digestive system slows down and eventually stops working. Spiritually, it is said you might see a display of sparks. Finally, as the Fire element completely fades, eating becomes impossible, and eventually, the brain and heart cease to function naturally, without pain. At this point, we say the person has died. But, of course, it does not end here.

The Air element is absorbed by the individual consciousness, the ego in our binary world, the idea of "me" in this lifetime, the mind of duality, a consciousness we are familiar with. The last breath is taken. There might be a feeling of falling, and it's good to know this so you can reassure your mind that everything is fine and that you are safe.

What is truly interesting here—before we continue with this Tibetan explanation that is easy to grasp—is that "Air" in Hebrew is "Ruach" (רוח), and it represents the second layer of the five layers of what we call "our soul." So let's take a moment to explore Jewish spirituality and sacred rituals.

In Judaism, our sages teach us that we have five layers of the soul. Often, people discuss only three layers because those are the ones our intellect can comprehend and perceive, but in Jewish mysticism, we learn there are five. The first layer is Nefesh, the lowest part of the soul, which can be understood as the mind, the intellect, or the thinking process. It is linked to our brain and has a physical, material aspect. It is the most tangible, filled with words and logic.

Then, we have Ruach, which acts like a bridge between the lower and higher parts of the soul. During the death process, as the Nefesh ceases to function, the Ruach is released from the body and recognizes that it can no longer "live" within it, thus continuing the death process by "ascending" to the upper parts of the soul. Of course, terms like "lower" and "upper" are just ways to explain the most tangible and intangible, the fractioned and unified.

At that moment, the Ruach may still be close to the body, but not completely detached—it remains linked for three days. During this time, it might visit loved ones to say goodbye, and they might feel its presence or see it in a dream.

For Tibetans, the process involving the Air element also takes three days. During these days, while the body appears dead, continuous prayers are offered in front of it to ensure that the Air element process is completed successfully and that the dual consciousness understands what is happening. In Jewish tradition, the body is typically buried within three days to facilitate a similar understanding for the Ruach, allowing it to continue its passage process. Before burial, the body undergoes purification; it is washed but not embalmed by a group known as the Chevra Kadisha. The body is immersed three times in water as part of the purification ritual and is then dressed in a simple white shroud. This preparation is performed with great care, and the body is never left unattended until burial, underscoring the respect and dignity afforded to the deceased, and facilitating their transition in accordance with spiritual beliefs.

Tibetan and Jewish rituals do sound similar, right? And imagine, I'm only talking about the very first steps of the passage here. There are even more cultural wisdoms that explain this process. And at this point, I'm only discussing the general aspects of the process—there are many more details and a significant amount of care involved, as well as much support for the mourners in the mourning process rituals. I’ll provide some resources and links below.

Knowing the process is beneficial because it helps the mind better accept the experience, which can alleviate suffering, allowing the consciousness to continue on its journey. The more prepared you are, the more conscious you will be, and the more fully you will be able to embrace this journey.

So let's continue. We were discussing those 3 days. Both Tibetan and Jewish rituals emphasize the importance of not touching the body, except at specific points and only with clean clothes. The reason is that the way the Ruach is still attached to the body, or according to the Tibetans, the way it leaves the body, predicts the next life, and you want it to be through the head, the crown chakra (we'll talk about reincarnation in a few lines). In Jewish mysticism, we also talk of the crown "Keter" (כתר) as a "Sephira." This is why there is a whole Chevra Kadisha taking care of the body, protecting it.

The Ruach "goes back," "retrieves" to the Neshama, the "higher" part of the soul. This part is always pure and directly linked to the divine. The nefesh (נפש) was linked through the Ruach, the Ruach (רוח) through the Neshama (נשמה). We can visualize these three levels within our bodies - the mind would be the Neshama, the heart the Ruach, and the liver the Nefesh. The liver, the organ with the most blood, is the most physical and lowest of the three. The Ruach acts as a bridge between what is tangible and what is not, filtering information to one another, and the mind is the most intangible and uppermost.

Together, the first letters of the three words in the right order—Mind (Moach מוח), Heart (Lev לב), and Liver (Kaved כבד)—form the word "King" (Melech מלך). A king is one who masters his thoughts, processes them through the filter of the heart, and puts them into action. In the opposite order, someone dictated by impulsive physical desires only, would not reach the higher state of consciousness and would stay between the liver and the heart, which forms the word "KeLev" (כלב) - a dog, an animal.

After the Neshama, we have two other "layers" of the soul: the Haya (חיה), which is the principle of life or existence, and the Yehida (יחידה), the principle of unity. The principle of existence defines what it means to be "alive," and the principle of unity represents the return to the origin.

Einstein's famous formula, E = mc², which represents the mass–energy equivalence, serves as an excellent illustration of certain metaphysical concepts. This formula states that the energy (E) of a particle at rest is equal to its mass (m) multiplied by the speed of light squared (c²). This essentially suggests that under specific conditions, energy can be converted into physical, material mass. It's important to note that when discussing the energy and speed of light here, we are not referring to the photonic light emitted by the sun. In the Torah, in the beginning description of "Bereshit," light is created before the sun, pointing to a more subtle light of creation. In metaphysics, as we delve into the formation of our universe, recent evidence has shown that the universe, like us, has a beginning and an end—an alpha and omega. These findings underscore the precise operation of the universe, implying an intentional design rather than random occurrence. In mathematics and physics, theories often demonstrate the non-existence of pure chance. For deeper insights into these topics, please refer to the resources provided below. As these concepts expand our understanding, they may also explain why some individuals perceive a tunnel of light as they transition from physical existence, possibly due to moving at the speed of this subtle creation light.

What I'm trying to convey here, without diving too deeply into metaphysical demonstrations, is that this life, this world we experience, is an interpretation of the mind. Much like the concept presented in the movie The Matrix, Einstein’s formula, or the teachings of mindfulness meditation, the Jewish principle of "Yehida" suggests that everything is One and that division is merely an illusion experienced by the intellect—the lowest, most material part of our soul, the mass, the dual consciousness, the red pill in Matrix.

Why do I mention all this in the middle of explaining the passage process? Because we can't fully grasp what I'm about to say next unless we truly understand and feel within our hearts, body cells, and consciousness that time, space, matter, our identities, our emotions, and our senses do not really exist except as interpreted by our minds. In this context, the only thing that "truly" exists is our consciousness, which is aware of what is happening. This echoes the philosopher Descartes' famous assertion, "I think, therefore I am." He argued that even if everything I perceive and think is incorrect or false, the fact remains that I am thinking them. This is consciousness.

And this consciousness has "layers" or "levels," as explained earlier, described differently across various cultures and epochs by our ancestors or today through science. As Einstein once said, "science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind." I prefer to speak of spirituality rather than religion because it addresses the essence, avoiding the social or political pressures that have come to be associated with it, but the core idea remains the same.

Through Controlled Remote Viewing (CRV) training, a method originally developed for military espionage, I've learned how to access information through means other than my intellect. This practice taps into what some refer to as the universal consciousness. People with disciplined meditation practices or those who have used specific drugs—under carefully prepared conditions, with clear intentions, and at particular times of the moon cycle—might also experience this. This is not merely about what we commonly call "intuition"; it involves methodically setting aside logical thinking to discern various sources of information, such as intellect, intuition, emotions, and bodily sensations, thereby accessing any type of information.

But the key question is: What do we want to know? Why do we want to know it? What is our intention? What even is "information"? For a computer, information is a binary code made of 1s and 0s, but for us, it is much more complex. When we seek information, we become one with it, though it's not clear that one can become one with any type of information without risking system collapse or losing one's sense of self. Intention guides us to the information, or the information to us, in a two-sided movement.

There are reasons why the mind may not remember certain things, and some aspects remain mysteries to us. These mysteries shape our journey, our intentions, and motivations. The purity of our present consciousness is shaped by this dynamic, illustrating the intricate relationship between our inner experiences and the information we seek or encounter.

Let's simplify this even further, because this is truly the most important and comforting part of our discussion.

We've established that the only thing that truly exists is our consciousness, present in the eternal now. While different cultures have various models to discuss the levels or densities of consciousness, those are mainly intellectual pursuits and aren't crucial for understanding our passage process.

Try to imagine that time and space don't exist. Consider our entire lifetime as a chemical process that lasts just a second. All the elements needed to make you as a human come together, and after a brief second, the chemical reaction occurs. The result? Some of the elements transform into pure "light," while others remain as impure material residues—not everything manages to become pure light.

For us, this spans a whole lifetime, and it's beyond our intellectual capacity to truly grasp the concept of no time. So, we create stories through religion about a paradise where everything is light and love, where we reunite with others, where our deeds are weighed and judged, and about reincarnation. All of these narratives actually align with what I'm about to explain, they are the greatest metaphors of it (even though they are far removed from the tales that have unfortunately fostered misguided intentions, fear, and dangerous religious social pressures).

When someone asks you, "What is God?" you might hear a myriad of responses shaped by imagination and interpretation. Each person you meet on the street might offer a different answer. However, if I were to ask, "What existed before time and space, before the Big Bang, before Bereshit (Genesis)?" the only honest answer would be, "I don't know." Your mind might short-circuit, unable to create or imagine anything; it's simply beyond its capacity. This question ventures into metaphysical territory that surpasses what our organically precise carbon minds can conceive. That sense of profound unknowing should be our response when we speak of "God"—"I don't know" (אני לא יודע), which, interestingly, when abbreviated by the first letters of each word forms "אלי" (Eli), meaning "My God" in Hebrew.

In Hebrew, there is no single word for "God"; rather, there are names for manifestations of this unknowable essence within our space-time bound world. We often refer to this unknowable essence as "the Name" or "Hashem," an unpronounceable title that, by merely naming, we acknowledge its existence. We can't fully conceive it, but we somehow know it's there and can interact with it. For clarity in our discussion, I'll refer to this pre-existing divine creator concept as "Eli."

It might sound cliché, but the only way we truly interact with the essence of Hashem, or Eli, is through love. There are varying levels of purity in love. Perhaps a good definition of love can be found in Khalil Gibran’s book of poems, The Prophet. But if you think about it, love is the only experience that transcends the dimensions of space and time, as Dr. Brand remarks in the film *Interstellar*: "Love is the one thing we're capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space." Reflect on that for a moment.

Unfortunately, people often don't experience love in its purest form, mainly due to societal misconceptions about what it means to love. But thank Eli (and here I've coined a new expression), one does not need to be taught how to love—it can arise spontaneously from within, as it is beyond space and time. We are capable of loving others, life, the creator, as much as we are capable of loving ourselves. Topics like self-esteem, self-confidence, and self-love are broadly discussed and practiced in various ways. Though not our main topic here, it's important to recognize that everything starts from here.

As love transcends time and space, it unifies what lies beyond these dimensions—like a metaphysical leap that seems impossible to the mind but is achievable through spiritual means. Love itself isn't just information; it acts as the conduit, the cable transmitting information, connecting two entities whose intentions are pure and precisely aligned with each other.

Imagine the principle of "Yehida" as a type of light, akin to the sun but composed of a subtle, magical energy of creation. This light is constantly directed towards you with intention. You and this light are made of the same essence. It's only when you direct your intention towards it, through pure love, that a connection is made. You gain access to it, and it to you, allowing information to flow freely. This connection provides an answer to the meaning of our lives.

While we remain in this "matrix," living out our human lives filled with challenges and suffering, the background stories our minds interpret and perceive don't really matter. What's important is that we all experience suffering in varying intensities. Regardless of whether it's justified, true, or whether we're on the "right" side, every human being experiences suffering similarly within their body. Although the stories differ, the nature of suffering is universally the same.

We each handle suffering differently based on our levels of consciousness, which affects the intensity and duration of our suffering. Viktor Frankl, in his book Man's Search for Meaning, discusses his experiences in Holocaust concentration camps from a psychiatrist's perspective. He states that one should aim to be worthy of their sufferings, suggesting that "the right kind of suffering is in itself a deed, nay, the highest achievement which has been granted to man." Suffering is a state of transformation—or more accurately, transmutation. While transformation involves a change in shape, transmutation changes the organization of the information within. Coal and diamond are composed of the same elements, but their different structures make one black and brittle and the other transparent and unbreakable.

In alchemy, the art of transmutation, we learn to apply this concept to matter and to ourselves. To transmute and become pure, to turn base matter into gold, we must go through various stages: tearing apart, separating elements, purifying them, and then reassembling them. Suffering provides this opportunity. The overarching purpose of this world is for us to transmute our suffering into love. While we can connect through suffering, connecting through love is infinitely more profound—it's timeless, like the pure material of a diamond in the physical world.

In the spiritual realm, however, we speak of something even greater. We talk about what comes next: the passage and reincarnation. This cycle not only continues but deepens our understanding and our connections, pushing us toward an ultimate union where love and the divine intertwine, guiding us through cycles of life and beyond.

As the soul ascends through the stages from Neshama to Haya and then to Yehida, the process involves a kind of purification. What is not "pure" cannot merge with this conceptual pure light energy bubble we've discussed. It's a simplification, of course, to help our intellect focus, as it struggles with voids and inconceivable concepts. The "pure" particles—essentially, all the love we've managed to transmute and feel—will combine. Conversely, the other "particles," which our sages refer to as "sparkles," are heavier and will fall back down. These sparkles will also combine, gathering enough substance to incarnate again, providing another opportunity through human life to transmute suffering into love, choosing the right challenges to achieve purification in the shortest time possible, given the ephemeral nature of this world. This cycle is the real game, and we are all participants in it together, for all is one.

This concept of unity suggests that we are all part of the same life energy force, experiencing itself though we have the illusion of individuality. We are all the same energy; when you harm someone else, it is akin to harming yourself. Thus, it fundamentally boils down to self-love.

Regarding modern trends like "recall your past lives" workshops, where the ego may revel in imagining itself as a distinguished shaman or similar figure, you can probably guess my views on that. This kind of new-age, trendy spirituality often feeds the ego and attempts to escape reality. True spirituality is lived through our bodies, through the matter, and through this human experience that must be fully lived and felt. Through suffering, the heart expands and, once expanded, it never returns to its original size. This transformation through suffering, the broadening of our emotional and spiritual capacity, is where true spiritual growth occurs.

In Jewish mysticism, there is a metaphysical concept that the world was created from 22 frequencies, which are represented by the 22 Hebrew letters, in addition to the 10 Sefirot. These letters combine to form roots with different vibrations. In Hebrew, which primarily consists of consonants, letters are like physical, inert bodies that are brought to life through our breath, called "Neshima"—a term that sounds very similar to "Neshama," the higher layer of the soul. By naming things, we give them existence and life, affirming that the only true existence is that of our consciousness. It doesn't matter whether we name something in a positive or negative way, with love or hate; what causes something to disappear is indifference and forgetting about it.

You can see this concept demonstrated tangibly through Masaru Emoto’s experiment with rice, where the impact of words and intentions on physical substances is visually evident (see the link in the resources below). In Jewish mysticism, words not only carry meaning but can also be assigned a numerical value, a concept known as Gematria. For instance, the Hebrew word for love, "Ahava" (אהבה), has a numerical value of 13, which is the same as the word for one, "Echad" (אחד). Thirteen is also the age of Bar Mitzvah, when a Jewish boy takes on responsibilities toward life and commits to performing good deeds. This age symbolizes our steps toward a reciprocal love relationship with life and with Eli.

Then, there is the idea that Eli, who has always been present, responds when we make these meaningful steps toward connection. This is a dual-sided love story: 13 + 13 squared equals 26, which is the numerical value of the highest manifestation of the divine in Judaism, represented by the Tetragrammaton, the sacred and unpronounceable four-letter name of God. This name, which I will not write here due to its sanctity, encapsulates the profound connection and interaction between the divine and our conscious efforts toward spiritual growth and understanding.

Yes, many people have experienced moments where they have a sudden feeling about someone they love, or think of someone just before they call—these instances often feel uncanny and seem to affirm the interconnectedness of our lives beyond the constraints of time and space. These experiences can be seen as manifestations of the concepts you've described, where our consciousness and the collective or universal consciousness are more deeply connected than we might ordinarily perceive.

In the context of these metaphysical ideas, time is a non-linear construct, which means that the common understanding of reincarnation also shifts. Instead of a linear progression of lives, the "sparkles" or less pure particles, if they are conscious enough—which implies a level of purity and self-awareness—choose a life that offers just the right challenges to further purify themselves through life cycles. However, these aren't really previous or future lives in a traditional sense; they are all part of the same life force experiencing itself in myriad forms.

This view aligns with the notion that Jewish souls have a particular role to play on this planet, enduring specific kinds of suffering to bring distinct forms of light into the world. This isn't something to be judged or to feel proud of; it is more about embracing a duty to serve. As Viktor Frankl insightfully remarked, it's not about what we expect from life, but rather what life expects from us. This perspective calls us to consider our responsibilities not just to our own lives but to the broader fabric of existence and our place within it.

With this deeper understanding and perception, our everyday lives should indeed feel lighter and easier, and not to be taken too seriously. It invites us to practice our consciousness, mindfulness, and loving-kindness diligently. We should welcome challenges with gratitude and treat ourselves and those around us with respect and consideration. Laughter and happiness should be abundant, fostering an inner joy regardless of circumstances because now we understand the bigger picture. We recognize the illusion of control, the meaning behind suffering, and we embrace our role in serving life with gratitude, even relishing the mysteries that remain unsolved, which fuel our intentions and love.

For those who are mourning, despite what I can assure, will likely experience pain, sadness, anger, and sometimes denial, or other stages of grief as outlined by science, I have something to say. The steps of the Jewish mourning ritual are divinely crafted to guide us through these emotions—follow them and allow yourself to fully experience and express these feelings. More info in the links below.

We never truly die. Communication through the conduit of love remains always possible. The fact that you feel sadness and devastation is a testament to the purity and truth of your love, and there is profound beauty in this sadness. You need to learn how to continue communication. Although I explained that we return to unity, leaving our ego and individuality behind, the memories and love persist within the universal consciousness and are immortal. You can interact with this consciousness, regardless of what your intellect might suggest.

This is why we say of our departed loved ones, 'May their Memory Be a Blessing'—because they continue to live through us. This memory is a true blessing, helping us to live more fully, to transmute our experiences into love, and to purify our hearts.

The concept of paradise, referred to as "Gan Eden" in Hebrew, is indeed real, though not in the way many of us typically imagine. Consider the idea that the bubble of light I described earlier could be envisioned as being composed of water. In the reality we experience in the present moment, water remains a profound connector to the universal consciousness. Entering natural sources of water can facilitate a connection and dialogue with this consciousness. Water, one of the greatest mysteries to science, is not merely H2O. Its formula is far more complex and essentially infinite, which you can explore further under the concept of "water memory."

This complexity is why Jewish purity rituals often involve immersion in specific quantities of natural water, known as a "Mikveh." The transmission of information through these rituals is believed to be mediated by pure love. If you can cultivate pure love in your heart—using even your pain to fuel it, transforming your suffering into more love, more joy, more laughter, more life, more self-love, more forgiveness, more openness of heart—then you will be able to connect even more deeply with your lost loved ones.

Lastly, in mystic Judaism, it is said that this world was created to last 6000 years, and according to the Hebrew calendar, we are now in the year 5785, leaving 215 years remaining. In light of everything discussed, as purer light is increasingly gathered into this unity, the world will become more materially dense, while the light within our hearts—which is infinite—remains the purest of all, the quintessence. The era known as the Aquarius time, the time of Mashiah, or the Geula, is expected within the next four generations. The challenge for us is how we will pass on our love, our values, our message, and our divine information to these future generations.

I wish you all to be happy, simply.

With love,

Julia

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More sources, readings, videos, and references to dive deeper in the subject: