Finding Value and a New Direction in Vajrayana Despite The Failings of Tibetan Buddhism

The Pain of Disillusionment

One of the hardest things about realising the religious group you’re part of has a dark underbelly is knowing you joined for good reasons. Something called to you. You saw value in the teachings and practices, and that sense wasn’t wrong. There was value. That’s why you stayed so long.

But then, the lies, manipulation, coercion, and abuse come to light. Even when the truth is exposed for all to see, those running the organisation refuse to change. They won’t admit wrongdoing. Instead, they blame the victims, saying, “What’s wrong is the people who think they’ve been hurt.”

You can’t stay in a place like that. You can’t stay in a system that apologises not for the abuse but for not warning you it might happen. Abuse should never happen. There’s no excuse for it. Ever.

So, you leave. But then what?

Was It All a Farce?

What about the good you saw? What about what drew you in? Was it all a lie?

At first, it’s too much to untangle. So, I dropped it all. Let it go. Told myself, “I’m done. Moving on.” And that’s fine. But you don’t move on from the real wisdom you gained. That wisdom has become part of you.

Genuine wisdom doesn’t come from outside anyway. The teachings reminded you of something you already knew in your bones. The truth of it. The experiences you had that were real and genuine—they stay with you. They’re the value.

You might try to throw it all away, thinking it’s tainted by the bad, but the wisdom remains. It’s not part of the bad smell. It’s something else entirely.

Realising the Depth of Transformation

I always knew I’d gained value from the Tibetan Buddhist teachings and practices, and I don’t include the ones that enable abuse in this-–they are simply unnecessary. But it wasn’t until recently that I realised just how much.

I was in a group discussing disillusionment, death, and dissolution of the self. People were sharing their experiences, and I just sat there, listening. I didn’t want to speak, which is unusual for me. Sharing my experience and understanding of this topic would have felt uncomfortable.

Then it hit me: my perspective was so vastly different from theirs. It wasn’t that their experiences were wrong; it’s just that they hadn’t spent three months contemplating death every single day, as I had during my Vajrayana preliminary practice.

For three months, I focused on the inevitability of death. Not just during the practice itself, but throughout my day. I saw everything through the lens of impermanence. Then, for the next three months, I focused on the preciousness of human life. After that, cause and effect and so on.

That kind of training changes you. It changes how you see the world. I realised I don’t see life and death the way most people do. I see them as intertwined, inseparable. Being and non-being, Both here with us now.

The Dichotomy of Tibetan Buddhism

Here’s the dilemma: Tibetan Buddhism is deeply flawed. Its attitudes towards women, its power structures, and teachings that enable abuse are undeniable. But the practices themselves? They’re incredibly powerful and transformative.

That’s why people are still drawn to Tibetan Buddhism. The practices work. They change you.

So what’s the answer for those of us who want that transformative power in our spiritual practice?

Taking the Gold Without the Dirt

The answer is awareness. Know the risks. Understand the coercive control lamas can have over students. Recognise when it’s happening and stay away from it.

You can do the practices and listen to the teachings without surrendering your self-agency. You don’t have to give up your common sense. Surrender isn’t about losing your ethics or sense of right and wrong. It’s about seeing through your false self, your masks.

The challenge is surrendering what needs to be surrendered while keeping your full agency intact.

I have found Rob Preece’s books very helpful in reevaluating how I practice Vajrayana too.

Deity Practices Need Not Be Tainted

What I’ve realised is that the practices themselves don’t need to be tainted by the issues in the religion. They stand alone without a physical guru-–if you don’t associate the deity with a physical teacher. That’s not to say that you don’t need teachings to learn how to do the practices and how they work and what they mean—you do need that at some point—but you can also walk away once you’ve learned what you need to learn.

Then you don’t need an external lama. The true lama is the nature of mind and reality itself. The physical lama is meant to inspire you to connect with that, but over time, for far too many, that role has been twisted by dominance and abuse. And the teachings that enable that abuse are revered by some simply because some master of the past—who could have been a malignant narcissist-–said it.

If you focus on the ultimate meaning of lama—the true nature of your mind and reality—you can practise without the taint of a religion that can’t face its own shadow. Luckily for me, I never saw the lama in the practices as the man I later discovered abused people.

But I Can’t Do Those Practices Anymore

Realising this didn’t mean I could turn around and start practicing something like Varjasatttva again. It didn’t mean I could pick up the dakini practice done by the Rigpa sanga and complete my three roots practices. The thought of that alone brings back all the hurt caused by those in that community who allowed their basic human decency to be co-opted by their devotion to a deeply flawed man.

It brings back all the stories I heard from those who were physically, emotionally, sexually, financially and spiritually abused. And it brings back the depth of spiritual betrayal I experienced.

I can appreciate the practices, but I can’t practice any of them.

I can, however, do a different Vajrayana practice. One untainted by the shadow of Tibetan Buddhism.

A Vajrayana Practice Without the Baggage

I have found a spiritual practice that remains firmly rooted in the authentic core principles of the Vajrayana, but it’s unaligned with any specific teacher and the associated hierarchy and dogma. This one doesn’t retraumatise me. It gives me back what I lost when I stopped practicing what I found a deeply inspiring and supportive form of spiritual practice. And it’s a practice uniquely suited to Westerners and the issues we face in our present world.

This is the Maha Vajra (goddess of great awareness) practice, and I’ve decided—after a bit of struggle with the idea—to write about the practice and put it into a three-maybe-four book series.

I’ve renovated and reinvigorated my Substack as the home for that work.

Meet The Renegade Buddhist

The new name for the Substack is The Renegade Buddhist: Developing a psychologically grounded contemplative practice, inspired by Vajrayana.

You know why I’m a renegade. And on top of my willingness to expose abuses within the religion, just doing a non-traditional practice is heresy for those dedicated to the tradition!

I won’t be writing about it here, so if you’d like to follow my journey as I

work out what needs to be in the book
deepen my practice
reimagine Vajrayana through the lens of Jungian Psychology
hopefully help others like me in developing a nourishing spiritual practice

please join me there.

If you’ve ever wanted a Vajrayana practice without hierarchy, superstition, or cultural baggage — one that honours the depth but removes the harm—my Substack publication is for you.

You can choose from a free or paid option. And the paid option gives us an opportunity to talk deeply and privately on how we will reinvisage Vajrayana for the modern Western world.

Your involvement at any level—assuming you leave comments and participate in chats—will not only support the book writing, it will also inform how I write about the practice, what resources I find, and what I include in the book. This will make it a better resource for refugees from Tibetan Buddhism who would love a practice without the baggage, and for those new to the spiritual path who are interested in Vajrayana/Tantra but wary of Tibetan Buddhism.

And just to be clear, here. I am not setting myself up as a teacher. No way would I take on that responsibility! For teachings in the book on principles of Vajrayana, I will be referencing knowledgeable others whose worlds I value. My role is to present the gold and write down the practice I have been given along with instructions for how to practice it.

I hope I’ll see you there.

https://tahlianewland.substack.com/subscribe

July 26, 2026July 25, 2026

Vajrayana Meditation Through a Jungian Lens: A Reflective Exploration

After leaving Rigpa, a community that enabled abuse by the teacher — and after untangling the subtle distortions in their understanding of the teachings that allowed such enabling — I found myself sitting with a difficult paradox. How could a system that had failed so profoundly in its ethical foundations still contain practices that were, for me, deeply transformative?

I explore the community dynamics and distortions in my book Fallout, but the question that lingered long after I left was more intimate: Why did the Vajrayana practices themselves work so powerfully, even when the container around them was compromised?

This is the topic of my recent video. Below are the written notes if you prefer to read. Let me know in the comments below if any of this resonates with you.

I realised the depth of their impact one day while sitting with a group discussing death and dissolution. As they spoke, I realised that none of them lived with the awareness of impermanence in the way I did. None of them had spent three months — literally — contemplating the inevitability of death every moment of the day and night, as I had during the Vajrayana outer preliminaries.

No matter what one thinks of the religion or its institutions, the practices work. At least, they did for me.

But after leaving, I wanted to understand why they worked — without relying on the religious language, metaphysics, or cultural framing of Tibetan Buddhism. I wanted to see the practices from the outside, through a different lens.

So I turned to Jungian psychology.

After all, those deities — are they not archetypes?

A Simple Vajrayana Practice, Seen from the Outside

Let’s take one of the simplest Vajrayana practices:

The practitioner imagines a deity floating in a vast blue sky.
As they recite a mantra, healing light flows down from the deity into them.
They may imagine others around them receiving this same light.
At the end, the practitioner flies up into the sky and merges with the deity.
Finally, they dissolve from the outside in, disappearing into nothing.

This dissolution practice is one I still do every day. It has made me intimately familiar with the felt sense of dissolving — of letting go, of impermanence, of spaciousness.

From a Jungian perspective, this practice is rich with psychological meaning.

The Jungian Lens: Active Imagination With an Archetype

In Jungian terms, this practice takes place in the imagination — the realm of the unconscious mind. It is a kind of waking dream, similar to Jung’s method of active imagination, where symbolic images arise and the practitioner interacts with them consciously.

Let’s break down the elements.

1. The Deity as Archetype

In Jungian psychology, an archetype is a universal pattern of human experience — a symbolic form that expresses deep psychological truths. The deity in Vajrayana practice can be understood as an archetype of the fully integrated Self — the wholeness that lies beneath the fragmented ego.

The deity is not “other.” It is a symbolic representation of the practitioner’s own potential.

2. The Sky as the Unconscious

The vast blue sky is a classic symbol of the unconscious — spacious, open, beyond the limits of the ego. Placing the deity in the sky situates the archetype in the realm where transformation occurs.

3. The Light as Psychic Energy

The healing light flowing down is a symbolic transmission of psychic energy — vitality, clarity, compassion, integration. The mantra acts as a rhythmic bridge between conscious intention and unconscious response.

4. Merging With the Deity

Flying up and merging with the deity is a symbolic identification with the archetype — a temporary recognition that the qualities of the deity (wisdom, compassion, clarity) are already present within the practitioner.

5. Dissolution

Dissolving into nothingness is crucial. In Jungian terms, it prevents inflation — the ego mistaking itself for the archetype. Dissolution returns the practitioner to spaciousness, humility, and psychological balance.

This cycle — invocation, identification, dissolution — mirrors Jung’s understanding of how one safely engages with archetypal forces.

Why Does It Work? A Jungian Explanation

This is the part I’ve been contemplating for years.

Why does such a practice bring the practitioner closer to their fully integrated — or “enlightened” — self?

Here is the Jungian answer:

1. It Creates a Dialogue With the Unconscious

Active imagination opens a channel between conscious awareness and unconscious material. The deity becomes a symbolic mediator between the ego and the deeper Self.

2. It Allows Safe Contact With Archetypal Power

Archetypes are potent. Engaging them directly can overwhelm the ego. But Vajrayana practice provides structure, ritual, and containment — making the encounter safe.

3. It Strengthens the Ego–Self Axis

In Jungian terms, psychological health depends on a strong connection between the ego (our everyday identity) and the Self (our deeper wholeness). This practice strengthens that connection.

4. It Integrates Dissociated Qualities

The deity embodies qualities the practitioner may lack or repress — compassion, clarity, courage, spaciousness. By identifying with the deity, these qualities are integrated into consciousness.

5. It Trains the Mind in Symbolic Thinking

Symbolic thinking is essential for psychological growth. It allows us to understand ourselves in deeper, more nuanced ways.

6. It Regulates the Nervous System

The imagery, mantra, and dissolution all have calming, grounding effects. This creates the physiological conditions for psychological transformation.

The Shadow Problem: Where Vajrayana and Jung Diverge

Here we reach the tension.

Jung famously said:

“One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.”

This raises an important question:

If Vajrayana emphasises “watering the seeds of joy” — focusing on the positive and ignoring the darkness — does it fall short in Jungian terms?

I believe the answer is yes.

This is how we end up with gurus who can guide students in transformative practices while remaining unaware of their own shadow — unaware to the point of abusing students and seeing nothing wrong with it.

Vajrayana practices can be profoundly transformative, but without shadow work, they can also become spiritually bypassing.

Jung would say: You cannot become whole by ignoring the darkness.

A New Integration: Vajrayana + Jungian Active Imagination

This leads to my final reflection.

I believe it is possible — and deeply valuable — to integrate Jungian active imagination with Vajrayana practice, once the Tibetan religious baggage is removed.

Not to diminish either tradition. Not to blend them into something new. But to allow them to stand side by side, informing each other.

Vajrayana provides:

powerful symbolic practices
ritual structure
transformative imagery
deep familiarity with impermanence

Jungian psychology provides:

shadow work
archetypal understanding
safeguards against inflation
a secular framework
a language for integration

Together, they form a functioning whole.

A way of engaging the imagination that is both spiritually profound and psychologically safe.

This is the path I am exploring — a contemplative, symbolic, psychologically grounded way of meeting the Self through imagination, ritual, and honest shadow work.

A way of revealing the mystic within without losing sight of the human who walks the path.

Glossary (for readers new to Jung)

Archetype Universal patterns of human experience that express themselves through symbols, myths, and dreams.

Self (capital S) The totality of the psyche — the deeper wholeness beneath the ego.

Ego The conscious sense of identity; the “I” we normally experience.

Unconscious The part of the psyche outside conscious awareness; includes both personal and collective layers.

Active Imagination Jung’s method of consciously engaging with images, symbols, and figures from the unconscious.

Inflation When the ego identifies with an archetype and becomes grandiose or ungrounded.

Shadow The parts of ourselves we reject, repress, or deny.

July 4, 2026July 2, 2026

Do We Need the Ego? A Reflection on Self, Boundaries, and Emptiness

What if the ego isn’t the enemy?

I assume that’s a question that most people would never think to ask, but those of us who have, or are, studying Buddhism might have heard phrases like “you need to crush you ego”. The Buddha said that the root of suffering is ignorance of our true self, and that’s often translated as the ego being the root of suffering. But the more I sit with this, and the more my understanding of Jungian psychology grows, the more I wonder if Buddhists are misunderstanding what the ego really is? And is the word ‘ego’ the right word for what the Buddha meant?

Watch the video or read on for my reflection. The written form includes some points that aren’t in the video.

Common Belief: The Ego as the Villain

For many of us, the word “ego” carries a lot of baggage, even without the Buddhist viewpoint. We think of it as arrogance, self-importance, or that inflated sense of self that makes someone unbearable to be around. And in spiritual teachings, the ego is seen as something to be eradicated, a false construct that keeps us trapped in illusion.

In Buddhism the word ego is described as meaning ‘a false sense of self’ —something that doesn’t exist in the singular, independent and permanent way that we tend to think it does. And the cause of suffering is clinging to this false self. We act to protect it and provide for its desires, and in so doing we create suffering for ourselves and others. Hence to avoid suffering we need to know who we really are and act from that, not from this false idea of who we are.

I find that all quite logical, but I question the use of the word ‘ego’ to describe this false sense of self. It seems to me that that word brings in a lot of confusion, and it can lead to what I’d call “ego bashing,” where the goal seems to be to strip away any sense of self entirely.

And here’s the thing: Without a sense of self, how do we navigate the world? How do we set boundaries, make decisions, or protect ourselves from harm?

Reframe: The Ego as a Vital Tool

What if the problem isn’t the ego itself, but our misunderstanding of it?

In Jungian psychology – where the modern understanding of the word ‘ego’ comes from – the ego is the part of the mind that mediates between our conscious and unconscious selves. It’s responsible for reality testing and gives us a basic sense of self, a sense that we exist. In this sense, the ego isn’t some villain to be vanquished—it’s a vital tool. It helps us make ethical decisions, set boundaries, and engage with the world in a healthy way.

Jungian psychology also recognises a false sense of self, but this is not the ego, it’s the persona. Our persona is not our self; it’s essentially a social mask, and we can have more than one adapted for different circumstances. Even personas are seen as necessary sometimes – for instance we probably have a work persona, and so long as we know it’s a construct for a specific purpose and not us in our entirety and we can drop it outside of the times when we need it, it’s no problem.

In the Jungian view of self, a psychologically healthy person not only doesn’t mistake the persona for the self, they also don’t mistake the ego for the self – it’s only a function of it, just one part, and it plays a necessary role in our lives. There is no good reason in this view for thinking one should abandon or destroy the ego. There is simply a need to recognise it for what it is and not mistake it for our whole self.

But isn’t this very close to the actual meaning of the teaching on ego in Buddhism? Not that the ego should be destroyed, but that we need to realise its true nature. Once we realise that it isn’t inherently existent, we realise egolessness. But what we ‘destroy’ isn’t the ego itself, but our attachment to it as a solid, independent, permanent ‘thing’. On the ultimate, or quantum, level of reality it doesn’t exit, but at the same time it does exist in a functional sense. It’s what allows us to operate in the world.

When Ego Bashing Goes Too Far

I’ve seen what happens when the teachings on abandoning our attachment to ego are subtly misunderstood to mean “abandoning the ego” itself. This can be taken to such an extreme that we lose our sense of self entirely. In our effort to follow the instructions of a teacher we trust, we stop setting boundaries, leave our common sense at the temple door, and even hand over our autonomy to a teacher.

This creates a dangerous dynamic. Without a healthy sense of self, we become vulnerable to manipulation and abuse. And for those in positions of power, it’s all too easy to exploit students they’ve taught to suppress their ego at all costs. Fostering that kind of belief is one of the the marks of a destructive cult.

But I’m pretty sure this isn’t what the teachings are meant to do because what you end up with is someone who, instead of looking inwards to discover their own Buddha nature, are looking outwards, expecting to find it through servitude to someone else. The teaching on the futility of seeking the elephant in the forest when it is already at home in our living room is a warning against this.

As I understand it, the teachings on egolessness are not about destroying or erasing our basic sense of self as it operates in the material world; they’re about understanding the true nature of our ego self. When we realise the true nature of ego, our attachment to it naturally drops away because there is no ‘it’ to be attached to – even while it still functions as a necessary part of our ability to navigate life.

In fact as I see it, the whole idea of crushing the ego indicates a misunderstanding of its true nature, because that idea depends on thinking that there’s something to crush. You can’t crush something that isn’t solid to start with. In fact, by looking for something to crush, you may be solidifying it.

What I’ve Come to Understand

Here are a few things I’ve come to understand about the ego:

The ego isn’t inherently bad; it’s our sense of self and a tool for navigating the world.
A healthy ego sets boundaries, protects us from harm and is our ethical barometer.
The problem isn’t the ego itself, but our attachment to it as a permanent, independent, singular self that we think is ‘me’.
In Buddhism, the teaching on egolessness doesn’t require us to actually destroy the ego, but to realise its true nature, and drop our attachment to it.
We need the ego to function in the world, but we also need to see through the illusion of its solidity.

Why This Matters

This matters because it’s about balance. It’s about holding two truths at once: that the ego doesn’t exist in the way we think it does, and that it’s still necessary for living in the world.

When we understand this, we don’t feel the need to inflate our sense of self or protect it at all costs. We can let go of the fear that drives much of our ego-driven behaviour. At the same time, we can maintain a healthy sense of self that allows us to set boundaries, make ethical decisions, and engage with the world in a meaningful way.

But it’s hard to retain a healthy sense of self and develop the ability to hold the two truths at once when we’re in a community led by a teacher who tells us to ‘crush’ our ego – as if it’s something solid we can fight against and defeat – and who insists that having no boundaries in complete subservience to them is the same as – or a path to – recognising the boundless nature of mind and reality. It’s really not.

That kind of ‘teaching’ is psychologically unhealthy for the student – it leads to a collapse of their sense of self-worth and negates their ability to make ethical decisions – but it’s great for a teacher who wants willing slaves who won’t complain if he abuses them. So who does this angle on these teachings serve?

For me that kind of angle on the teachings on egolessness means it time to find a better teacher, one who doesn’t solidify ego by making it into an enemy.

What’s the Real Question?

So maybe the question isn’t, “How do I get rid of my ego?” but rather, “What is the true nature of my ego?”

What would it look like to hold your sense of self lightly—to see it as both real and not real, necessary but not solid?

I don’t have all the answers, but I think it’s worth exploring. After all, we’re not here to destroy ourselves or be manipulated by someone else. We’re here to understand, to realize, and to embrace the paradox of being human.

June 7, 2026June 6, 2026

Holding Contradictions: Teachers, Abuse, and the Middle Way

*Holding the Middle Way, (C)Tahlia Newland*

Yesterday, I came across a comment by Tenzin Peljor on the Beyond the Temple blog that stopped me in my tracks. It wasn’t flashy or dramatic, but it hit me deeply because it spoke to something I’ve wrestled with for years. He wrote:

“As I have learned over the years, qualities and limitations, even profound ones, can coexist. The former do not cancel the latter, nor the latter, the former.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it carries a weight that can be hard to hold. Especially for those of us who’ve been part of spiritual communities where the teacher—the person we trusted—turned out to have a dark side.

The Reflex to Reject

When I first left Rigpa, the Tibetan Buddhist organization led by Sogyal Rinpoche, I felt like my world had split in two. On one side were the profound teachings I’d received— the education on Buddhism in its many facets, careful guidance through practices like shamatha and vipassyana, the glimpses into the nature of mind — and the deep sense of connection to the sangha. On the other side was the undeniable truth of Sogyal’s abuse: the manipulation, the harm he caused to his closest students, and the way the community failed to address it with any kind of integrity or genuine compassion.

It’s natural, isn’t it, to want to simplify things? To say, “If this person did terrible things, then everything they taught must be terrible too.” It’s easier to reject it all than to sit with the contradictions. But life isn’t that simple.

The Tension Between Good and Bad

What Tenzin’s comment reminded me of is how hard it is to hold both truths at once. Sogyal Rinpoche was a deeply flawed, sometimes abusive man. But he was also a teacher who transmitted the teachings of Tibetan Buddhism with care to be true to the lineage. He could click his fingers and shift into a mode where he seemed to channel the wisdom of his own masters. And in those moments, he gave us something real.

But as soon as the teaching ended, he was just … unkind and mentally unstable. A tragic figure who caused profound harm.

It’s tempting to let one truth cancel out the other. To say, “Because he was abusive, the teachings must be worthless.” Or, conversely, “Because the teachings were so powerful, the abuse must not matter.” But neither of those positions reflect the reality of the situation. Sogyal benefited some and harmed others. Some experienced only harm, others only benefit, some a mix of both.

My Experience of Holding Both

After the abuse came to light, those of us who left Rigpa faced a difficult task: sifting through the wreckage to figure out what was worth keeping. It wasn’t easy. The good and the bad were both so extreme that it felt almost impossible to hold them together in the same mind.

And to make it even harder to hold both, sometimes if I said something positive about my experience of having Sogyal as my teacher, others immediately assumed that I thought the abuse was okay. They accused me of apologising for him, which I was not and never have done. His behaviour was inexcusable as far as I’m concerned. And, on the other side, if I expressed my disgust with what he’s done, people assumed that meant that I saw nothing good in my experience at all.

This is why I haven’t written on this before – and I expect I’ll get some flack for it now. I hope people read it fully and with an open mind before reacting!

Our human minds seem to find it hard to hold both sides of a situation. People immediately want to label you friend of enemy, or a follower of this camp or that. What about holding both sides of a situation without allowing one side to cancel out the other? Isn’t that more in tune with how things actually are?

And isn’t that the middle way? What the Buddha taught. In Buddhist terms, the middle way is about recognizing that though everything is empty of inherent essence, those things also exist. They may not be solid in the way we think they are, but they still function in a world of cause and effect. They have effects. And those effects matter.

For me, the middle way in this situation means acknowledging that Tibetan Buddhism offers profound benefits—practices like Mahamudra and Dzogchen that can transform lives—but also it carries an enormous risk of manipulation and abuse due to cultural and religious structures left over from feudal times. And neither truth cancels the other.

Not an Excuse for a Lack of Discernment

I feel I need to clarify another point here as well, and that’s that this idea can be used as an excuse for not discerning right from wrong, but that’s not what I’m talking about here. I heard people say – in a very holy manner – that they weren’t making a decision about Sogyal’s abuse, but holding both the possibility that it did and that it didn’t happen. That’s not the middle way, that’s a cop out to absolve you of the moral responsibility of discerning right behaviour from wrong behaviour.

The Buddha was quite clear that his first precept was ‘do no harm’, and clearly Sogyal (and many other lamas) harmed people. Those who found it hard to make that discernment in this religious setting had their moral sense distorted by dogma they subscribed to around the student teacher relationship.

What I’m talking about is knowing that a person caused both harm and benefit, not failing to discern the difference.

And Let’s Not Get the Absolute and Relative Mixed Up

Some will likely say, ‘Oh, but good and bad don’t really exist.’ And if I say, ‘Yes, they do,’ they will likely start spouting dzogchen teachings about going beyond good and bad.

Reality is non-dual, they’ll say. As if that solves everything, including absolving them from making a discernment as to what constitutes right and wrong action. (Remember: the wisdom of discernment is one of the five wisdoms of the nature of mind.)

But I’d ask, Which reality are you talking about, dude?

Yes, I know those teachings, and I know that they refer to absolute reality, not conventional reality. And I know that ultimately those two realities are not separate – the absolute is the true nature of the conventional, sure. But here, I’m talking about conventional reality, where harm and benefit are real experiences, real results of our actions, where cause and effect is in play. We exist – not inherently, sure – but we exist on this physical plain where our actions can cause both benefit and harm.

We live in a dualistic world. That its true nature is non-dual, doesn’t change the fact that our conventional experience is dualistic. There is night and day, a breath in and a breath out, good behaviour and bad behaviour – even if the line between them isn’t always clear and the delineation shifts depending on circumstances.

Watch out for nihilism; it’s more destructive in our material world than eternalism – making abuse acceptable by saying everything is ’empty’ is a prime example.

We exist, and yet we don’t inherently exist. Recognising this is the middle way, holding both at the same time, not using one to negate the other.

And this is the kind of understanding behind Tenzin’s comment: qualities and limitations, even profound ones, can coexist. The former do not cancel the latter, nor the latter, the former.

What I’ve Realised

Here are a few things I’ve come to understand from all this:

Qualities and limitations can coexist. A person can have profound wisdom and profound flaws at the same time.
Rejecting everything isn’t always the answer. It’s okay to keep the good while letting go of the bad.
Holding contradictions is hard but necessary. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s also honest.
The middle way applies to people too. Just as things both exist and don’t exist, the same person can do both good and terrible things.
Awareness is key. Knowing the risks of Tibetan Buddhism doesn’t mean rejecting it entirely—it means approaching it with eyes wide open.

Does it Matter?

I think this matters because it’s not just about spiritual teachers or Tibetan Buddhism. It’s about how we deal with contradictions in life. How we make sense of situations that are both beautiful and painful, both inspiring and harmful.

It’s tempting to simplify, to pick a side, to say, “This was all good” or “This was all bad.” But life rarely works that way. And when we reject complexity, we risk losing something valuable – the truth of how things actually are.

For those of us who’ve been part of spiritual communities, this process of sifting through the good and the bad is deeply personal. It’s not about excusing harm or pretending it didn’t happen. It’s about being honest with ourselves about what we gained and what we lost—and finding a way to move forward.

An Important Acknowledgement

I acknowledge that for some people, there really was no good in their experience at all. They were taken advantage of from day one, abused and manipulated and left with CPTSD. I’m not suggesting that they see benefit where there was none. Everyone must be honest with their own experience and feelings.

However, they can still perhaps admit that some people in the sangha experienced benefit, just as those who experienced only benefit can still admit that some people also experienced harm.

And thanks Tenzin for the inspiration for this post. You gave me the kick in the bum I needed to finally say it out loud.

A Question

So I’ll leave you with this: What would it look like to hold both truths in your own life? To acknowledge the good without excusing the bad, and to face the bad without rejecting the good?

It’s not easy – especially if you were directly harmed by someone – but maybe it’s worth trying. what do you think?

June 5, 2026June 5, 2026

Yangsi Rinpoche and the Recurring Shadow of Abuse in Tibetan Buddhist Lineages

Here we are again. Another story of abuse by a Tibetan Buddhist teacher.
Another woman harmed, another community shaken, another institution scrambling to respond. And for those of us who lived through this pattern from the inside, it’s painfully familiar.

According to reporting from Willamette Week, a former student and employee of Maitripa College in Portland has accused its long‑time spiritual leader, Yangsi Rinpoche, of a years‑long sexual relationship shaped by an unequal power dynamic and framed as part of her religious practice. The allegations, made by former student Sunitha Bhaskaran, describe unwanted encounters that she felt compelled to participate in because of his status as her guru and the strong culture of devotion within the institution.

The draft civil complaint alleges that the relationship began in 2015 and continued until 2021, and that Rinpoche presented the sexual contact as connected to tantric purification practices — a framing many of us will recognise from other Tibetan Buddhist abuse cases. Although the complaint was never filed in court, the parties reached a confidential settlement in 2025. Maitripa College and Yangsi Rinpoche deny the allegations.

For those who don’t know, Maitripa College is affiliated with the FPMT, part of a global network of Tibetan Buddhist centres. Former students interviewed in the article describe a culture that strongly emphasised guru devotion and encouraged viewing the teacher as enlightened — another pattern we’ve seen repeated across communities. ourbuddhismworld.com

Below is the link to the full article if you’d like to read it yourself.

Sexual Misconduct Allegations Against Buddhist Leader Trigger Investigation at Maitripa College

My Reflection

What strikes me — again — is not just the allegation itself, but the structure around it. The same ingredients appear every time:

a teacher elevated beyond accountability
a culture that equates devotion with obedience
a student taught to override her own instincts
a community shocked, then divided
an institution protecting its reputation

It’s a pattern so predictable that many of us can recite it from memory.

And this is why stories like this matter. Not because we want to dwell on harm, but because naming the pattern is part of breaking it. Tibetan Buddhism, especially in its traditional forms, has repeatedly failed to address the shadow side of guru devotion — and until that changes, these stories will keep emerging.

This story raises questions many of us have asked before — sometimes quietly, sometimes with rage, sometimes with grief:

How many times does this pattern need to repeat before Tibetan Buddhist institutions confront the shadow built into their own structures? Will they ever?

For those of us who lived inside these systems, the dynamics are painfully familiar: the elevation of the teacher, the pressure to surrender discernment, the spiritualisation of obedience, the silencing of doubt, the confusion between devotion and self‑abandonment.

So I’d love to hear your reflections:

What patterns do you see repeating across these communities?
How did the structure of guru devotion shape your own experience — for better or worse?
What do you think needs to change for genuine safety and accountability to exist in Tibetan Buddhist spaces?
And perhaps the deepest question: What does spiritual authority look like when it’s no longer built on hierarchy, secrecy, or unquestioned power?

Feel free to share as much or as little as you like. Your voice matters here — and your insight helps illuminate the path beyond the temple.

June 2, 2026June 2, 2026

The Architecture of Silence: A Search for Integrity – A Personal Account of My Experience with B. Alan Wallace

(What follows is a guest post sharing a personal account of a long-term student’s relationship with B. Alan Wallace, meditation teacher, and his community. My thanks to the author for bringing these details to light in this way. It’s important for us to share these stories as a way to raise awareness around these kinds of cult dynamics that can take over a community even if they begin with the best of intentions. The images are mine, created using Midjourney. – Tahlia)

The Search for Integrity

Recently, I watched a very interesting conversation between Gabor Maté, the renowned medical doctor, and a few spiritual teachers. Gabor asked a question within the context of the “Architecture of Silence”, that often surrounds, protects, envelops, and seeps into, spiritual communities. This is Gabor’s question:

“I’ve been struck over the years by how it’s almost a deal within spiritual communities for abuse to take place, so that there have been teachers, great teachers, or teachers that have been considered great, and have had many followers who’ve planted many seeds of spiritual endeavor who then turned out to be abusers. Is it possible for people to transmit great spiritual truths, and yet be so antithetical to their truths in their behavior?”

I’ve been asking the same question deep in my heart, almost unconsciously. Because this wish for integrity between teachings and behavior comes deep down from the guts, and from the heart – it doesn’t come from conceptual thinking. It is all about feeling trust in the relationship, not conceptualizing it.

Early Devotion and the Commitment to Shamatha

The first time I heard from Alan Wallace was in 2010 in Sydney. I attended a public talk at a Buddhist Institute, and I was struck by his presence. He emanated security and power – traits that I missed back then, and that likely I wanted to see in someone. I then started reading his books avidly, and attending his retreats. I was 28 years old.

In 2014, at the conclusion of one of his retreats in Sydney, as I offered him a ceremonial scarf, he said personally to my ear: “If you enter the path in this lifetime, I’d be very happy.” It was a pivotal moment that crystallized my aspiration to enter the path. Alan kept drilling, in retreats and podcasts, the centrality of achieving shamatha to enter the path.

The Call to Full-Time Retreat and Building Projects with Alan Wallace

The entire architecture of Alan’s teachings, and the way he was presenting them, created conditions for me to believe that entering full-time retreat was the best thing to do, regardless of family conditions, of work, of money, of anything else. It was a hero’s journey. I had heard from Alan, repeatedly, of the necessity to achieve shamatha to enter the practice of vipashyana effectively. I felt that Alan was embodying the Dharma, and I started believing in the need for creating spaces where people could practice shamatha.

Therefore, I started doing solo retreats — but very early, I started noticing the challenges of doing that. I was receiving no support from anyone around. Nevertheless, in 2015, I decided to leave my job at a Buddhist Institute to fully dedicate myself to Alan’s project.

Financial Sacrifice and the Reality of Hardship

I was running out of money to support my aspirations, but I trusted Alan’s comment that “food will roll uphill”. Towards the end of 2015, I participated in the first of a series of 8-week retreats in Queensland, Australia. On the very first day of the retreat – a retreat I fully had paid for – Alan suddenly came to talk to me: we sat down, and he started mentioning a retreat land in Italy, perfect for the practice of shamatha. It was a land apparently blessed by Khadro-la (a revered Tibetan teacher) who, while dancing on the land, said: “Here people can achieve shamatha”. He then asked: “Can you help me with this project, as I don’t have time to follow it?”. I said yes, certainly. And in a matter of minutes, Alan presented me with a project to lead on another continent. I do not recall him asking if I wanted to do it, or if I had the capacity to commit, and it was my distinct impression that there was no expectation or offer of financial compensation for this work. In that moment, I felt his tone was so authoritative that I didn’t feel I had the space to offer a different perspective; it felt to me like a done deal.

Tying his Shoes

I want to share a truly bizarre moment from one of his 2016 retreats in Sydney. As I was climbing the stairs to his room, I overheard another student giggling. Alan jokingly told her, “She couldn’t tie my shoes,” then pointed to me his own untied laces while looking at me. I ended up kneeling down to tie them for him. To this day, I don’t understand the behavior; it felt like an unnecessary display of power over his students.

The Experience of Illness and Vulnerability in Retreat

In the middle of a retreat in Sydney in July 2017, I fell sick with an UTI, and some friends from there brought me to the hospital, as I was in a lot of pain. I was administered some antibiotics, and after one night I was discharged, and went back to the retreat. I was still very sick though, and I was feeling very vulnerable – I had given all my money to follow Alan and support his project — to the point that I was, essentially, homeless. The relationship with my family was terrible, and they wouldn’t support my aspirations in any way. But I kept thinking that Alan was helping me on this path.

When I came back to the retreat venue, I went straight into my room. I had no strength, so I lay in bed, struggling with pain, both physically and mentally. After Alan finished his teaching, I begged a friend to ask Alan to visit me. I needed some words of encouragement, some help. I waited outside my room to greet Alan, and as he approached, he almost shouted: “What happened??”. He then entered my room, and as I closed the door, I started crying, not sure why. Anyway, Alan saw me crying, but he didn’t say a word about that.

As he sat in front of me, I experienced a profound lack of the empathy or encouragement I so desperately felt I needed. My perception of him in that room was one of distance and coldness; I felt as though my vulnerability was a source of irritation to him rather than a call for compassion. While he may have seen the encounter differently, to me, it felt like a cold and brief exchange at the most fragile moment of my life. I was homeless, had spent all my money to attend his retreats, I was trying with all my might to enter full-time retreat, plus I was helping him to create a center in Italy and Australia, and I was translating his books — all for free. While he sat there, I felt as if there was a big chasm between us. I was just recovering from a severe infection and high fever, and asking my teacher — the most important person for me at that moment — for some affection, for some understanding. I received none of it.

The meeting lasted less than five minutes. As he left my room, I stood up and as he was walking away, I said: “I’ll do my best,” and he replied quickly and offhandedly “I’m sure you will”. And that was the end of it. That night I almost went insane. I couldn’t sleep, I was in deep pain every time I urinated, and I felt utterly devastated.

Somehow, I managed to pass the night. The next morning, I was still in pain, but had recovered enough to go to his room to say goodbye. I was barely able to stand. He was in a rush to leave, and he only said, “Bye bye, see you in Melbourne.” And indeed, I was meant to attend his next retreat in Melbourne, but he couldn’t spend even one minute asking me how I was. It had been the most vulnerable and lowest point of my life, and my teacher, to whom I had devoted every waking hour for the past four years, seemingly could not care how I was. This encounter lasted just a few seconds.

An Example of Cold Anger during an 8-week Retreat

However, I was still quite entangled with him so I kept attending his retreats. During a 2018 retreat in Italy, I participated at an informal outdoor session where Khadro-la gave basic, non-secret teachings to our group of sixty – Alan included. Because the atmosphere was so relaxed and no one mentioned any restrictions, many of us—myself included—recorded the talk on our mobile phones quite openly.

The situation turned sour the next morning. Alan arrived at the meditation hall in a state of cold anger, berating the entire group for recording the session and allegedly uploading it online without Khadro-la’s permission (an accusation for which we were given no evidence, and to my knowledge, no one had actually done). He didn’t allow for any discussion or defense; he simply vented his frustration at all of us, feeling entirely entitled to do that to a group of sixty people. He then left the session in a rage, without any explanation for not giving his morning dharma talk.

Shocked by the intensity of his outburst, after he left the hall, I stood up and publicly identified myself as one of the recorders, basically acting as a scapegoat for the group, and for Alan. Hoping to mend the relationship, a few friends and I wrote a formal letter of apology to him. I still remember the pain I felt in my stomach, and how much I cried for that event. We approached Alan later that day, offering the letter of apology along with a ceremonial scarf. He took the letter, barely glanced at it, and walked away without saying a single word about the episode—then or ever again.

The Structural Architecture of Harm

Slowly, I started distancing myself from him. Something in my guts was telling me not to trust this person. Moving forward to August 2025, I read the public letters from Terran Palmer-Angell and Carmen Maria. Reading their accounts, the patterns they described resonated deeply with my own history, and my experience with Alan began to make sense in a broader context. I wish Alan well, but I aspire to a relation based on reciprocity and deep listening, as spiritual friends with no hierarchy, something that Alan was unable to provide.

In my opinion, the social fabric in which Alan Wallace acted as a teacher, favored silent compliance, a rigid hierarchy, and a teacher-student relationship in which there was no reciprocity, as if the student was simply an empty container. An architecture where there was no sharing within a community, just a higher authority that has all the wisdom, all the power, and supposedly all the compassion.

I felt a deep internal pressure that if I strayed from compliance, I would face social exclusion or criticism from the teacher and the group. I sometimes heard him use phrases such as “He is breaking his samayas” when referring to others. I personally found this language deeply unsettling, as I perceived it being used in a way that felt more like a tool for criticism and social control than a means of genuine spiritual guidance. In my view, this contributed to an environment where silence and compliance were the safest paths.

I wish I could help Alan understand, because I’ve seen what is wrong in this spiritual family, and, at least in part, I developed some understanding and compassion for him. Thank you for reading.

Claudio Li Calzi,

Founder of the Australian Contemplative Observatory and board member from 2013 till 2018

Board member of the Center for Contemplative Research in Italy from 2023 till 2025

Italian translator of B. Alan Wallace’s books “Stilling the Mind”, “Fathoming the Mind”, “Dudjom Lingpa’s Visions of Great Perfection” in three volumes, and “Dzokchen – A Commentary on Dudjom Rinpoché’s “Illumination of Primordial Wisdom”

Italian editor of the books “Natural Liberation” by Padmasambhava, and “A Spacious Path to Freedom” by Karma Chagme, both translated by B. Alan Wallace

Student of B. Alan Wallace for 15 years.

The account represents the personal experiences, recollections, and honest opinions of the author, Claudio Li Calzi, during his 15-year tenure as a student and board member within organizations associated with B. Alan Wallace. All events are described to the best of the author’s memory and are intended to foster open dialogue and transparency regarding institutional structures in spiritual communities.

May 6, 2026May 13, 2026

Alan Wallace: A Look Beneath the Surface

Sunken wooden fishing boat underwater on sea bed with small fish swimming nearby

I received an email from someone who said that they recently came across an open letter on the website derelify.com written by a long-time student of Alan Wallace’s who recently left the community. The letter goes into some detail on why he left, and along with the email sender, I think his story is credible and deserves a wider audience.

https://dereify.com/why-i-left-the-center-for-contemplative-research-after-17-years-with-dr-b-alan-wallace-draft-3-test

Here’s another open letter from someone else about the same thing: https://carmenmaria.me/#personalreflections

And here’s Tenpel’s take. He includes a section on the approach Alan is taking with his emphasis on ‘achieving shamata’ which is exactly what I thought when I read about this retreat and its focus. I recommend reading it. https://buddhism-controversy-blog.com/2026/05/05/world-class-training-via-email-a-former-devotee-of-b-alan-wallace-speaks-out/

I did an internet search on Alan Wallace, and all I saw were good things about him. I am sharing the link to this open letter because it is in the public interest. I believe that people investigating potential teachers need information that allows them to see beneath the surface.

I do not know the authors of these letters, but I know how much it takes for long-term students to leave a teacher and how much harder than that it is for them to publish a criticism. It is never done lightly, so I urge anyone considering taking the retreat to which the author refers to consider both these letters as important information to take into account.

Knowledge of the dharma by itself does not make a good teacher, and neglect comes in many forms.

If anyone else has any additional insights into this matter, please comment below. You can do so anonymously and though you need to provide an email address to post, I would never share that email address with anyone.

April 19, 2026April 19, 2026

Finding Spiritual Autonomy in Nature

For those who’ve experienced spiritual abuse or whose minds don’t fit the mould of dogmatic obedience, the quiet of the forest offers a different kind of refuge. My first instinct when I left Rigpa was to find refuge in the silence of the forest, and many others in the Beyond the Temple community also replaced the shrine room with nature.

These are the opening words of my latest video for the Beyond the Temple channel. Watch the video for the rest, or read the rest of the transcript ( with more added) below.

It was such a relief to simply sit in the forest without having to follow a form, read a text, or navigate the dynamics of a community that was more concerned with their own reputation than their students’ well-being. What I found was that immersing myself in nature didn’t only bring solace, it grounded my recovery from religious trauma and gave me a way to still honour my spiritual nature without the weight of obedience to something external from myself, specifically someone I could no longer trust.

After leaving the religion, I needed to come to something pure, uncomplicated and unburdened by dogma. And I had to take back agency over my own spiritual life. I had to learn to genuinely take refuge in my own true nature.

Bear with me here, while I compare the teachings on refuge to the reality of life in some sanghas. I’m going into this to show why – even within the Buddhist teachings themselves – it’s important for us to learn to trust our own inner wisdom.

Buddhism teaches us that we all have Buddha nature, and that this is our true nature, but we don’t realise our true nature because it’s obscured – by habits, emotions, concepts, and karma. Though Buddhists outwardly take refuge in the Buddha, his teachings, and the community of practitioners, our ultimate refuge is our own Buddha nature.

The Buddha taught this in the Mahāparinibbāna Sutta, “Dwell with yourself as your own island, with yourself as your own refuge, take no other refuge.”

The refuge practice of the Longchen Nyingtik Ngondro even says that our own wisdom nature is the ultimate refuge when it says we take refuge ‘in the maṇḍala of essence, nature, and compassion’ – meaning in our mind’s empty essence and awareness, the union of which brings compassion.

Added to that, in the actual vajrayana practices, the lama is a symbol for our own wisdom nature. When we invoke the lama, we’re invoking our own wisdom self.

That’s the teaching, however, when it comes to Tibetan Buddhism, the teachings on devotion to the master – who is supposed to inspire your journey inwards – can very easily turn it into an outwardly focused journey of obedience to a teacher. When devotion is touted as the ultimate path, we can end up taking refuge in the outer teacher and not in our own inner wisdom/ Buddha nature/ true nature of mind. There are many words for it, but we don’t find it if we focus on the outer teacher, and the major cult dynamic that enables abuse is unconditional surrender to the personality of the teacher.

External authorities, such as cult leaders, demand conformity over authentic experience. Authentic experience was to some extent devalued in Rigpa. If insights were asked for, your genuine expression of your experience was either completely disregarded or belittled unless you used actual language from the scriptures. That made some of us second guess our genuine insights, so I felt I needed to offload all that baggage and see what was left, find what was real without any dogmatic overlay.

So when we leave a cult of devotion, we need to find our own autonomy again, for both psychological and spiritual health. But finding our way when we’ve been following a path that was all laid out for us isn’t easy. How do we know where to go with our spiritual life, when what we believed in and trusted has all fallen away? And how do we develop trust in ourselves, after having put our trust in a teacher and a community who proved ultimately unworthy of it?

I can’t answer those questions for anyone other than myself, but I found that practicing presence, just sitting quietly and simply being me, in natural spaces, where no one was watching or judging or demanding, was incredibly healing. It reaffirmed the validity of my own experience, and out of the stillness of the forest and the awareness it naturally invokes, I found my way forward.

And out of this came intense gratitude for the natural world, and particularly the forest. The forest teaches without words, without expectations or demands. It teaches by its very presence. All we have to do is visit a forest, as often as we can.

Has nature been a support for your spiritual path, particularly if you’re healing from spiritual abuse? If so, let me know in the comments how that happened for you.

And me, I’ve taken to dancing in the forest, dancing my gratitude and appreciation whilst singing a mantra that calls on the power of great awareness.

April 11, 2026April 11, 2026

How’s Your Island Finding Going?

We did good, but it’s not over

I hadn’t looked at the Beyond the Temple YouTube Channel for ages, but I’ve kept getting emails from people who are experiencing or have experienced abuse in their Tibetan Buddhist sanghas, and they find me through YouTube. So I thought I should take a look and do some renovations on the channel. While I was there, I looked at the analytics – who, I wondered is watching, if anyone?

I discovered that the old videos where I talk about the abuse and cult dynamics and so on – all that stuff we learned about – are being viewed by people new to the channel. 85% of viewers have never visited the channel before. So though we (the What Now/Beyond the Temple community) didn’t manage to root abuse out of the Tibetan Buddhist religion, all those videos I did – inspired by our discussions and processing – and all the work we did as a community on this website is playing a very important role in helping people who are suffering through what we went through. They are finding a wealth of material to help them through their recovery.

And people looking into Tibetan Buddhism as a possible path are finding out about the underbelly of the religion, so they don’t go into it with their eyes closed. That’s the good news. And I find it quite inspiring.

Time to catch up?

During the process of my grovelling around the back end of the YouTube Channel, I came upon an Inspiration tab, where it suggests topics you could talk about that your audience might be interested in, and I was amazed at the suggestions because they were all topics I was very interested in. Topics related to taking control of your own spiritual path, reawakening spiritual agency after leaving a cult, that kind of thing. And it made me realise that even though we’re not talking about the abuse anymore (as a community), and most of us don’t want to – as far as I can tell – the effects of guru betrayal never leave us and they affect the way we approach our spiritual path going forward. And the desire to walk our own path under our own agency has challenges that I haven’t talked about, even though I have experienced and reflected on them a lot.

Maybe it’s just because 9 years have passed, but I feel it’s time to catch up. Maybe I do have more to offer this community? Maybe I don’t, but inspiration has called, so here I am.

Finding the island

Part of the process of re-evaluation was asking myself what the channel and this site was really all about, and it brought me back to the quote from the Buddha that is on the front page of this website, the advice that many of us turned to to guide our journey beyond the temple:

“Dwell with yourself as your own island, with yourself as your own refuge, take no other refuge. Take the Dhamma as your island, take the Dhamma as your refuge, take no other refuge. “– The Buddha, Mahāparinibbāna Sutta.

Following that advice was all I had when I gave up Buddhism, and following it has been – and still is – challenging. I’ve come to realise that life really is about the journey, not a destination like enlightenment – or finding my own island even – it’s about life unfolding every moment in whatever way it does. And all those challenges? They’re the juicy parts. And I reflect on various aspects of that often – little things that come to me here and there. But I haven’t shared my reflections with you. Now I wonder if maybe, just maybe, the challenges of walking our own path are the bridge between those who are still in the shock phase of their spiritual abuse discovery/recovery and those of us for whom that shock has faded into the past.

If that’s the case, then I can breathe new life into the channel, and new life will mean that those old videos will get to more people, and I really want to make sure that as many people are forewarned as possible, and that those reeling from abuse can know that they’re not alone. I can’t offer individual support, but everything I would say to them is conveniently written in a book that they can work through in their own time.

Anyway, that’s where I’m at, so expect a few more videos coming your way. The video I posted today is about where Beyond the Temple came from and where it’s going.

What does being ‘an island unto yourself’ look like for you today? I’d love to hear where you are in your own process of moving beyond the temple.

November 28, 2025November 27, 2025

Why Tibetan Lamas Need Psychotherapy: Vajrayana, Dzogchen, and the Unconscious Mind

I’ve posted another video on You Tube. This one explores whether Vajrayana Buddhism truly addresses the core unconscious patterns that drive human behaviour. I consider how the Jungian psychotherapy concept of the unconscious mind relates to the Sambogakaya realm in Buddhist philosophy and how Jungian active imagination techniques can complement Vajrayana practices to address unresolved trauma and uncover unconscious drivers of our behaviour. I highlight the intersection of Buddhist philosophy and Jungian psychology and how they can work together in healing trauma, questioning if meditation alone can resolve deep-seated issues. And I relate Jungian work with the unconscious mind to the Buddhist concept of the 4 obscurations.

Transcript below.

Tibetan Buddhism, particularly Vajrayana and Dzogchen, claims to address all aspects of the mind, but does it truly tackle the unconscious patterns that drive human behaviour? This post explore how psychotherapy could complement Vajrayana practices to address unresolved trauma and unconscious habits.

When I was studying Vajrayana and Dzogchen, the lamas made it clear: you didn’t need anything else. Sitting in the nature of mind would solve all your problems and eventually lead to enlightenment. Psychotherapy? Dismissed. The Tibetan Buddhist view was that Westerners were just rolling around in their childhood garbage, never moving forward.

Now, I’ll admit, there’s some truth to that criticism. Psychotherapy can sometimes feel like an endless loop of rehashing the past. But the idea that Tibetan Buddhism alone solves all problems? That’s naïve. The abusive behaviour of some of the lamas show us quite clearly that Tibetan Buddhist practice alone does not an enlightened being make. It might have been enough in traditional Tibetan society, where rituals and cultural practices might have addressed trauma in ways we don’t understand. But it’s clearly not working well enough in today’s world.

Why Vajrayana Falls Short

Vajrayana practices like the Vajrasattva healing practice are designed to clear out negative karma and unconscious patterns. In theory, this should help practitioners realise Dzogchen—the nature of mind. But in practice, it often doesn’t.

Clearly Vajrayana doesn’t stop lamas from being psychologically unsound human beings. Why? Because as it’s practiced today, it doesn’t address the hidden drivers in the unconscious mind. It doesn’t encourage one to look at the contents of our mind – be it conscious or unconscious – rather it encourages students to bypass it. We see this in lamas who can transmit profound teachings while being abusive or deeply flawed in their personal lives. They may access the nature of mind during meditation, but their unresolved unconscious patterns remain active and dictate their everyday behaviour. And that’s where I think Jung’s work on the unconscious mind comes in.

Jung’s Unconscious Mind and the Sambhogakāya

Jung’s concept of the unconscious mind aligns remarkably well with the Tibetan Buddhist idea of the Sambhogakāya—the realm of thoughts, dreams, imagination, and creativity. In Tibetan Buddhism, the Sambhogakāya is one of three realms, levels or bodies of existence:

1. Nirmanakaya: Physical reality.

2. Sambhogakāya: The imaginative realm.

3. Dharmakaya: The luminous, formless nature of reality.

The Sambhogakāya, where deities, dreams and fantasies reside, is strikingly similar to Jung’s unconscious mind, which is a repository of symbols, archetypes, and shadow figures that drive human behaviour. Think of the Tibetan deities, are they not symbols, archetypes and shadow figures? And they relate particularly strongly to Jung’s idea of a collective unconscious, a universal reservoir of innate, primordial images and patterns—called archetypes— that are shared by all human beings across cultures and generations.

Jung believed that the collective unconscious level of mind profoundly influences human experience and psychological development. Vajrayana works on the same premise. For instance the teachings say that deity practice purifies the practitioner’s karma. Jungian psychologists would say that working with the unconscious mind heals emotional wounds and trauma. So they’re both essentially trying to do the same thing – which is to clear out the mental junk that stops one being a fully integrated human being (in Jungian terms) or one ready for Dzogchen or Mahamudra practice in Vajrayana terms.

The flaw in Vajrayana, at least as it’s commonly taught today, is that it doesn’t work specifically with an individual’s psychological issues. It’s all rather generic, and therefore not nearly as powerful as it could be. If you don’t know what you’re trying to wash away with Vajrasattva’s nectar flow, it’s not nearly as effective as it would be if you knew exactly what you need to work with.

Jung believed that the unconscious mind communicates through symbols and images, which can be explored through dreams, active imagination, and creative expression. Engaging with and interpreting these symbolic messages gives us insight into our unconscious motivations and conflicts so we can become a fully integrated human being, no longer driven by unconscious elements of our psyche. Through creative methods like active imagination and art therapy, we can unravel the patterns that trap us, the emotions, habits, karma and concepts that keep us stuck. Just like the Buddhist four obscurations: emotional, habitual, karmic and conceptual.

Jung’s system of thought, however, does not transcend mind as Buddhism does – it doesn’t go that far – but it does give us ways to work with the unconscious aspects of our mind at the Sambogakaya level where they can be used as a foundation for more effective Vajrayana practice.

We’ve all had those moments in meditation where everything opens up, and we glimpse the nature of mind. But staying there? That’s another story. Until we deal with the unconscious patterns driving us, we’ll keep flipping back into our old ways.

Tibetan Buddhism has incredible tools, but it’s not enough on its own. Psychotherapy could fill the gaps, helping practitioners truly clear out the unconscious mind and move forward.

Knowing Your Patterns Before Vajrayana

Imagine starting a Vajrayana practice, like Vajrasattva, with a clear understanding of your unconscious patterns. What if you already knew the trauma and repetitive behaviours shaping your life? Maybe you’ve rooted these out through Jungian techniques or other methods. You’ve identified the situations that caused your trauma, recognised the beliefs and behaviours that stemmed from it, and seen how they’ve impacted your physical reality.

With that awareness, your Vajrasattva practice could become incredibly specific. Instead of vaguely clearing karma for “bad things” you’ve done, you’d be addressing the root causes of those actions. You’d be actively working on the patterns driving your behaviour.

Trauma, Psychotherapy, and Vajrayana

When I did the 100,000 recitations of Vajrasattva, I did actively work with the habitual patterns I knew about, but it wasn’t until I started using Jung’s active imagination techniques (intuitively at first) that I uncovered deeper layers.

In Jungian terms, our unconscious minds hold patterns that direct our actions and reactions. These patterns often stem from past trauma and manifest as habitual responses in the present.

I discovered the truth of this when I worked with a psychologist after experiencing bursts of anger that seemed disproportionate to the present situation. She explained these as trauma reactions—responses rooted in the past, not the present. I looked back over my childhood and began to see patterns I hadn’t recognised before. With her help, I located the causes and began addressing them. Once you’ve done this kind of introspective work, Vajrayana practices can target those patterns directly, working on the same level where they exist. That makes them incredibly powerful.

When you’re aware of these patterns, Vajrasattva’s cleansing light can actively break through them. This is where Vajrayana has so much potential but can easily fall short. There’s no emphasis on personal introspection that could bring them to light. Any issues we may have are supposed to just dissolve in an open, aware state. And while they might fall away temporarily, they’ll always pull you back unless you’ve dealt with them.

You can’t stay in a state of pure awareness if unresolved psychological issues are dragging you down. That’s why I see the work I do with therapeutic art as so important. It helps uncover those hidden aspects of ourselves so we can minimise the impact of past trauma.

How Dzogchen Fits In

So how does Dzogchen relate to all this?

Vajrayana is supposed to clear the psychological obscurations holding you back from recognising Dzogchen. It works on the level of the unconscious mind, addressing karmic, emotional, habitual, and cognitive obscurations. Psychotherapy aims to do the same – though the therapist won’t see it in those terms – and when you’re aware of your psychological drivers and patterns, you have something specific to work with in Vajrayana, and then it becomes particularly effective at cutting through those barriers and allowing you to experience the fullness of the Dharmakaya in Dzogchen practice. This is why those abusive lamas need psychotherapy. They need to be aware of their own issues, so they can do Vajrayana practice in a very specific personally targeted way.

And it’s also why my forays into active imagination and introspective art therapy aren’t a diversion or a distraction from my spiritual practice. Rather, they’re a way of making the practice more powerful because I know exactly what I need to work with when I practice Vajrayana.

An Invitation

If you like the idea of investigating the parts of yourself that vajrayana ignored or you’d just like to follow my personal journey, then pick up my latest book Psychemagination: Into the Underworld. It combines my personal reflections and artwork with introspective art exercises designed to help you get to know what’s hiding in your own unconscious mind.

And subscribe to my Psychemagination channel to get my inspirational video art and chats about introspective art, imaginative meditation and living a fulfilling neurodivergent life.

Psychemagination: Into the Underworld