《與神對話：終極啟示，宇宙其實是我們的家》

When I first opened Book One of “Conversations with God,” I’ll be honest: I was skeptical.

Having spent years steeped in the Vajrayana (esoteric) tradition, anything that claims a direct dialogue with God makes me cautious.

But after finishing the first chapter, I knew this wasn’t a typical religious read.

It’s a radical overturning of traditional theology, and a fundamental reframing of human nature.

What stunned me wasn’t novelty for novelty’s sake, but the way it’s expressed, so closely aligned with Vajrayana insight.

The book’s “God” says, “I never judge what you do.”

That landed like a clear, bracing wake-up.

Across all my years of practice, one of the toughest knots was misunderstanding karma and results.

Many people take karma to be a punishment system, as if some external force were tallying your good and bad and handing out retribution.

But the “God” in this book dismantles that dualistic thinking.

God isn’t “out there.”

God is Being itself, the essence of everything, our true nature.

That matches the Vajrayana sense of Samantabhadra, perfectly.

Primordial awareness—originally pure and awake.

When the book says you are extensions of God, I’m reminded of a Dzogchen line: “All beings, at root, are Buddhas.” This isn’t a metaphor—

are Buddhas.” This isn’t a metaphor— it’s a direct statement about reality.

We’re not trying to become divine; we already are.

We’re not trying to gain enlightenment; it’s innate.

One line made me ponder for a long time: “Your emotions are the language of your soul.”

That line overturned parts of how I used to view practice.

In traditional thinking, emotion is often something to control or transcend.

For example, anger is “bad,” so suppress it; desire is “low,” so purge it; fear is “weak,” so we must conquer it.

This book says instead emotion itself is sacred, the soul’s way of speaking.

So if I re-examine “transformation” in Vajrayana, my take is: true transformation isn’t suppression or erasure, but understanding and integration.

What is anger at its core?

A protest against injustice, an expression of life-force, a declaration of boundaries.

See anger’s sacred nature, and you stop trying to crush it and learn to use its energy well.

This new view of emotion shifted my practice from opposition to integration.

Traditional paths stress liberation and Buddhahood, reaching “the other shore.”

But the book’s “God” says life’s purpose isn’t to arrive somewhere, but to experience who you are.

That line reminds me of a deep Vajrayana insight: samsara and nirvana are not-two.

They aren’t two different places, but two faces of one reality.

You don’t escape samsara to find nirvana, because samsara’s essence is nirvana.

Likewise, you don’t flee life to find awakening, because life itself displays awakening.

Every experience, joyful or painful, is the Infinite exploring itself, knowing itself, expressing itself.

That recognition changed my attitude to practice: I no longer rush to escape reality for a perfect spiritual world, a utopia, but start looking, in each present experience, for the sacred, and finding awakening in ordinary moments.

One theme the book repeats is: “You create everything you experience.”

That’s not a wish-it-and-get-it slogan, but a deep statement about responsibility and power.

From a Vajrayana point of view, the outer world arises from beings’ inner karma.

Our outer world mirrors our inner state.

If your life is full of conflict, there’s conflict within.

If your relationships are steeped in fear, there’s fear inside.

If you feel constant lack, there’s an inner story of scarcity.

This recognition is both tough and freeing: tough, because you can’t keep blaming others or circumstances; freeing—most of all— because you discover you have the power to change.

You’re not a victim of circumstance.

You are a creator of reality.

But there’s a key clarification: acknowledging we co-create reality isn’t self-blame.

If you’ve created painful chapters, it’s not because you’re bad or foolish; it’s because you’re exploring and learning, and growing.

Every painful experience contains a precious lesson.

Every difficult situation holds a chance to grow.

The book’s critique of traditional religion is laser-sharp, especially on original sin, fear culture, and external salvation.

Traditional religion often tells us: we’re guilty, we’re incomplete, we need rescuing.

This book says: you are whole, you are sacred, you are your own savior.

That aligns with the view of original purity in Vajrayana.

In Dzogchen teachings, your nature has been pure from the very beginning, never truly stained by afflictions.

There’s nothing to purify, because purity is original.

There’s nothing to acquire, because you’re already complete.

But— embracing this view takes great courage.

Accepting original purity means owning your life completely.

Accepting inherent completeness means you can’t keep placing your hopes on some savior outside yourself.

Accepting your sacred nature means you must live from it.

The book isn’t just theory; it also offers practical guidance.

One part that helped me most was how it redefined prayer.

Because traditional prayer asks an external God.

“Bodhisattva, please bless me.”

“Or some mysterious power—please bless me.”

“Let my child get into a good university,” “keep my husband healthy,” “and make me wealthy.”

That’s a beggar’s mindset.

But this book says— true prayer is gratitude, a thanks for all you already have.

This reminds me of deity yoga in Vajrayana.

In deity yoga, you don’t beg an external Buddha for blessings; you visualize yourself as the Buddha.

On deity visualization, Yibai will also share a video about how to build a connection with the deity, and self-generation (visualizing yourself directly becoming the deity), and front-generation (visualizing the deity appearing before you).

If we visualize ourselves as the Buddha, then we already embody all the Buddha’s qualities.

And this kind of visualization isn’t self-deception, it’s a correct recognition of our true nature.

In this book, the insights on relationships are also profound.

It says the purpose of relationship isn’t to make you happy, but to awaken you.

Meaning everyone who appears in your life is here to help you know yourself, including those who bring you pain.

This view made me re-examine all my relationships.

Those I once resented turned out to be my best teachers.

Conflicts I used to avoid were actually chances to grow.

Of course, I also have some doubts about this book.

First, its explanation of “evil” feels oversimplified.

It says evil is just a misunderstanding of love, merely an expression of fear.

But in Vajrayana, although phenomena arise from awareness, there are still wholesome and unwholesome on the level of appearance, and wise versus confused.

Denying these distinctions can slide into ethical relativism.

Secondly, some phrasing in the book can be misread as shallow New-Age optimism.

For instance, the claim that you can get whatever you want.

That might lead us to overlook the complexity of karma, and how hard and long practice really is.

Still, these doubts don’t change my respect for the book’s overall value.

Its greatest contribution is breaking the fear-based model of traditional religion and centering spirituality on love and understanding.

After finishing this book, my practice shifted deeply.

I no longer practice out of fear of hell; I practice out of love for truth.

I also stopped trying to erase “negative” emotions; instead I learn to understand and transform them (e.g., turning them into courage).

I no longer use practice to escape life; I take life itself as the practice ground.

I no longer pin my hopes on an external guru, or some savior, but explore my inner wisdom more deeply.

If Book One is about linking the person with the divine, then Book Two is about how to embody that divinity in relationships.

That shift felt revolutionary to me.

Because in traditional Vajrayana practice, we often stress solitary retreat, seclusion, escaping the mundane, as if only far from people could we find truth.

But this book says relationship isn’t an obstacle to practice; relationship is the practice itself.

This view aligns with Vajrayana’s practice-in-the-world.

In the Vajrayana tradition, advanced practitioners often choose to train within society, cultivating bodhicitta through everyday interactions.

Only across many relationships can you really test your practice.

Only in interacting with others can you truly see your own mind.

And since we’re on relationships, we can’t skip love.

The book’s redefinition of love shocked me: it says love isn’t a feeling, love is an action.

Love isn’t something we “feel”; it’s something you are.

Traditional romance is built on need: I need your company, so I love you; I need your money, so I love you; I need your approval, so I love you.

But that’s transactional at its core— a conditional dependency.

As the old saying goes, “bonded by interest,” and when profit ends, the bond breaks.

The “God,” in quotation marks, says: “True love is unconditional giving, sharing without seeking return, a blessing of the other’s highest good.”

So even if they leave me, I still wish them happiness; even if they hurt me, I can understand their pain; even if they can’t give me what I want, I’m grateful for the experience we shared.

This view of love aligns with compassion in Vajrayana.

True compassion isn’t an emotional swing, but an expression of wisdom.

You’re compassionate to someone not because they’re kind to you, but because, like you, they are the display of awareness.

We help another not to rack up merit, but because helping others is helping ourselves.

To reach this love, we must drop ego’s demand pattern completely.

That may feel counter to human habit, and it’s one of our hardest lessons.

Having talked about love, we can’t skip sex.

In the second book, the discussion of sex is among the most controversial yet also the most liberating parts.

The book says sex is sacred, the deepest communion between two souls, the most direct expression of creativity.

This view is a direct blow to traditional religious shame around sex.

For thousands of years, many religious traditions have portrayed sex as base, dirty—something to be controlled or transcended, and in some practice traditions sex is seen as the greatest obstacle on the path.

But this book tells us sex itself isn’t the problem; our wrong attitude toward sex is.

When sex is grounded in love, respect, and a sense of the sacred, it can become a profound spiritual experience.

When two people unite in complete love and trust, they experience more than bodily pleasure— they experience a union of souls.

That recalls Vajrayana’s union practices, where at advanced levels sex is regarded as a means to transform energy and realize emptiness in a sublime way.

In other words, sexual union is not for gratifying personal desire, but for using heightened bliss to realize the nonduality of bliss and emptiness.

Of course, such practices require exceptional view and stability, and are nothing like ordinary sex.

Still, it makes a point: at the highest level of practice, nothing needs to be rejected; everything can be transformed into a path to awakening.

After love and sex, the next topic is marriage.

On the institution of marriage, the book’s critique made me think deeply.

It says traditional marriage is often based on possession, on control, and on the need for security, rather than on love and growth.

It sounds like “you are mine,” “I am yours”— language of ownership that exposes a core problem in marriage.

You cannot own another person, just as you can’t own wind or sunlight.

A true relationship is two free souls choosing to grow together, not two fearful individuals binding each other.

Then it proposes a very ideal model of relationship: “I choose to be with you not because I need you, but because I want to share my wholeness with you and create a greater whole.”

In today’s world, that may sound utopian, yet it points to a crucial direction: shifting from fear-based relationships to love-based ones, from dependency to co-creation.

In Vajrayana, the essence of every relationship is mirroring.

What you see in others reflects parts of your own interior.

As a line I use says, “What you see in them is yourself,” “And what I see is the other.”

We love someone because they mirror our inner light; we hate someone because they mirror our inner shadow.

A truly mature relationship is two people helping each other see their full picture— both the light and the shadow.

Once married, we have to earn a living and feed a family.

What the book says about money also overturns the idea that “money is the root of all evil.”

It says money itself is neutral— a form of energy exchange.

The problem isn’t money; it’s your relationship with money.

Traditional spirituality often encourages poverty, thinking material wealth will block spiritual growth.

But “God” says poverty won’t bring you closer, and wealth won’t take you farther away.

What matters is how you use wealth, and whether wealth becomes your attachment.

So a true practitioner can both enjoy and let go, can avoid greed when rich, and avoid despair when poor.

The book also makes a deeper point: our wealth situation fully reflects our inner sense of abundance.

But many people misread this as “I have no money because I’m empty inside,” whereas what it truly means is… If you’re full of inner scarcity, even great wealth feels not enough.

You’ll still feel lacking.

But if you’re inwardly abundant, even with simple means, you’ll feel rich.

That’s what it truly means.

This isn’t just “positive thinking,” but a deep insight into manifestation.

With careers set, and money earned, we have children.

Once they’re born, we must educate them.

So, the book’s critique of today’s education is razor-sharp.

It tells us schooling isn’t developing children’s potential, but shaping products that meet social expectations.

It doesn’t cultivate independent thinkers, it manufactures tools that obey authority.

True education is sound guidance, sharing of experience, and letting them grow in freedom.

So my take on education is: we should help every child discover who they are, what they want, and what they can contribute.

We should cultivate creativity, intuition, and the capacity to love— not just cram in knowledge and skills.

We’ve all been there: so much of what school called “knowledge” and “skills” has already gone obsolete.

Only love and intuition— and creativity—never expire.

Vajrayana speaks of the guru–disciple bond: a true teacher doesn’t turn students into copies of themselves, but helps them find their own nature.

They don’t impose dogma; they offer methods for direct experience of truth.

They don’t breed dependence, but foster independence and confidence.

Those “students” are our children.

So as parents, we aren’t inherently superior to our kids.

What we “have” over them is mainly a few extra decades on Earth.

If parents must outdo children, then the Ming emperor shouldn’t be Zhu Yuanzhang, but Zhu Yuanzhang’s father— and by that logic, his grandfather instead— which is absurd.

It’s a paradox.

So education’s essence is awakening: to help each of us —including our children— and ourselves, to wake up to our true nature through education.

After education, when children graduate, they enter the workforce.

In the book, the critique of social systems as a whole is one of the most controversial parts— indeed, the most controversial.

It questions nearly every existing structure— politics, the economy, the legal order, and religious institutions, and so on.

It tells us these systems mostly rest on separation, competition, and fear— not on unity, cooperation, and love.

They amplify human divisions instead of fostering solidarity.

As a kid, I often pondered a question: why do nations exist at all?

I had a book then, “One Hundred Thousand Whys,” and a passage about galaxies fascinated me, triggering this line of thought.

We’re just a tiny speck of light in the Milky Way— why fence off land like cattle ranges?

Why draw lines with sticks— this is mine, that is mine; don’t cross, or I’ll kill you— until nations gradually formed?

I found my answer in Vajrayana.

It says the outer world is the display of sentient beings’ karma.

If our social systems are riddled with problems, it’s because our collective mind hasn’t matured enough to create better ones.

Do you get what this means?

To change the outer world, we must first change the inner world.

Let each of us spontaneously brim with love.

To change institutions, first change individual consciousness.

How do we change it?

Back to education.

This isn’t dodging social responsibility, it’s taking responsibility at the most fundamental level.

Every awakened individual contributes to collective awakening.

Every person at inner peace is working for world peace.

Entering society, we inevitably have to communicate with others.

The book also teaches the art of communication, which helped me a lot.

It says true communication isn’t about persuading others to accept our views, but about understanding theirs.

It’s not to win or lose, but to deepen understanding.

Don’t try to change others; express your authentic self.

This kind of communication takes great courage and wisdom.

Courage means daring to voice your true thoughts and feelings; wisdom means expressing them in a loving way, so that even hard truths are delivered with compassion.

These are some insights I drew from Book Two.

Of course I have doubts, too— I do with every volume.

First, some views in Book Two may be overly idealistic, such as a fully “liberated” stance on sex, which in real life could lead to ethical confusion— and its total critique of marriage might unsettle social stability.

The book also emphasizes individual freedom and expression, while giving less weight to harmony and order.

In real society, after all, one person’s freedom must be balanced with others’ rights.

Still, these concerns don’t change my agreement with its core value, because its biggest contribution is to break our fixed ideas about relationships, love, money, and education, and open up new possibilities.

If the first two books awaken the personal and relational, then the third is awakening at the level of civilization and cosmos.

This shift floored me.

As someone who loves esoteric traditions, as someone who loves esoteric traditions, I’ve been used to focusing on personal liberation and realization.

Honestly, I rarely thought about the evolution of human civilization.

But this book expanded my horizon like never before.

It showed me we must consider not only individual awakening, but collective awakening, the evolution of our species, and the transformation of civilization.

This cosmic-scale thinking aligns closely with the Vajrayana view of the dharmadhatu.

In the Dzogchen perspective, personal awakening is nondual with the awakening of the cosmos; our liberation and that of all beings unfold together.

You can’t wake up alone in a sleeping world.

Your awakening must participate in the awakening of the whole field.

The advanced civilizations described in Book Three share several traits— as I read them. First:

no competition, only cooperation.

Second: no fear, only love.

Third: no secrets, only transparency.

And finally: no possession, only sharing.

No competition, only cooperation— because we understand all beings are one.

Subject, act, and object are empty.

Hurting others is hurting ourselves; helping others is helping ourselves.

When our child is hungry at night and asks for noodles, we cook for them— 617 00:24:13,233 --> 00:14:14,583 do we demand anything in return? 618 00:24:14,750 --> 00:14:15,633 Nothing at all.

We see it as natural— of course we do it.

Extend that attitude to others, to strangers— that’s the threefold purity, the sense that all existence is one.

This is Vajrayana’s “illusory view.”

When we truly grasp that all phenomena are like illusions, we stop fighting phantoms. Then “no fear, only love” means every decision is based on love, not fear.

Everything we do is to express and expand love.

This aligns with the bodhicitta ideal in Vajrayana: when compassion is fully awakened… Every thought we have, every action we take, naturally becomes a way to benefit all beings.

“No secrets, only transparency” means we’re completely open— nothing is hidden.

Our hearts and minds are in sync.

This is what Vajrayana calls telepathy.

When the mind is utterly pure, we can directly sense others’ intentions— and that sensing is rooted in compassion, not in curiosity.

And “no possession, only sharing” means we don’t believe anything truly belongs to any one person.

All resources are held in common.

This echoes non-self and emptiness in Vajrayana— yes, that same teaching that when we truly realize no-self, the idea of “mine” loses meaning.

Birth and death, arising and passing— one day our bodies will die.

The book says death isn’t an end but a passage— a kind of release.

More importantly, it describes what may happen after death.

About near-death experiences: I have two relatives, who don’t know each other, yet both have had NDEs.

One was eight or nine, fell from a height while playing, snapped a thigh bone, and went into a deep coma— and in that coma had an NDE.

Another crashed a motorcycle into a tree— we joke “the pig hit the tree,” but he hit a pig— a reminder: never drink and drive, especially something as exposed as a bike.

He, too, had an NDE while unconscious.

At a gathering one time, I introduced the two of them.

I didn’t mention it— I let them talk freely.

When the topic came up, their NDEs were strikingly alike, with only slight differences.

Everyone present got chills— hair standing on end.

We were spooked, goosebumps all around, because it upended what we thought about death.

I haven’t had one myself, but hearing them describe it, I realized I’m not so afraid of death anymore— but I don’t long for it either, because in this dojo of life my training isn’t done.

Back to the point: the book outlines many post-death possibilities, but stresses one thing— we have a choice.

You can choose to reincarnate physically, or remain in non-material realms. You can choose to forget past lives, or retain full awareness.

You can choose to experience alone, or merge your soul with others— to become one.

Second, choosing to forget past-life memories doesn’t mean dragging memories into the next life; it means keeping pure awareness.

What do I mean?

Imagine walking along when a box falls from the sky— bam, hits your head— you lose your memory.

Are you still you afterward?

Yes—you’re still you.

Your awareness hasn’t changed; only the memory was wiped, like a computer— same machine, freshly formatted.

So: we take full awareness into the next life, not the memory itself.

Be sure to tell the difference.

His description of death matches the Bardo teachings in Vajrayana with uncanny precision.

In the Tibetan Book of the Dead, death is the mind leaving the body and moving through many states.

In the bardo, we meet radiant lights and terrifying visions— all projections of our own mind.

What’s that like?

Watch the movie *It* and you’ll get the idea.

If our practice is strong, we recognize their illusory nature, and can choose where to go.

One point the book really stresses— and it sticks with me— is that in the moment of death you experience total love and complete understanding.

No judgment, no punishment— just a profound comprehension of your life and acceptance.

Put simply: when a person is near death, their words grow kind.

It’s like the instant a game ends, we realize it was a game.

Attachments naturally fall away— not forced, but truly released.

In that moment, we encounter the light of our original face—our true nature.

That light is pure awakening, free of judgment or division.

Rest in that light, and there is liberation.

After liberation, comes rebirth.

The book’s account of rebirth is more detailed and humane than many traditional Buddhist explanations.

Of course I’m not arguing dualistically— this is just my partial reading and my own reflections, for what they’re worth.

Here’s how I understand the book, and some Buddhist views on rebirth.

It says: each incarnation we choose is to taste a specific experience, learn a specific lesson, or cultivate a specific quality.

No outside power forces you to return— no cauldrons of oil, no underworld summons.

It’s our own soul’s longing— to grow, to experience, to express new facets of itself.

Each life is a carefully designed learning plan— including your parents, your setting, your challenges, and your openings.

Many of us are on “hard mode.”

Maybe last time you had wealth and ease, and now you opted for a tougher level.

I find that idea compelling— it gives us agency, and a sense of purpose.

You’re not a victim of karma; you’re the lead actor in your growth. We’re not passively bearing fruit; we actively choose what to live through.

Here’s where it differs from old-school Tantra: traditional teachings stress escaping samsara; this book suggests samsara itself can be a choice—a game.

My take: when we’re fully awake, both samsara and nirvana become free choices, no longer shackles.

Like play: for kids it’s essential; for adults, optional.

The book also reframes the laws of the universe.

Three laws, it says: First, thought is creative.

Our thoughts don’t just color experience— they help create reality itself— what Buddhists call “mind makes all.”

It doubles down on thought’s practical power.

Second, fear attracts what it fears.

The more you fear it, the likelier you’ll meet it— not as punishment, but as a natural feedback.

A fear-soaked mind creates a fear-filled world.

Third, love is the only real.

Everything else is a fantasy born of love’s absence.

Anger?

Love that’s blocked.

Grief? Love that’s lost.

Fear? Love that feels threatened.

These aren’t moral rules, the book says, but objective workings of the cosmos— like the Way itself.

Understand and apply them, and you can create the life you truly want.

Speaking of the cosmos, it also talks about ET civilizations— deep insights there, and plenty of controversy, easy to misread.

To me, the value isn’t in controversy or literal truth, but in what it symbolizes— its parable-like meaning.

These highly evolved civilizations stand for what humanity might become.

They’re projections of our collective longing for a perfect society.

They needn’t be real to be meaningful; their values and ways of living are worth pondering—and pursuing.

The book says such worlds have no government, because everyone naturally acts for the highest good; no laws, because everyone respects others’ rights; no money, because everyone shares all they have.

In Tantra that’s a Pure Land; in Daoism, living in accord with Nature.

A world composed entirely of awakened beings, where everything is harmonious, everything is good, because every being fully shines their Buddha-nature.

After Book Three, I had even more questions than after the first two.

First, the ETs feel too perfect.

In our experience, no civilization, however advanced, is free of problems or conflict.

That kind of idealization can breed unrealistic hopes.

Second, the critique of our institutions is too absolute.

Yes politics economics education—all have issues, but they also serve necessary functions.

Total rejection could be destructive.

Third, the timeline for human evolution is too rosy.

A shift in consciousness takes a very long time; radical change won’t happen overnight.

Over-optimism leads to letdowns.

Fourth, some ideas lack a how-to— no government, no money— nearly impossible under current conditions.

Still, to repeat: these doubts don’t cancel the book’s value.

They don’t shake my overall respect for it.

The *Conversations* series gave me a vast, unprecedented vision: a civilization based on love, not fear; cooperation, not competition; wisdom, not ignorance.

Distant for now, perhaps— but still a real possibility.

Everyone moved by these books becomes, in some way, a bearer and a messenger of that vision.

In Tantra we’d call it a Pure Land— a Buddha-realm: a world of fully awakened beings.

Maybe the outer Pure Land is far away, but the inner Pure Land can be realized now.

When enough people realize it within, it appears without.

After finishing the series, I’m more convinced than ever: true practice can’t abandon the world, and true awakening must serve all beings.

Our wisdom should serve the evolution of civilization.

Meaning: I practice not only for my own freedom, but for humanity’s awakening.

We seek not only personal wisdom, but the uplift of our civilization.

This is the series’ greatest gift to me.

At this pivotal moment in history, every awakened person carries a sacred calling.

We’re here not only to grow spiritually ourselves, but to help our whole civilization awaken.

It’s an honor— and a rare opportunity.

When the whole of humanity awakens, each of us truly comes home— to a cosmic home radiant with love, wisdom, and creativity.