Author: Dr. Jay Forrest

Reincarnation, or rebirth as Buddhists call it, is the idea that consciousness goes from one incarnation to another until it reaches Nirvana. Versions of this view were taught by Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato, Gotama Buddha, Mahavira, Śāṅkara, Plotinus, and a number of modern thinkers. There are in fact good reasons to believe that some such process is true.

The first is the fact that many people experience déjà vu. We sometimes feel we have lived through a moment before in exactly the same way. This could be interpreted as a residual impression from a previous life.

We also know that there is spiritual energy and physical energy. And we know that physical energy is neither created nor destroyed, according to the first law of thermodynamics. If physical energy is neither created nor destroyed, why would spiritual energy be any different? It is neither created nor destroyed, but transmigrates from one incarnation to another.

Near-death experiences also give evidence that there is an afterlife, and many of these suggest that the good we do in this life follows us into the next.

Finally, there are children who remember their previous lives. Scientists have studied this and argued that there is no good explanation except that they actually did reincarnate.

The cure for self-indulgence is self-discipline. But we do not like discipline. Asceticism is a bad word, and those who recommend it are seen as killjoys.

We live in the most self-indulgent time in world history, and I live in one of the most self-indulgent countries in the world: the United States. We seek comfort, pleasure, and indulgence in all kinds of entertainment. We even make a sport of seeing how much food we can fit in our bellies at all-you-can-eat buffets.

So when I suggest self-discipline, it goes against the grain. The truth is that the self has become our god, and we are enslaved to it. Whatever the self wants, we give it—which is the worst possible thing we can do.

We must deny ourselves and take up our cross. That means we must die to the self. The ego is not a friend but an enemy—a harsh master that destroys our lives and harms those around us. We must resist the ego. We must put it to death. It is the only way to live a spiritual life.

Many of us struggle with our weight. Unfortunately, the food that is available today lacks nutrition but is loaded with calories. It’s engineered to be addictive.

Let’s face it, overeating is one of the hardest addictions to overcome, first of all because you can’t go cold turkey. You have to eat. The key is to eat to live, and not live to eat.

Another problem is that we don’t like to be uncomfortable. And hunger is uncomfortable. Unfortunately, there’s no other way but to embrace the discomfort. The fact is, if you’re not hungry, you’re not in a deficit.

Detach from hunger; let it pass like a cloud. I eat two vegetarian meals a day, and fast between meals. This is called intermittent fasting. The key is not to snack between meals. If you feel hungry, drink some water. Many times we mistake thirst for hunger. And most importantly, if it’s not healthy, don’t eat it.

As always, consult a doctor before starting any weight loss plan.

The path begins with awakening: a break from ordinary, unconscious living. One glimpses the One and senses a fundamental shift. Life is no longer lived on autopilot. Something deeper has been seen, and the journey begins.

Purification follows as a process of inner development. This is not moralism, but alignment: stabilizing attention, reducing craving, and loosening rigid patterns of self. The inner life becomes simpler, clearer, and more intentional.

From this groundwork emerges contemplation. As the mind quiets and refines, resonance with the One deepens. Insight, unity, compassion, and clarity arise—not as external rewards, but as natural expressions of attunement.

Finally, union marks a transformation in how life is lived. It is not an escape from the world, but a new way of being within it. Awareness becomes stable, the sense of self grows transparent, and action flows from a deeper source. The One is no longer something glimpsed, but something lived.

This path is solitary not because others are absent, but because it must be walked directly. No institution or system can substitute for the work itself. The movement is inward, developmental, and ultimately transformative.

The Buddha divided mind-body processes into five heaps or aggregates. These are simple descriptions of experience that can serve as pointers for investigation.

The system begins with Form (rūpa), the domain of physical reality and sensory input. Valence (vedanā) refines “feeling” into affective tone—pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. Perception (saññā) involves recognition and labeling, organizing raw input into meaning.

Dispositional formations (saṅkhārā) include both volitional and cognitive elements, but are linked to choice and karma. They are the thinking and choosing that become our dispositions, habits, and programming. Consciousness (viññāṇa) is awareness of oneself and the world.

Cognition, memory, attention, and conscience are not listed separately; they likely fall within dispositional formations. Remember, these are not five faculties but five groups of processes.

We face a meaning crisis because our inherited map no longer matches reality. Scientific discovery, historical criticism, and philosophical analysis have steadily eroded the credibility of the Christian worldview that once grounded Western civilization. As that foundation weakens, a deeper problem emerges: not just loss of faith, but lack of viable alternatives.

As John Vervaeke suggests, the solution is not a return to what has already failed. Without a new framework—a “sacred canopy”—the spread of meaninglessness will continue. We find ourselves disoriented, like travelers without a map.

So what remains? The responsibility shifts to the individual. In an age where institutions often fail or betray their ideals, spiritual life becomes a personal task. This is the solitary path: not isolation for its own sake, but the recognition that meaning must be cultivated inwardly and lived deliberately.

The “spiritual but not religious” intuition points in this direction. The seeker must take up the work directly, confronting existence without guarantees. One must become spiritually alive first—only then can one genuinely serve others. In a disenchanted world, the path forward is not given. It must be forged.