Between Worlds
The Turning Point of Perception
“We must return the whole world, everything that exists in the universe, to a single desire that would want to be together in its inanimate, vegetative, animate, and human manifestations. This is what we are moving toward now. We are at a turning point, at a pass.”
— Rav Michael Laitman, Daily Lesson 8/12/23, “The Importance of Faith that Is Always Present”
Between two worlds lies a trembling silence — a crossing so subtle that it cannot be measured by motion, nor described by time. It is the place where the corporeal perception begins to fade, but the spiritual perception has not yet fully dawned.
It is the boundary of existence where the senses that once defined reality lose their authority. The world, which until now was solid, structured, and understandable, begins to soften, blur, and dissolve — not because it disappears, but because the perceiver changes.
At this threshold, the seeker feels suspended between two realities. The old one, the corporeal world, is still felt through the body’s five senses. But its former vitality fades. The new one, the spiritual world, glimmers from afar — not as a physical space, but as a field of intentions, of connection, of inner resonance. The person stands between the two, stripped of certainty, carrying only yearning.
Rabash wrote:
“When one feels that the old world dies within him, and he has not yet received the new world, that is the time for prayer, for from this emptiness, the cry for true life is born.”
(Rabash, Article №12, “What Is ‘For Lack of the Lower One, the Upper One Has No Place to Dwell,’ in the Work”)
This is the moment between death and birth — a sacred interval in which the soul itself learns to breathe anew.
Leaving the Corporeal Perception
The corporeal world is grasped through my selfish desires. It is a filtered world, distorted through the prism of the ego, which absorbs everything only for itself.
“The world is grasped through my selfish desires when I absorb impressions and information through my five senses… Everything I feel passes through my egoistic filters.”
— Rav Michael Laitman, Daily Lesson 10/27/15
To live in corporeal perception is to live through separation — to interpret existence as something external, fragmented, distant. The self is a point surrounded by the “others” it either loves, hates, needs, or fears. Time, space, and movement define this experience; the clock ticks; the body ages; desire grows and fades.
But once a spark of the spiritual awakens — the “point in the heart” — a rift opens within. The seeker no longer feels satisfied with the mechanical motion of corporeal life. The senses that once seemed reliable begin to feel limited, dull. He still lives within the body, but its measures of pleasure and pain no longer suffice.
Baal HaSulam wrote:
“When the point in the heart awakens, man feels that this world cannot fill him. From that moment on, he is between heaven and earth, and his soul will not rest until it returns to its root.”
(Baal HaSulam, “Introduction to The Study of the Ten Sefirot,” Item 2)
In this state, every corporeal sensation still passes through, but something deeper begins to whisper: There is more.
Yet that “more” is not sensed. It hides behind the veil of perception. The seeker is drawn toward it but cannot yet step through. He begins to taste the sorrow of detachment — the sorrow of being aware that everything he has ever called “life” is incomplete, shallow, and fading.
The Emptiness Between Worlds
This in-between state is excruciatingly delicate. It is as though one’s inner scaffolding — one’s entire world of values, pleasures, and perceptions — is being dismantled, but nothing yet replaces it.
It feels like losing one’s footing, like hovering in air with no ground beneath and no sky above. The heart feels void, the intellect confused, the soul silent.
Rabash describes this moment:
“There is a state when one loses both worlds — the corporeal and the spiritual — and remains hanging in between. In that place, he can no longer rely on his reason, nor on his feelings, only on the Creator’s mercy.”
(Rabash, Letter №42)
This is the true meaning of faith above reason. The corporeal reason still pulls one back, whispering: “You are losing everything.” Yet faith — the subtle scent of the upper world — calls: “Let go.”
The seeker feels that the familiar world is dissolving but cannot yet perceive the new. The senses have not yet adapted to altruistic perception; the vessels are not yet corrected to bestowal. Thus, he walks in darkness, unsure if what awaits is revelation or annihilation.
The Pain of Disconnection and the Yearning for Oneness
At this juncture, the heart aches not from physical pain but from spiritual disconnection. One begins to feel the full measure of exile — not from a land, but from the Source of Life.
Baal HaSulam explains:
“The suffering of exile is the sensation of separation from the Creator, for the soul yearns for the One from which it came, but cannot cleave to Him because of the oppositeness of form.”
(Baal HaSulam, “Introduction to the Book of Zohar,” Item 68)
This yearning becomes the engine of ascent. The pain of separation transforms into the fuel of prayer. It is the hunger for adhesion that pushes the soul toward correction.
Here, in this twilight between worlds, the seeker learns what true deficiency is. It is not the lack of comfort or knowledge — it is the lack of resemblance to the Creator. The heart learns to crave selflessness, not as a moral ideal, but as oxygen.
Rabash writes:
“If I cannot feel the Creator, I feel that I am lifeless. The yearning to bestow is my only breath.”
(Rabash, Article №24, “The Importance of Prayer of Many”)
The Sensation of Timelessness
As the corporeal perception begins to fade, time itself starts to loosen its hold.
Time, which once seemed linear and constant, begins to feel fluid, elastic, and even irrelevant.
“Time is an internal, personal, psychological measure… I feel that time is always a lack of contentment. If the desire were realized at once, I would not feel time. This is called being above time.”
— Rav Michael Laitman, KabTV “A New Life,” 4/22/15
In the in-between state, moments stretch and collapse unpredictably. Days may feel like eternities; eternities like seconds. One begins to sense that “time” is not an external clock, but the rhythm of inner transformation — the oscillation between lack and fulfillment, concealment and revelation.
When desire and fulfillment unite — even for a moment — time disappears. When they separate again, time is born anew. Thus, in this passage between worlds, one begins to live in spiritual time — measured not by clocks, but by changes of form, by shifts in the soul’s alignment with bestowal.
The Edge of the Upper World
To enter the upper world is to step into an entirely different mode of perception. It is not another planet or dimension — it is a new relationship to reality.
In the corporeal perception, everything is “outside” of me; I am a receiver. In the spiritual perception, everything is “within” me; I am a giver. Reality itself does not change — I change.
“The connection between the two worlds is very simple: If I relate to everything egoistically, I feel the material world, and if I relate altruistically, I feel the upper world. This connection exists within me; I connect the two worlds.”
— Rav Michael Laitman, Daily Lesson 10/27/15
When this realization dawns, the seeker begins to feel the border as something alive — as a membrane between reception and bestowal, between “I” and “we,” between darkness and light.
He senses that beyond this thin veil lies a world of unity, where every thought, every intention, every vibration is harmonized into one system — the single, infinite desire of the Creator to bestow good.
And yet, he cannot yet dwell there. He stands at the threshold, trembling. His vessels still belong to the old world, but his soul already tastes the new.
The Moment of Crossing
How does one cross? Not by willpower, not by knowledge, not by effort alone — but by surrender.
The final step is not taken; it is received. It is not an achievement but a revelation — when the Creator opens the gate.
Baal HaSulam writes:
“The transition from reception to bestowal is the true miracle of creation. Man cannot perform it; only the Creator can turn nature inside out.”
(Baal HaSulam, “Preface to the Wisdom of Kabbalah,” Item 35)
Thus, the seeker’s task in the in-between state is to prepare — to purify intention, to deepen yearning, to connect with others, and to wait. The wait itself becomes the work. Every heartbeat becomes a plea: “Let me become like You.”
And when the inner vessels are ready, the transition happens suddenly, effortlessly, silently — like dawn breaking after a long night.
Rabash says:
“When the Creator gives the soul new eyes, he sees that the world has never changed; only the direction of his gaze did.”
(Rabash, Article №25, “What It Means that the World Was Created for the Torah”)
Living Between Two Worlds
Even after the first glimpse of the upper world, one continues to live in both realms. The body remains in the physical world, functioning among people, responsibilities, and routines. But the soul begins to dwell elsewhere — in the eternal movement of love and bestowal, beyond time and space.
This duality — living between two worlds — becomes the new reality of the Kabbalist.
“The corporeal world remains, but now it serves as a shadow of the spiritual. In both, he sees the same laws — only their garments differ.”
(Baal HaSulam, “Preface to the Wisdom of Kabbalah,” Item 50)
From this point, every action in the physical world becomes an opportunity to align with the spiritual. Every encounter becomes a mirror of the Creator’s will. Every friend, every obstacle, every sensation becomes a note in the symphony of connection.
Conclusion: The Point of Unity
Ultimately, the two worlds are not separate. They were never two, only perceived as such through distorted senses. The purpose of all development, of all this oscillation between concealment and revelation, is to merge them into one — to feel that the corporeal and the spiritual are expressions of a single reality: “There is none else besides Him.”
Baal HaSulam concludes:
“When one attains the equivalence of form with the Creator, the two worlds — upper and lower — unite in him, and he sees that there was never separation to begin with.”
(Baal HaSulam, “Introduction to The Book of Zohar,” Item 69)
The journey between worlds is not a change of place — it is a change of perception, a transformation of the heart.
And in that silent passage between the worlds — when the old dissolves but the new is not yet born — the soul whispers the eternal prayer:
“Creator, let me feel You between my worlds, until the two become one.”