The Cosmic Game of Snakes and Arrows: An Oracle for Mapping Your Destiny - Softcover

Rud, Polina

Softcover

ISBN 13: 9798888502211

Publisher: Destiny Books, 2025

Synopsis

A profound and modern approach to playing the ancient board game

• Offers a comprehensive guide to the traditional Hindu game gyān caupar—a predecessor to Snakes and Arrows—and includes a three-color gameboard allowing readers to play

• Analyzes archetypes of consciousness with the 72 squares of gyān caupar, enriched by spiritual references to deepen the game’s messages

• Offers instruction for conducting personal development ceremonies and receiving guidance from the game

The origins of Snakes and Arrows trace back to gyan caupar, or the “game of knowledge,” a spiritual board game from ancient India. Like other forms of divination, such as the I Ching and the Tarot, the game offers a playful yet profound approach to explore the self, the present, and the future as well as understand one’s destiny.

Polina Rud delves into the oracle, shedding light on gyan caupar’s archetypal wisdom and its power as a divinatory tool. Using a 72-square gameboard, players are invited to step back and observe their lives from above, seeing the emotional and behavioral patterns that guide their steps and, at times, lead them astray. Rud shows how the 72 squares represent different levels of human experience. Each square provides a philosophical key while practical exercises reveal the hidden beliefs and obstacles that hinder progress in the area of life that matters most to the player. The game’s ascending path mirrors spiritual evolution and guides players toward enlightenment, akin to systems like the Kabbalistic Tree of Life or the Road to Paradise. Rud shows how gyan caupar symbolizes the psyche’s journey, leading toward the ultimate prize: cosmic consciousness.

The Cosmic Game of Snakes and Arrows offers a way to learn more deeply about who you are while fostering a connection with the divine.

About this title

About the Author

Polina Rud, a doctoral candidate in art history at Moscow University with a master’s in international relations, is an art curator and lecturer. With expertise in Theosophy, Nordic runic oracles, and Hindu astrology, she combines therapeutic experience, including mental health and suicide risk training at UNAM, with diverse spiritual teachings. A renowned gyan caupar guide, she helps individuals uncover hidden obstacles. She lives in Mexico City.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Gyan Caupar and My Journey Through Grief

My very first existential question surfaced while sitting on the bed in my childhood bedroom. I was five, and it was an evening like any other, with my parents engrossed in the evening news. I found myself absentmindedly drawing autumn leaves on the wallpaper. Then, out of nowhere, a weighty question pierced my mind: What if my parents were no longer here? I can still feel the tears that welled up when I realized this possibility, and it’s the only scene from my early years that my memory can spontaneously conjure up. It was my first encounter with the concept of death.

While my school friends were immersed in the works of Carlos Castaneda, I stumbled upon Lobsang Rampa’s book The Third Eye while exploring the dusty shelves of my grandfather’s library one summer. It wasn’t the book’s title that initially piqued my interest; at the tender age of ten, I had little inclination toward spiritual matters. My primary motivation was that I had exhausted my supply of detective novels and was eager to dive into another book. In those days, we didn’t have internet access at home, and the not-so-quiet atmosphere of 1990s Russia would not have allowed me to go to the bookstore alone.

The book’s detailed descriptions of Buddhist funeral traditions fascinated me even more than the novels of Gilbert Chesterton and Agatha Christie. Phrases like “the disposers of the dead who chop up corpses and feed them to vultures” made a deep impression on me. Little did I know then that life was gently and meticulously preparing me for important lessons by orchestrating a series of encounters with death.

RECONCILING WITH DEATH

When I was seventeen, I faced death for the first time. On the day of my high school graduation, my first boyfriend, my first love, was tragically struck by a car. It was one thing to read about the rituals and beliefs surrounding death in various cultures, but to see the lifeless body of someone I loved was an entirely different experience. I was completely disoriented, as if a heavy weight had crushed me, leaving me with impaired vision and hearing.

The next day I had to sit for the university entrance exams, which turned out to be the easiest exams of my life because I no longer cared about success. Strangely enough, I excelled in all the exams and secured a scholarship to a prestigious university. Then I arrived at a mistaken belief that I would grapple with for a long time afterward: Great success comes at a high price.

As the exams drew to a close, I cried incessantly, unable to eat or drink, and struggled with the relentless onslaught of suicidal thoughts, exacerbated by the towering windows of my twenty-third floor apartment. It felt like there was only one way out. However, there was a huge bookcase near those windows, and in a moment of overwhelming emptiness and intrusive melancholic memories, my eyes fell on the Encyclopedia of World Religions with a bookmark in the “History of Buddhism” chapter.

I couldn’t be sure if I had ever read this book before; perhaps I had only prepared a school presentation on it. Yet the bookmark was there. It may sound like a sentimental story, but that book literally saved my life. It was during this time that I began to realize that grieving for loved ones is often a form of selfishness, driven by our longing for the time we once spent with them and the familiar routines they brought to our lives.

As I delved into the pages of the book, I discovered insights into the rebirth of souls, the concept of the bardo, and the thread that connects the soul to the body; it provided me with solace and a sense of comfort.

However, death is an experienced and profound teacher. It introduced me to a new lesson, assigned me homework, and returned to evaluate the completed assignments. The following year, around the same time, my grandmother, with whom I shared a close relationship, passed away. The grief was overwhelming, the pain just as sharp, but this time, those suicidal thoughts no longer surfaced.

I continued to read, delving into topics such as the absence of death and the liberation of the soul. Although the analogy of the body as a prison and worn-out clothes made sense intellectually, my heart couldn’t quite grasp it. During one of my deep meditations, however, I had a profound experience. I saw my own death—my soul leaving the body with immense joy, dancing and shedding the old form as if it were a repulsive burden, exclaiming, “Finally, it’s over.” Not only was I surprised, but it was a moment of realization that highlighted the disparity between information and true knowledge that gyan caupar’s square 45, Accurate Knowledge, touches upon.

Over the next two years, I attended the funerals of two more loved ones and began to associate spring with death. For some reason, the people I was close to died in the spring when nature was reborn, and their souls underwent a similar transformation. In these moments my mind often traveled to Lhasa, to the mountains where countless bodies were laid to rest, where death was embraced as a joyful transition, and where the body was seen not more than as a vessel for the soul. In these mountains, people played the Tibetan game of liberation.

I discovered this in a rather unconventional way. During those four years, I was not only an avid reader, but I also ventured to explore some of the most peculiar places associated with Eastern cultures. Such places were relatively rare in those days compared to what you can find today. In the heart of Moscow, I came across a place where the most authentic tea ceremonies took place. Guests were required to remove their shoes before entering rooms decorated with exquisite screens with intricate oriental patterns. They would then sit on the carpeted floor, cushioned by the softest pillows imaginable.

The room was crowded, but the only available seat was in the back corner. I plopped down on my pillow hoping to write the essay assigned at the university, but behind the screen there was a loud conversation, first in an unknown language, and then suddenly a parallel translation into Russian began. As I found out later, two scientists from India, who were in Moscow for a scientific conference at the Institute of Oriental Studies, were engrossed in a discussion about a strange game.

Later they presented me a book that offered interpretations of the game’s squares. One concept that was frequently emphasized was the idea that death could be viewed as a profound “transition to a higher plane,” in which the departed soul ascends to heaven by means of a ladder or rope.

As I immersed myself in mastering this game and unraveling the connections between its squares, I was on the verge of a fifth encounter with death, for spring was approaching. However, by what I believe to be coincidence, this encounter did not occur. In my psyche, however, the game became strongly associated with the completion of a series of losses of loved ones. During the summer, I first encountered gyan caupar while preparing for a university exam on world religions. Once again, fate played a role: My preparation required extensive reading of various foreign articles and books related to religion. In the university library, I downloaded over fifty diverse sources. When I got home, I realized that Johari’s book Leela, the Game of Self-Knowledge had somehow made its way into my download list. My exam success was suddenly in jeopardy.

I spent entire days playing the game, trying to grasp its intricate concepts. Sometimes the reasons why I kept landing on the same squares eluded me, and the connections between them were not always obvious. As a result, I began to explore all the states proposed by the game through various philosophical and psychological paradigms. In order to dissect my own psyche based on these theories, I developed exercises and questions for myself, many of which are included in this book. Here I’ve compiled all the insights I’ve personally experienced, those I found valuable, and—most importantly—those that brought relief.

REALIZATIONS, INSPIRATIONS, AND GROWTH

As a result of several exercises, especially those related to identifying secondary benefits (see p. 32), and deep meditation with the mantra Om, I came to understand why I was repeatedly descending the snake of darkness in the game. I realized that my entire psyche revolved around a single question: What would my mother say? This idea reminded me of a scene in the animated film Inside Out where different emotions were in control, and there I had a figurative mother who guided all my decisions. It was a hidden mechanism of my psyche, much like a computer virus that hides because it does not want to be deleted. Although I rarely sought my mother’s advice, her values influenced every decision I made. As a result, my existence was constructed from my mother’s perspective, and in a spiritual sense, I had not yet truly lived.

Edition details

• Publisher: Destiny Books
• Publication date: 2025
• Language: English
• ISBN 13: 9798888502211
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 208