Sky burial, or jhator, weaves together Bon’s ancient cosmology and a profound ecological ethic. When a body is offered to soaring vultures, it’s not merely a disposal method but a grand act of generosity—transforming what remains into sustenance for other beings. This practice underscores impermanence: flesh and bones returning to the open sky reminds everyone that life is as fleeting as a mountain breeze.

Bon funerary rites extend beyond the vultures’ feast. Rituals often unfold over forty-nine days, guiding the departed through the bardo—an intermediate state where consciousness drifts between worlds. Lamas chant sacred gathas, swing ritual daggers (phurbas) to sever attachments, and perform chöd ceremonies that “cut through” ego-clinging. These rites reinforce a vision that death isn’t an end but a transition, a bridge to future rebirth or ultimate liberation.

In today’s world, these traditions stand at a crossroads. As tourism in areas like Yushu and Golog surges, some local councils seek UNESCO’s intangible heritage recognition to protect sky burial grounds. Meanwhile, concerns over wildlife conservation have prompted dialogues between Tibetan communities and environmentalists, ensuring vultures remain plentiful for this time-honored exchange.

Bon’s funeral customs also foster communal bonds. Neighbors gather to drum, dance cham, and share tsampa, turning mourning into collective healing. Such solidarity echoes through social media today, where short videos of sky burials—viewed respectfully—spark global curiosity about Tibetan spiritual landscapes.

By blending reverence for nature with intricate soul-liberation rites, Bon funerary traditions offer a powerful counterpoint to modern materialism. In a world that often rushes past death, these ceremonies invite a pause: honoring what’s lost, sustaining what remains, and celebrating the endless cycle of giving and becoming.