The Talmudic tradition (e.g., Tosefta, Yerushalmi and Bavli: Chagigah, Chapter 2) relates a story of four sages who journey mystically to the supernal 'Orchard' or 'Garden'. Rabbi Akiva seems to be the only one of the four who has a successful journey. In fact, in the Bavli version, Akiva even offers helpful advice to the others before the journey. However, despite any advice, the other three do not fare so well. They either die, go insane or fall into apostasy.
An obvious lesson of this story warns us of the risks attendant upon advanced mystical or psycho-spiritual practices. One must be careful and strong, and of course, well-prepared, in order to withstand the intense experiences that such practices invite or produce.
While noting the risks of these practices, we might also agree that the purpose or benefits of such practices extend beyond 'merely surviving' the experience. That is, presumably (or ideally) one undertakes such a mystical journey in order to grow, deepen, contribute to the God-field, or accomplish some other good.
We read that Akiva both entered and left the Garden in 'shalom', presumably meaning something like wholeness and peace. Did he also gain anything or accomplish anything during the journey, or as a result of the journey? Given a sympathetic, 'traditionally mainstream' reading of the story, it may be implicit or 'too obvious for the masters to have stated', that Akiva's journey brought him (and/or the world) to some deeper, higher spiritual state.
However, on a simplistic reading, he merely survived the journey. So from the perspective of deeper accomplishment, a radical assessment of Akiva's survival might suggest that his journey failed to achieve anything.
The other three sages clearly were deeply affected by the journey. If Akiva alone was unaffected by his mystical visit to the Garden, then we might consider his spiritual mastery, or his spiritual openness, to be even less than that of the other three sages. One could argue as follows: They, at least, were affected, albeit in apparently negative ways, by the journey. We see elsewhere, e.g., with Moshe Rabbeinu, that with higher spiritual status or accomplishment comes a higher standard of responsibility. Analogously, it also seems apparent that with a higher level of sensitivity and openness comes a higher level of vulnerability.
Irrespective of any speculation about 'what else' happened to Akiva, or about ranking the Garden sages, we may glean another lesson by reading this story: Sometimes we dare a bold, or even not-so-bold adventure. And sometimes a bold adventure befalls us whether we dare or not. In all these cases, we have an opportunity both to reach a goal, a destination, a discrete outcome; and to grow and contribute along the way. Ideally, we complete our adventures both by 'showing up' at the 'other end' and also by growing along the way.
