Quest Magazine

Quest is a magazine of philosophy, religion, science, and the arts, established in 1988, which has replaced The American Theosophist, established in 1913 under the title The Messenger. Our philosophical perspective is that of the Ageless Wisdom (Perennial Philosophy), and we are more interested in religious and mystical thought and experience than in the history of religious institutions and doctrine. The unifying theme is the concept of wholeness; we hold the view that there is but One Life, and all of life is interrelated.

Quest is published by the Theosophical Society in America, the American section of a worldwide organization promoting the comparative study of religion, philosophy, the arts, and science. We seek to explore the common ground between philosophies and religions, between East and West, between science and religion. While we are interested in exploring esoteric themes, articles themselves are accessible, not esoteric. Readers have told us we are "scholarly but not pedantic" and "a good balance of the philosophical and the practical."

Quest is published quarterly. The following subscription options are available for Quest (all costs are in U.S. dollars):

Themes and Author Deadlines

PUBLICATION POLICIES AND GUIDELINES FOR AUTHORS

Quest is a quarterly magazine of philosophy, religion, science, the arts, and the Wisdom Tradition. It is available both to general subscribers and to all members of the Theosophical Society. Our philosophical perspective is that of the Ageless Wisdom or Perennial Philosophy, and we are interested in the connections between cultures and in mystical thought and experience. We explore the common ground between East and West, the ancients and the moderns, science and religion.

Although we are interested in exploring esoteric themes, articles should be accessible. We’re looking for material that is scholarly but not pedantic and provides a good balance of the philosophical and the practical. We also publish book reviews, ranging between 300 and 1000 words in length. Strong preference for reviews is given to books published within the year prior to submission. We do not publish poetry or fiction.

Quest does publish original art. Please send submissions to Drew Stevens, art director, at questmag.art@gmail.com.

The best way to learn about our requirements is to be familiar with the magazine. Sample issues are available for $7.95 postpaid from Quest Sample Issues, P.O. Box 270, Wheaton, IL 60187.

Submission of a manuscript implies commitment to publish in Quest. If you wish us to consider your manuscript, you must not send it elsewhere while it is under review by us. If you do not hear from us in thirty days, feel free to inquire.

Manuscript specifications. We no longer accept hard copies of manuscripts. Articles must be submitted by e-mail with attachments in Microsoft Word or Rich Text format.

Authors are responsible for obtaining any permissions required for materials quoted in text and illustrations. Photographs and graphics must be of a high resolution for scanning: at least 300 dots per inch (dpi).

Generally, full articles average 3000 words in length. Only exceptionally can we print articles much beyond that limit. Articles of shorter length are also acceptable.

We do not use footnotes. If references are needed, they should be within the text, giving author’s name, short title (if more than one work by the same author is cited), and page number, with a reference list at the end. E.g.: “(Johnson 34)” or “As Johnson remarks (Meditation 34)” with a reference list entry:
Johnson, Allen W. Meditation in the Metropolis. Baltimore: Spiritus Press, 1991.

Please include a one- or two-sentence biography with your submission, as well as mailing address, telephone number, and e-mail address. Published articles are accompanied by a photograph of the author, which may be a studio publicity photo or a good snapshot. Digital photos must be of a resolution of 300 dpi or higher. It is not necessary to submit a photo with the initial submission.

Acceptance and payment. We generally do not pay members. Nonmembers may be compensated at the editor’s discretion. Authors receive two copies of the issue in which the submission appears. We buy first-time rights for articles, but retain the right to grant permission for republication to any periodical directly connected with the Theosophical Society worldwide. Payment for art and photographs is negotiable.

Send submissions and inquiries to: Richard Smoley, Editor,
Quest, rsmoley@theosophical.org

Membership in the Theosophical Society is $60.00 annual dues. (This option is available only to U.S. citizens or residents.) Membership benefits include  Quest, “by mail” borrowing privileges from the Henry S. Olcott Memorial Library, program discounts, and the Messenger newsletter. Membership requires sympathy with the Society's three objects:

• To form a nucleus of the universal brotherhood of humanity without distinction of race, creed, sex, caste, or color;

• To encourage the comparative study of religion, philosophy, science, and the arts;

• To investigate unexplained laws of nature and the powers latent in humanity.

For more information about membership, see Member Services.

By Joann S. Bakula

Originally printed in the Fall 2009 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Bakula, Joann S. "How Death Changes Life." Quest  97. 4 (Fall 2009): 142-147.

Near-death experiences (NDEs) have fascinated people around the globe ever since the first popular book on the subject, Raymond Moody's Life after Life, became a best-seller in 1975. If such experiences awaken a person to another dimension of consciousness, reading accounts of these experiences may be able to touch and awaken the same layer of consciousness in us all.

Betty Bland, president of the Theosophical Society in America, had an NDE in 1968 and has described it, along with some of its aftereffects, in many talks and writings (e.g. Bland, 1—3). She went into the hospital for a simple surgical procedure, but a physician"s error put her in a situation where, as she describes it, "I endured several days of hanging on the edge of death. Certainly psychic sensitivity was greatly heightened at this time, and I was able to slip in and out of physical consciousness at will. I preferred staying in the astral realms, but could be called back whenever necessary."

One night Bland was transported to what she calls the "Council of Light." As she describes it, "there were no specific forms as such, but different foci within the Light. They were great beings, but received me as if they were my brothers and sisters, partners in the life process."

With the help of the council, Bland went through a nonlinear life review in a "series of thematic holographic bubbles...from obscure reaches of time," including "relationships with individuals and qualities of being or capacities developed." She perceived "threads to past and future," where "successes were viewed as completions and shortcomings were relegated to future lives." Learning that "life is a classroom," she was left with an intense quest for new ideas and understanding and with the knowledge that one could not know from external appearances what particular tasks you had taken on in your life. Deep within ourselves is the nexus or "flower of being," that "exalted aspect of ourselves that is part of the universal All [and] is accessible to each one of us."

Bland was surprised to learn from the council that "as far from perfect as I was . . . I had accomplished all that was necessary for this life." Given the choice between returning to the earth plane and moving on, she says, "I reluctantly but determinedly set my direction toward the earth plane," even though the council warned her, "It will not be as easy as you have had it up to this point."

Depth of understanding, extended perception, compassion, love, insight resulting from an unique review of her own life and life itself, living for others, knowledge of purpose, and the ability to use the experience in living skills are all there in Betty Bland"s life and words and even in her presence. This is the most noticeably profound, life-transforming, and long-lasting aftereffect of the NDE. As she describes it, "reality gains a new dimension."

Many similar statements may be found in the famous NDE experience of the psychiatrist C. G. Jung, recounted in his autobiographical Memories, Dreams, Reflections. Jung's NDE had elements similar to Bland"s, affecting his sense of temporal location and resulting in multidimensional perception: "I had the feeling that I was an historical fragment, an excerpt for which the preceding and succeeding text was missing. My life seemed to be snipped out of a long chain of events" (Jung, 291). "Although my belief in the world returned to me," he added, "I have never since entirely freed myself of the impression that this life is a segment of existence which is enacted in a three-dimensional boxlike universe especially set up for it." He described the other state as "a non-temporal state in which present, past, and future are one." Everything that had happened "in time had been brought together. . . . Nothing was disturbed . . . .nothing could be measured by temporal concepts. . . . One is interwoven into an indescribable whole and yet observes it with complete objectivity" (Jung, 295-96).

Researchers Kenneth Ring and Raymond Moody have categorized NDEs in terms of their depth. The basic than atomimetic narrative in Moody"s first book, Life after Life, includes fifteen core elements, compacted by Ring into five stages: peace and well-being; out-of-body sensation; going through a dark tunnel; seeing the light; and entering the light. The deeper, fuller NDEs go on longer, and the experiencer enters further and deeper into the light, revealing details of perception, memory, purpose, and meaning not found in accounts of the other four-fifths of Ring's sample (Moody, Life after Life, 80). Two new elements associated with deeper, fuller NDEs were "the vision of Knowledge" and "cities of Light" (Moody, Reflections, 9, 15). Betty Bland entered deeper into the light and had a fuller realization, as did Carl Jung. "When we come to examine the core of full NDEs we find an absolute and undeniable spiritual radiance," Ring writes. "It"s as if the core of the NDE becomes their core. The NDE is, then, not merely an experience that becomes a cherished memory" that changes one"s life. "It is one"s life. And it becomes the source of one"s true being in the world" (Ring, Heading toward Omega, 50).

H. P. Blavatsky distinguishes two kinds of memory, the ordinary one and the "soul"s memory," which is a record of every thought, word, and deed in the life. She writes that "not the most trifling action of our lives can disappear from the soul"s memory, because it is . . . an ever present reality on the plane which lies outside our conceptions of space and time" (Blavatsky, 66). A direct experience has a quality and significance that beliefs simply do not contain, and this puts all NDEs in a special category, even if researchers with materialistic beliefs deny the significance of the data.

Over the years, several of my students at Florida International University and Southern Oregon University have reported their NDEs, along with the profound aftereffects of those experiences. Self-development, knowledge, and aversion to judgmentalism and negative emotional states are some of the most common changes reported. The following three accounts are as accurate as words and notes can provide, although the identities, and in one case the details, have been changed to preserve anonymity.

Vital Engagement

Even NDEs with elements appearing to be negative can have positive effects in the life afterwards. One of my Florida International University students, of Cuban Catholic background, whom I"ll call Rosa, reported an authentic NDE during a death studies class. Her experience followed a brain aneurysm and left her very puzzled about part of it. She described the customary tunnel and the painless voyage to a blissful realm where "light more brilliant than the sun" seemed to be caressing her. "It was loving, approving, safe." She said to herself, "Now you"ve done it—you"re dead!" A soundless voice answered her, "You are not dead. You must go back." A review took place in the presence of this being, whom she identified as God. As she left this state she was surprisingly told to "become more selfish."

After Rosa returned to consciousness, she had a difficult time assimilating the information and following the advice. Would God tell her to be more selfish? Like most people raised in the Christian religion, she had always associated God"s way with being less selfish and less self-centered and with leading a life of service to others. What she heard while near death caused her to doubt her understanding of her faith.

Nevertheless, Rosa felt certain that this presence was God; she had no doubt of this. The experience was profound; she told her parents and husband that she had changed and would continue to change, and that there was no death, although they dismissed her experience as part of the trauma. But how could she follow the advice? It caused considerable conflict to her in the months that followed. As an aftereffect, she reported definite changes in her personality, resulting in a less passive and more vital engagement in life. She had become more assertive and self-confident, more aware of male dominance of women, and more concerned about using her full potential. She was less likely to be complacent and took the initiative more often. She had developed a need to learn, understand, and develop. She realized that she had to "love myself before I could love others without judgment." Something of the nonjudgmental and unconditional love of the presence she had felt began to fill her, changing her life.

Kenneth Ring has grouped aftereffects of NDEs into four categories: (1) change in attitude toward life; (2) sense of personal renewal; (3) personality changes; (4) changes in attitude toward others (Ring, Life at Death, 139). Rosa reported positive changes in all of these areas. After the initial period of doubt, confusion about conflicting values, and cognitive dissonance, Rosa felt that the NDE significantly changed her personality, causing her to become a much stronger person, more caring both for herself and for others, as well as more self-confident and self-directed. She had a new sense of the importance of life and the opportunity it presented. This is confirmed by the fact that she was pursuing her undergraduate degree as an older woman, wife, and mother. Moreover, when she related her experience to others, she was careful not to challenge their beliefs while remaining certain of the meaning of her experience.

As Betty Bland wrote, the aftereffect is related "to growing into [one"s] full potential," to actualizing that potential, and to increasing a sense of purpose. This affirms what The Secret Doctrine describes as the "obligatory pilgrimage" of the divine spark through a process of development or unfoldment of individuality, "first by natural impulse, and then by self-induced and self-devised efforts," both consciously, and, it appears, unconsciously in a brush with death. Bland writes, "Those who have experienced the near death state...have embarked on their pilgrimage with a new sense of purpose and zeal" (Bland, 2).

Near Death by Misadventure

A male student in one of my death studies classes at Southern Oregon University reported an NDE of some years earlier, following a night of drunkenness, debauchery, and wild driving that culminated in hitting a tree head-on at high speed. The young man, whom I"ll call Stuart, was found with his leg wrapped around his neck and with a ruptured kidney and spleen, and he woke up in the hospital in traction. The injuries were multiple and severe, taking him over two years to recover. As is typical of victims of severe accidents, he had a swift life review, which he described as like "a fast shuffle of cards, a card bridge." He had a sense that in the NDE he had returned to the state where he belonged. I asked him whether he would call it returning to home. He replied, "No, it was more an experience of belonging."

Stuart came back with a different attitude toward life. He had an expanded sense of where he had come from, where he was now, and an awareness of a deeper layer of conscious being. At the same time his life direction had recovered as well. He had returned to the university to earn his undergraduate degree and had specific goals for his future career as well as positive changes in lifestyle. The major negative aftereffect could be that since that time he was "stuck on a feeling of ascension" and had become obsessed with bungee jumping!

The assurance that belongingness does not primarily come from the outside or social realm, but from the inside and is subjective, gave Stuart a new sense of identity and self-assurance that enabled him to change the direction of his life. Jung also mentioned belongingness in his NDE account: "I was about to enter an illuminated room and would meet there all those people to whom I belong in reality. There I would at last understand—this too was a certainty—what historical nexus I or my life fitted into. I would know what had been before me, why I had come into being, and where my life was flowing" (Jung, 291).

Thanks to the NDE, Stuart had a deeper knowledge and life experience than most people, and he knew it. Education became more important to him, as it did to Rosa. With their direct experience of deeper knowledge they felt a sense of inner authority that drew them to higher education. Leadership qualities and a deeper sense of seriousness about knowledge itself remained with them. There are accounts throughout the literature of knowledge becoming available during the NDE, with accounts of "libraries" and "institutions of higher learning." One said, "This is a place where the place is knowledge" (Moody, Reflections, 13-14).

Calming Emotions

An older woman from California discussed the NDE experience of her second husband, a retired businessman, following a heart attack. The man had been devoted to his family and to the family corporation of which he was an officer, and had been heartbroken by conflict with his son, the only male heir. The son had driven him out of the business, displaying blatant disrespect for and considerable aversion toward him. After a decade or so of excruciating emotional pain from this loss, the man reciprocated. Love between them died; hate grew. Then he had a coronary. Recalling the NDE afterward caused him extreme fright, his wife reported.

In the months after the NDE, his attitude underwent a noticeable change. He no longer expressed anger or acute distress when talking about his son. He no longer spoke with pain of his broken relationship, nor did he seek to understand how it happened or recount his painful tale. He no longer sat in judgment, even though he apparently had every reason to do so, as the other members of the family corporation had the same feelings toward his son. The man"s emotions were calmed, his aversion was gone, his hurt was soothed, he stopped obsessing.

The past was not altered, nor was the grief ignored; rather his acceptance of the injustice was now objective rather than emotional, with equanimity and the assurance that justice would somehow work out in the larger scheme of things. According to his wife, he recognized that his inflamed negative emotion—which he didn"t like to see at first—was hate, and this was the only thing he was responsible for, not his son"s behavior. His attitude was transformed after the NDE by seeing how detrimental dying with negative thoughts and feelings in his heart could be. In the end, he saw that we are responsible for what we do, what we think, and what we feel, but we are not responsible for what others do to us in thought, word, or deed. This brings to mind what the humanistic psychologist Victor Frankl said: "It"s not so much what we expect from life, but what life expects from us."

One of the greatest obstacles in overcoming hate is the inability or unwillingness to call it what it is. Hate hides under many guises: injustice, racial prejudice, wrongdoing, the desire to punish someone for deep or superficial wrongs, sibling rivalry, and competition. It becomes an habitual cognitive behavioral pattern from which projections onto others are constructed. Hate is an energy easily infecting individuals through social networks; hate hides in history. The Tibetan Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche (134) calls this the "afflicted consciousness, or –klesha mind," which is the instigator of mistaken thoughts, conceptions and disturbing emotions." The well-known Tibetan Buddhist author Sogyal Rinpoche writes: "If our death was peaceful, that peaceful state of mind is repeated; if it was tormented, however, that torment is repeated, too" (290). He puts great emphasis on the right to a peaceful death, away from the torments of an intensive care unit with tubes, IVs, and resuscitators (as well as agitated relatives). "Peaceful death is really an essential human right, more essential perhaps than the right to vote or the right to justice; it is a right on which . . . a great deal depends for the well-being and spiritual future of the dying person" (186). Because the experiences after death are mind-created, with all of the delusions, misconceptions, and false identifications to which we have become habituated, serenity and acceptance at the moment of death become very important. Eventually, of course, the quality of the whole life takes precedence over the moment of death, but in the immediate aftermath the circumstances of death do matter.

One aftereffect of the California businessman"s NDE was a dramatic change in attitude, which became nonjudgmental and was accompanied by an equally dramatic reduction in strong negative emotions. He no longer sought to judge and punish, hate or blame, despite good reason. He realized his responsibility for his own thoughts and feelings, and how they could injure him. It is as if he had experienced something of Betty Bland"s "totally noncondemnatory" Council of Light and knew that he too must adopt this attitude of nonjudgmental acceptance. In terms of Ring"s "Behavior Rating Inventory" for NDEs (Ring, Omega, 281), the man"s "tendency to accept others as they are" had definitely increased.

In this case, however, the most significant aftereffect was a calming of emotions and decrease in negative emotional states. Having had similar effects, Jung wrote:

The objectivity which I experienced...signifies detachment from evaluations and from what we call emotional ties. In general, emotional ties are very important to human beings. But they still contain projections, and it is essential to withdraw these projections in order to attain to oneself and to objectivity. Emotional relationships are relationships of desire, tainted by coercion and constraint; something is expected from the person, and that makes him and ourselves unfree. Objective cognition lies hidden behind the attraction of the emotional relationship; it seems to be the central secret. Only through objective cognition is the real coniunctio possible (296-97).

As we have seen even in this short review, the insights of an NDE can result in changes far beyond attitude or emotions; they can change the direction of a person"s life and work. Betty Bland, whose NDE ended with the word "others," emerged to become president of the Theosophical Society in America. Having had direct and profound experience of one of the most important unexplained physiological processes of nature, death, and transpersonal union, she eventually came to lead an organization dedicated to brotherhood and to investigating unexplained natural laws. Similarly, Jung wrote, "The insight I had had, or the vision of the end of all things, gave me the courage to undertake new formulations" (Jung, 297). His three-volume series on the transpersonal process of union, or coniunctio, in psychology and alchemy was part of the "new formulations" resulting from his NDE.

Not only do NDEs eliminate the fear of dying, they also reduce the fear of living. Those who have undergone NDEs tend to have an adjusted sense of values, stemming from a sense of synthesis that undergirds their judgment and decisionmaking. They are more fully alive and present; at the same time they have a longer view of consciousness through time. They act as guides to the true principles upon which the whole cycle of life is based, from individuation to the Omega Point of enlightenment and perfection, resulting in the cessation of the cycle of lives on the wheel of samsara.

References

Bland, Betty. "The Near Death Experience: A Theosophical Perspective." The Messenger, March 1996, 1—3.
Blavatsky, H. P. "Memory in the Dying." The Nature of Memory. Adyar, India: Theosophical Publishing House, 1980. 
Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche. Mind beyond Death. Ithaca, N.Y.: Snow Lion, 2006.
Jung, C. G. Memories, Dreams, Reflections. New York: Vintage, 1963.
Moody, Raymond. Life after Life. New York: Bantam, 1975.
———. Reflections on Life after Life. New York: Bantam, 1977.
Ring, Kenneth. Life at Death: A Scientific Investigation of the Near-Death Experience. New York: Quill, 1982.
———. Heading toward Omega. New York: Morrow, 1984.
Sogyal Rinpoche. The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1992.

Joann S. Bakula, Ph.D., is a transpersonal integral psychologist and lecturer. She is review editor of the Esoteric Quarterly and the author of Esoteric Psychology: A Model for the Development of Human Consciousnessas well as of many articles on myth, the bardos, higher states, and applying ancient wisdom to planetary living.

By Dorothy Bell

Originally printed in the Fall 2009 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Bell, Dorothy. "I Am Resurrected." Quest  97. 4 (Fall 2009): 132-136.

      The phone rang. It was Anna, and after the preliminaries, she focused on the purpose of the call.

      "I saw Charles yesterday and he was asking after you. He's been back in the hospital now for quite a while, and he said he would really like a Reiki treatment."

      "Yeah, sure. My car is out of action, but I could take a train into the city and public transport to the medical center. Would some time early next week suit?"

      Anna said she would find out the most appropriate time and let me know.

      I had first met Charles a year or so earlier, at a retreat center where I undertook some volunteer work giving Reiki treatments to HIV-AIDS sufferers. He was well into his sixties, perhaps older, and had been with the virus for many years.

      Charles had made a lasting impression on me when I gave him his first treatment. He walked quickly into the Reiki room and began to remove his garments, saying as he did so, "I hope you don't mind my taking off my gear, but I like to be uncluttered when I go into total relaxation!"

      I was flabbergasted.

      "Sure," I said, with much bravado, as more layers were peeled and folded neatly on the chair. "Whatever makes you feel comfortable. You know, you don't really need to take anything off for these treatments—just shoes and tight belts, watches. . . . And I do place a sheet or light blanket over you," I said lamely, but relaxed as he jumped up on the massage table, pulled up the sheet, still wearing his jocks.

      On another occasion, I remembered that during my session with him I had closed my eyes and just allowed the energy to flow, and in this meditative state I had seen a group of philosophers or sages, learned men—by their attire perhaps from Renaissance times—drawing close to him and around him. I had felt strongly that he was a member of their group and that they were giving him a lot of support. Not knowing a thing about his religious beliefs or whether he had any interest in philosophy or even if he had ever read a book, I nevertheless spoke to him about what I had seen. He was delighted.

      "I love reading about the higher things, the great ideas of man—yes, I can relate to what you are saying, I am most comfortable and feel at home when I read. Interesting."

      "Well, Charles, my feeling is that in another life you were part of this group and now they have made themselves known to you from the inner realms. They are here for the tough times. Just think of them as like-minded friends and talk with them when you feel most alone. They want you to know that."

      Charles had looked at me intently–probably checking me out—but then he said cheerfully, "Yes, it feels right. I am grateful, and it opens up a new avenue, doesn't it?"

      "It sure does," I agreed, wondering if he meant the reality of the afterlife or contact with other realms of existence in this lifetime.
     
 And now, many moons later, it seemed that the virus was really making its presence felt, and long stays in the AIDS ward had become a necessity. As if AIDS wasn't enough, Anna had also mentioned that he had been diagnosed with cancer!

      Charles wasn't in his room when I arrived at the center; he was having a CAT scan. I was nonplussed—as if there was any need for more diagnostic procedures! "What could they find out that would be of any benefit to Charles? Why don't they leave him in peace?" Anger flashed through me.

      Eventually he returned, gray and gaunt. I was shocked. His physical form had deteriorated so much, but his mind was still strong. He was a little flustered because he had kept me waiting.

      "Sorry, Dorothy, I just need to rinse out my shirt. They were a little untidy with the needle and there's blood all over the sleeve." And he proceeded to find a bucket for his personal laundry.

      As we chatted on, I couldn't help noticing the paradox—his mental strength and clarity contrasted to the poorly disguised frailty of his wasted frame.

      Completing his washing, he tidied his other clothes and climbed into bed. As he settled onto his side—it being too painful to lie on his back—I stepped forward.

      As I looked down at his face, my attention was drawn to the delicacy of the skin over his temple. It was almost transparent, and with so little flesh on the face that the outline of the skull was painfully obvious.

      "I'm glad you came," he said, closing his eyes in the expectation that the session would be relaxing.

      "I'm glad to see you—very glad. I'll start now."

      After five minutes, I asked, "Are you comfortable?"

      No answer. He was in a very deep sleep.

      Usually I slipped into a deep meditative state myself as the energy channeled through me. In this state it was not uncommon to receive messages from guides or teachers in the form of symbols or by telepathic thought. I always asked if there was something I could pass on.

      Today was different. I felt the peace of the energy and relaxed into it. Unexpectedly a picture formed in the inner reality.

      It was Charles. He was immaculately groomed and dressed in a safari suit—light brown, not the popular cream color. He stood alone, straight and strong, almost at attention, with his arms at his side, at the edge of a platform, like that of a railway station. Beside him was a dark brown, medium-sized leather suitcase. There was no one else around. He looked younger and stronger, well tanned, and every hair on his head was perfectly in place. Above all he appeared purposeful.

      Then I understood. He was going on a journey—the journey of a lifetime, so to speak. Perhaps his inner Self, Higher Self, or spirit—whatever you might call it—was showing me that he was ready to leave the body. He seemed to be looking straight at me. Suddenly he said, "What happens now? Tell me what to do."

      I was taken aback by his directness. Usually when I answered inner calls to help souls in difficulty post mortem, I had to try to get their attention, make some kind of connection, and then try to communicate by thought, usually offering a version of the whole scenario of life and death that they might relate to. I thought for a while.

      "You are obviously ready for your journey home . . ." I started off slowly, still sorting out my thoughts. "Well, Charles, as far as I know, the journey is to go home to the light—literally—and if you turn your head to the left you will see the radiance in the distance." At the mention of "going to the light" I had actually noticed the appearance of a radiant light, so I felt it appropriate to think Charles was also familiar with it.

      "When you are ready, just walk towards it. At any time if you start to feel isolated or doubtful, just ask for guidance. There are many waiting eagerly for you to cross over."

      "Right!" he said, matter-of-factly.

      My attention was drawn to the suitcase.

      "Do you need to take that baggage?" I asked him. It suddenly occurred to me that the suitcase was an essential part of our meeting: I was meant to discuss the concept of "soul baggage" with him.

      Charles looked down at the suitcase as if noticing it for the first time.

      "What do you mean?" he asked.

      "Well, I think it represents stuff from this life that you are taking with you—issues like indebtedness and unfinished business. You know—loose ends. You have the opportunity now, before you go on your journey, to deal with any mental and emotional unfinished business. It makes sense to travel light! Otherwise the unfinished business—the grievances, anger, guilt, shame that you might still carry deep within you—will have to be worked through in another life. It has to do with clearing your account, your karmic account, as much as you can," I replied, watching him closely to see whether or not I'd lost him on this one.

      "What do I do?" he asked with an enthusiasm that suggested that he accepted what I was saying and knew there was work to be done.

      "It's simple, really. It's all about forgiveness. Think about your life and remember the hurt, sorrow, and pain, the anger, resentment, shame and guilt, self-rejection—all those things you took on in childhood and right through to later years. Forgiveness is the key to freedom. I think it would be well to forgive those who, by their words, actions or omissions, caused you pain and sorrow. Release them from this connection with you, and in doing so you release any negative energy from your own soul. You unlock the energy and your own vibration is changed, making you lighter. Think about the insights about life and the lessons you have learned from those experiences, thank them and wish them well on their journey. They are all fellow travelers . . . on the same journey."

      I paused, watching for a reaction, but Charles retained the attentive attitude he had adopted from the outset. I continued, "You also need to ask for forgiveness for having hurt or caused sorrow to others. It's always a two-way thing, and you need to forgive yourself for having done what you did and then for having carried it with you for so many years."

      After reflecting for a time, Charles asked earnestly, "I get the idea, but how do you actually do it?"

      "Remember the people, the events, the issues, the judgment, the hurt. Visualize them; link in with them; your sincerity will make it possible to do this. Go to your heart and speak from the heart and say something like, 'You have been part of my journey this lifetime, and we had issues and caused each other much pain. I forgive you and release you with unconditional love and thank you for the learning, and I wish you well on your journey.' Can you forgive them all and wish them unconditional love? How do you feel about that?"
    
  "What if I can't remember them all?" Charles was certainly task-oriented.
   
   "Just say something that you really feel, like 'I ask for forgiveness for all the pain and sorrow I have caused.'  Charles, this is not just an intellectual exercise but a very deep and honest confrontation with yourself—baring all. You may find it that it is too difficult to really forgive someone—even yourself—and that you still carry the hurt, judgment, resentment, or a grievance of some kind. Well, that just goes into your suitcase as soul baggage. The issue is not really resolved, and the connection is not really severed. From what I understand, it will be worked through in another lifetime, in a different body and perhaps in a different type of relationship."

      Charles had become quite pensive, and I felt my presence was no longer needed.

      Afraid that I had overburdened him, I said, "Take your time. It's your choice what you do, and I have given you my version of how it works. Just do what feels right. Maybe think of it as balancing the ledger or clearing the slate before you return home."

      I decided to withdraw. Sensing this, he looked at me. As our eyes met, we connected at a much deeper level. I felt his gratitude and tears came to my eyes.

      Softly I said, "And I wish you well on your journey . . . your journey home. It has been an honor to be of service, and I have learned much."

      A slight nod of his head completed our meeting.

      I withdrew.

      I looked down at Charles—or rather at the body in which he resided. It lay in a fetal position in the fresh white linen of the hospital bed. The ashen face, bony frame, and sunken flesh confirmed the impending demise of his mortal form.
   
    I sought to reassure myself. "But the spirit is single-minded and strong. And he is so keen to get it right before he leaves his body."
    
  Impulsively I placed the end of my thumb on the middle of his forehead. It seemed right somehow, as if I had done it before. Again, I wished him well and asked for guidance for him on his journey.
    
  About a week later, Charles "died." Anna rang with the news.
     
 I felt relieved and strangely happy. After the phone call I sat quietly, absorbing the moment, but my heart was singing. And then I understood why I was feeling so elated: there was Charles—in my face, so to speak—head and shoulders superimposed over the physical surroundings, between me and the computer, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He was so pleased with himself, and his energy filled the room. I closed my eyes to improve my seeing of him.
   
   "I made it!" he said triumphantly. "I reached my destination and did what I had to do. Tell them that—if they ask. I am so pleased that I made it. I am not alone. There are many here I have known. I can rest at last. I need a good rest—it is such a relief that the struggle is over. I will move on when I am ready, but I am so happy here. Tell them not to fear. Tell them I am resurrected."
    
  "Well done! And congratulations!" I responded with enthusiasm.
     
 For quite a time, without communicating, we basked in the triumph of spirit. He looked younger, strong, and happy, and he had reached his destination—wherever that was. And what more could I want for him?
    
  Jubilantly I went out into the garden, grabbing the fork to tackle the weeds in a garden bed. We were both still bubbling. I laughed aloud with happiness at his victory—and immediately drew the attention of the neighbors' dog.
     
 Although Charles's presence eventually receded, I continued to reflect on his visitation and the words he had used: "I am resurrected."
    
  Out of nowhere, memory of a long-gone but vivid meditation that I had titled "Death Is Dying" flashed through my mind. I saw again the image of the Grim Reaper that had been used in an AIDS advertising campaign in the late '80s.
     
 The setting was a dim and foggy graveyard and the hooded and long-robed Reaper was slowly walking towards me, scythe in his right hand, and something—a sack—in his left. He stopped and began to withdraw the articles from the sack, placing them on the ground. They were bones, so white in the darkness. Methodically he began to place them in perfect symmetry to form a skeleton. Then I realized that he was laying to rest the skeleton of "death," with arm bones crossed on the chest, just like in a funeral parlor. The rhythmic thoughts of "Death is dying, death is dying," resounded through my mind until the scene slowly dissolved into the darkness.
  
    "Yes," I said quietly to the earth beneath my feet, "my old belief about death as the end is not only dying—it's dead. Death is dead: it is an illusion. We are not our bodies: we are greater. Thank you, Charles." 

      Postscript, 2009

      When I joined the Theosophical Society in the late 1990s, teachings of the Ancient Wisdom gave me the opportunity to understand a far greater story of humanity and to see a far more cohesive and comprehensive picture than that which had guided my work with Charles and others previously. The teachings provided answers to questions that had arisen out of these close encounters relating to post mortem states of existence—things I had experienced at funerals and afterward; at scenes of past or recent disasters; at sacred sites; even in meditation and healing sessions. These usually involved entities who were in some need of assistance to move on beyond the earth-bound atmosphere.

      While each experience offered a unique perspective on the workings of inner life and reality, it also raised more questions in my search for truth about our real identity and the purpose of life on earth—and life after life on our planet. But the scenario that the Ancient Wisdom proposes—of the evolutionary journey of each pilgrim soul, the reincarnating individuality, and the personalities it generates lifetime after lifetime, like pearls on a thread, in order to experience and learn and become who we truly are—has provided me with a frame of reference for working with people like Charles "when the spirit moves me." 

Dorothy Bell completed degrees in arts and education at the University of Melbourne and at the University of New England in Australia, and first visited America in 1990 as a Fulbright Scholar. Since joining the Theosophical Society in 1999, she has lectured at TS conferences in the United States, New Zealand, India, and Australia. She is also a Reiki master.

By Betty Bland

Originally printed in the Fall 2009 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Bland, Betty. "Fly a Kite." Quest 97. 4 (Fall 2009): 126.

One thousand kites in the air at the same time! This was the goal of the Wheaton Sesquicentennial Commission when they put out an all-call for kite flyers from the area to gather in one of the local parks last spring. They were hoping to set a world's record for the most kites flying at once. The winds didn't cooperate, but it was a festive gathering drawing kiters of all sorts together for the grand attempt. Although the count was a mere 800, the event created a myriad of shapes and colors dotting the skies.

Besides the lack of cooperation from the winds (and we live near Chicago, which is known as the Windy City), one reason the event didn't meet its goal may be that our general culture isn't very savvy about kiting. We can find some kites in the stores, but rarely do we see many in the air. This is probably because there is a real art to kite flying, and what may seem like a simple hobby in fact requires a certain level of skill.

Think about all the parts of a simple kite that have to be in balance. First is the framework, which has to be tough, light, balanced, and flexible. It has to be carefully designed, since it is the structure on which all else hangs. Then the wind-resistant covering that holds it all together adds lift, design, and color. Yet even with these details carefully crafted, the kite cannot get off the ground if it does not have a tail to keep it in balance.

These elements of a kite can be likened to the spiritual life. The structure or framework is composed of the familiar Theosophical triad of study, meditation, and service. These are the supporting spines of our practice, without which any effort will fall flat. The study of the Ageless Wisdom, against which we can measure our experience of nature within and without, provides the strength of understanding that can carry us through the winds of fortune.

The more we know about the universe and its laws, the more we begin to see the necessity of an altruistic spirit. A greater understanding of our own nature creates in us an absolute realization of our unity with all. Without this generous and open-hearted attitude, our spiritual kite will not be structurally sound and will finally collapse under the weight of its own self-preoccupation.

Yet study and service alone lack cohesiveness. They require the strong binder of meditation, which holds these elements together in a meaningful way so that they are firmly anchored in our consciousness. Meditation creates the still insight through which our own individuality can unfold its beautiful design. We are like snowflakes: no two are exactly alike. Meditation reaches deeply within to tune into that interior essence so that each one of us is able to express his or her own distinctive character.

With these foundations well in place, we are on our way, but without the covering to provide the lift, we are still earthbound. That covering can be compared to the essential element of inspiration. Study, meditation, and service can be quite consistent, but until the element of inspiration is introduced, our practice can fall flat. This is a part of the beauty and art of building our soul's kite. The sources of inspiration are myriad and unpredictable. For some, it may be Taizechanting or singing the Indian devotional songs known as bhajans; for some it may be the veneration of Jesus, Buddha, Allah, saints from the past, or present-day teachers; for others it may be ringing bells, lighting candles, or praying in a chapel. The colorful practices of the traditions we hold dear call to the depths of our being, resonating with the intrinsic patterns of our individual natures and drawing us toward the heights. These multifaceted practices, which bring inspiration through beauty and devotion when observed in full consciousness and joined within the framework of study, meditation, and service, create an inner structure that will be sensitive to every breath of wind from universal spirit.

The caution to be sounded here is that we all have to realize that the shape and color of our kites are not the only kinds there are or should be.  Besides making this a very boring and regimented world, this would essentially tie our kites down to self-centeredness, pride, and exclusivity. These will never fly!

Finally, the remaining element required for an effective kite is a proper tail to provide balance and steady orientation as the winds blow to and fro. I think we can say that the element that provides this balance is the attempt to live by high ethical standards each and every moment of our daily lives. This consistent development of character steadies our efforts and generates the necessary stability.

All of this we do in preparation, but we never know when the wind will catch us and lift us to the heights. We have to be diligent, trust the wisdom of those who have experience in the flight of spirit, and remain willing to keep trying and learning. If our practice and inspiration are soundly based and our daily lives reflect all that we know, we will be holding our souls aloft in readiness. We will be prepared to catch the smallest breeze.

If we are prepared and ready, the spirit will move us and lift us into the heavens. And if we Theosophists as a group can work together sharing knowledge and helping one another, then we can have an assortment of many-colored kites of consciousness held in readiness so that we can have many more than a thousand spirits joined in heart and breath, dotting the cosmos and shielding humanity.

Build your spiritual kite carefully day by day and hold it ever at ready so that in the twinkling of the universal eye, we will unite as a band of worldwide servers. The many shapes, designs, and colors of our beings united in spirit will offer far more than a spectacle of color or shapes filling the sky: we can be the critical mass to improve, beautify, and, yes, even transform our world.