How Wolves Change Rivers

Printed in the  Summer 2017issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Cesano, Juliana, "How Wolves Change Rivers" Quest 105:3(Summer 2017) pg. 26-29 

By Juliana Cesano

Theosophical Society - Juliana Cesano is a third generation Theosophist, a certified yoga teacher, 200 CYT, and is the manager of the Quest Book Shop. In recent years, the excessive use of the Internet, and especially of social media, has become one of the greatest causes of inaction. In this era of scrolling down, which has given the index finger a power it never dreamed of, the amount of time we spend watching videos on food recipes, political statements, fitness routines, outdoor wonders, and so on has replaced much of the time we actually dedicate to these activities.

It is true, however, that the average person now has access to information that in the past would have required years of study and research. Unless we had a degree or a job in a particular field, coming across specific and in-depth information on a given subject was not the norm. Although, of course, this process requires a fair amount of discernment and fact-checking skill, we can safely say that the Internet has become an unparalleled source of knowledge and inspiration for most of humanity, and, at times, enhances the unbroken connection between us that remains beyond all superficial differences. Often we can find great beauty, wake-up calls, and profound values portrayed in these posts. And because we attract a certain type of thought that corresponds to our own state of being, the more we choose to read or watch illuminating, uplifting, or encouraging messages, the more they flood our way.

Among these inspiring messages, I recently came across an article and video about the fine complexity of our ecosystem. It showed how each species has an indispensable role in maintaining the balance and perfection of our planet. Although it is not news that nature’s intelligence surpasses human understanding, nevertheless the headline of the video struck me: “The Amazing Ways Wolves Change Rivers.” At first sight it seemed unreal. How could wolves change rivers? But it has happened.

In 1995, after about a seventy-year absence, gray wolves were reintroduced to Yellowstone National Park. Originally, when the park was established, wolves were rapidly killed off, because people feared their presence. Then, since there were no creatures left to hunt them, the number of elk increased disproportionately, considerably reducing the vegetation that was available to other life forms. As soon as the wolves reappeared, they began to have the most remarkable effect. They not only killed the elk, but radically changed their behavior. The elk started avoiding certain parts of the park, and immediately those places started to regenerate. As a first and most visible consequence, the size of the trees quintupled in six years. Because of this, and because of new flora growing around the tree, the birds started moving in, the number of beavers increased, and the dams they built in the rivers provided habitat for species like otters and muskrats. The wolves killed coyotes, and as a result the number of rabbits and mice began to rise, which brought more hawks and more weasels, foxes, badgers, ravens, and bald eagles. The bear population began to rise as well, and cougars came back to the area. As a less obvious consequence, soil erosion was reduced. The river channels became narrower, more pools formed, and the banks stabilized. This rebalanced biodiversity transformed the ecosystem all the way down to the river beds. In short, the wolves changed the behavior of the rivers.

The sociopolitical state of the world resembles an ecosystem that has never found balance. In each era, and for apparently different reasons, certain groups have discriminated against others, oppressed and abused the most vulnerable, or killed the ones that threatened the strongest belief system of the time. Up to this point our differences have not been our strength, and in fact have posed the greatest challenge we have faced. In 2017, as this article is being written, the number of refugees in the world has reached the highest level ever recorded. According to figures published by the United Nations, 65 million people worldwide have been forced to flee their homes—individuals whose lives will never be the same, even if they manage to adjust and survive.

Here at home we have our own scary numbers. Today in the U.S., for example, there are over 450,000 children in the foster care system. These are children who are, in many cases, being neglected or abused and who may not be fortunate enough to know what trust, safety, encouragement, or love mean.

In this scenario, a few of the most immediate questions for all of us may be: Do we truly understand the kind of society we are creating? How much longer will it take until we see that the extremely harmful causes we are sowing will be inevitably reaped as more suffering? And—probably the most important one—what is our role in this mess?

There comes a time in a person’s life when the suffering of others cannot be ignored any longer. For a while we somehow manage to look the other way, living almost oblivious to this thought, pretending that every other person’s life circumstances are as favorable as ours. Yet we hear a dim voice in the back of the mind at the oddest moments, whispering that there is something seriously wrong happening around us. We knew it was there all this time, but we told ourselves there was nothing we could do to help, perhaps feeling powerless because of the magnitude of the task. But one day the voice becomes the only sound we can hear. There is an inner wakeup call that cannot and should not be silenced.

In her book Dharma, Annie Besant describes a living law that interlaces an individual’s level of development with the necessary conditions for the next step. This is dharma: “the inner nature of a thing at any given stage of its evolution, and the law of the next stage of its unfolding.” She explains that it is our own inner nature that molds the conditions of the outer life. The situation in which we are born and the experiences of that particular lifetime are in accordance, not only with our level of awakening, but also with the potential growth that we are capable of at that time. Of course, this process sounds much more glamorous in theory than it appears in our own lives, with our blind stumbling into obstacles until we finally gain a few glimpses of who we are and what we are doing here. It is not an easy task to know ourselves, let alone to know what we are meant to do. Nevertheless, the existence  of this dynamic law assures us that no matter the circumstances, there is always potential for more.

Besant’s definition of dharma raises a few issues that are worth looking at. In the first place, duty (as dharma is sometimes translated) is nothing but the use and exploration of something that is already ours. No matter how clueless we may feel about our role in the great scheme of things, it is quite possible that we are already fulfilling it. This does not mean that the search ends here. Rather it means that we can trust the process and that the more we wake up, the more our duty evolves. So our responsibility lies in finding greater clarity, in removing the veils that prevent us from seeing things as they truly are. Then nature follows.

In the second place, it is absurd to try to live someone else’s dharma. It is true that some roles within society appear more important than others. Some tasks within any given organization may be more visible or respected than others. But as we learned from the story of the wolves, each part is needed for the other ones to exist.

Moreover, it seems to be detrimental to our own development to try to perform a task that is unsuited for our particular nature. In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna emphasizes that it is better to live our own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else’s life with perfection. There are often signs along the road that hint to us which direction to go in. We may not be expert at reading those signs, and often people around us can see them before we do, but sooner or later, we get the message. Of course, the signs that point out which way not to turn tend to speak a bit louder, and the clearest ones are those that feel like having a door slammed in our face.

A third fact, perhaps the one that stands out the most, is the beauty and the order underneath the apparent chaos; the perfection of life’s intelligence, providing the necessary opportunities for this moment’s unfoldment—whatever that means for each of us; and the reassurance that we all possess the power to take the next step.

From a certain perspective, it may seem that this scenario is a bit too rigid, that there is little flexibility in the possibilities that lie before us. But Besant makes sure we understand that the sky is the limit, as long as we uphold certain important virtues and keep a perspective that includes more than just this lifetime. She says, “I do not wish to lower by one tiniest fraction your own ideal; you cannot aim too high. The fact that you can conceive it makes it yours . . .  Aim at the loftiest you are able to think and to love. But in aiming, consider the means as well as the end, your powers as well as your aspirations. Make your aspirations high. They are the germs of powers in your next life. Through ever keeping the ideal high you will grow towards it, and what you long for today you shall be in the days to come. But have the tolerance of knowledge and the patience which is divine.” With an ever-expanding aspiration to serve, we carve out our own future opportunities for doing so. We plant the seeds of altruistic effort, sometimes in the physical plane, sometimes in the mental, but none of them are ever wasted or lost.

There is no way of measuring how far we could progress in each lifetime, but we all know that we still have to confront our own unfavorable tendencies. If nothing else, we can at least try to eradicate them, to the best of our understanding, so that one by one, the obstacles that stand in the way of clear seeing can begin to vanish. Within this context we can ask, what if I could become the best version of myself at this very moment? Can I renounce, right here, right now, the limitations I already recognize, the tendencies that work to the detriment of being who I really am at this point in time? What would that take? In other words, how can this personality provide the best conditions in the present for the inner flower to bloom? From a certain point of view, we already are the best versions of ourselves that we can be, but this version has the potential to move forward every moment. It is a dynamic condition that provides new opportunities as we move along the way, when and if we do.

The answers to these questions are personal in nature. I believe that a combination of will, mindfulness, and the constant remembrance of God, of Brahman, within the heart can begin to dissolve the personal walls that prevent us from experiencing Oneness: Will, as a propelling inner fire for following a daily practice and a faithful companion as we make that practice a priority; mindfulness, as the linking thread that connects us more deeply with each moment as it is, without additional commentary; the possibility of listening to unspoken words and developing the capacity to see the impermanent as nothing but a passing cloud in the inner sky; and finally, a constant remembrance of the eternal flame, one and indivisible, untouched by any experience, as the sustaining power and guiding force of all action. We have the opportunity each day to become lighter, more spacious, and more curious.

Among the many profound truths that Buddhism has brought to the world is its compassionate view of suffering as the experience of humanity as a whole. There is no such thing as your suffering separated from mine. The moment I lift a tiny bit of your burden, I am lifting mine, and the world’s. As one of Thich Nhat Hanh’s poems beautifully expresses it, “You cultivate the flower in yourself so that I will be beautiful.” Paradoxically, our daily practice becomes lighter and more joyous when it is driven by the desire to alleviate every creature’s suffering. 

With all this in mind, let us return now to the problem of the world ecosystem, particularly the oppressive current circumstances that are calling us to action. As has been suggested above, action will be necessarily different for each of us, because of our uniqueness. As Besant pointed out,  what we do is in accordance with “the loftiest we are able to think and to love.”

Certainly what we choose to do as individuals does not need general consensus. But what about our collective efforts, when there are so many fronts that need urgent attention?  

Looking into the Three Objects of the Theosophical Society, and also into old letters, articles, and speeches of the early Theosophists, we members of the organization strive to understand the Society’s role. A great loyalty to the original spirit of the Society has taken us to endless revision of its purpose—the blessing and the curse that has accompanied us from its foundation. All that has been written only offers guidelines subject to interpretation, and each of them can be put into practice in various different ways. Because of this, the Society varies greatly from lodge to lodge, and from country to country. It seems as if the collective dharma of each place has been the guiding force in responding to the inner nature of that place. In a less favorable light, we can also say that the Society in each place is made up of accumulated  layers of conditioning. It is quite easy to fall into patterns and perpetuate the ways things have been done for decades.

If we examine the lives of the pioneers of the Theosophical movement, one thing stands out without exception: their courageous commitment to bring light and change to the social injustices of their time, with only a blurry line dividing their personal actions from the Society’s efforts.   

So, as an organization, how can we further aid this suffering world? Our purpose remains relevant and necessary, but aren’t we falling short? There is so much work that is still undone simply in accomplishing our First Object, “to form a nucleus of the universal brotherhood of humanity.” We may continue to be a quieter influence in the inner planes, hopefully brightening and uplifting the collective mind, but I could see the Society being so much more visibly involved in promoting awareness and long-lasting change.

I do not claim to know the answers, but I trust that if we make the sincere effort, to the best of our ability, without conditions or expectations, to lessen the suffering of our neighbor, the powers of good awaiting to find vehicles of expression will not wait a second.  Every next step is ready when we are ready. As H.P. Blavatsky writes in The Secret Doctrine: “The Universe is worked and guided from within outwards.  As above so it is below, as in heaven so on earth; and man—the microcosm and miniature copy of the macrocosm—is the living witness to this Universal Law and to the mode of its action.”

We can never know how far right intention and action can take us. During World War II, there was an Englishman whose unusual mind played a pivotal role in cracking intercepted coded messages sent by Hitler to the German forces. His name was Alan Turing, and it has been said that his cryptographic discoveries shortened the war by two to four years and saved an estimated 14–21 million lives. Among his quotes, there is one that brings hope even to the smallest of us: “Sometimes it is the people no one imagines anything of who do the things that no one can imagine.” Sometimes, like the wolf, they can even change rivers. 



Juliana Cesano is a second-generation Theosophist and has been actively involved with the Society’s work for over twenty years. She is a certified yoga teacher as well as the manager of the Quest Book Shop in Wheaton.


Natalie Sudman: Prophet of Another Reality

Printed in the  Spring 2017issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard, "Natalie Sudman: Prophet of Another Reality" Quest 105:3(Summer 2017) pg. 14-19

By Richard Smoley 

Theosophical Society - Natalie Sudman became a prophet of another reality after a NDE caused by a roadside bomb in Iraq.What is a prophet? If you ask most people, they will probably say that a prophet is someone who can predict the future.

This definition isn’t particularly accurate. Many prophets—including those in the Bible—give more attention to addressing the present than to predicting the future. This is just as well, because their predictions for the future have usually not come true.

It may be better to define a prophet as someone who is in touch with transcendent realities and expresses this knowledge to the needs of his or her times. That is, a prophet tells the community what God or the gods believe it needs to hear now.

If we start with this definition, we would see that the prophets of our time are not necessarily those who tell us what is coming in the future, but are reminding us that transcendent realities—the very ones that our civilization works hardest to deny and block—are real and present and have a genuine connection with our lives.

Among these figures I would put Eben Alexander, the American neurosurgeon whose near-death experience (NDE) in 2008 shook his view of reality, inspiring his best-selling book Proof of Heaven. Possibly the chief message he was intended to carry back was the simple fact that the material existence to which we cling so desperately is not the only or even the most important plane of reality—even for us.

Another such prophet is Natalie Sudman. She came upon her calling in an unusual way. Born in Montana, she was raised in Minnesota. She trained as an artist, receiving a master of fine arts degree in 1989, and for sixteen years worked as an archaeologist in the western U.S. In 2006 she went to Iraq, serving as a project engineer for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.

The stint in Iraq brought about a major break in her life. On November 24, 2007, she was riding in an armored Land Cruiser to visit some water treatment projects when her vehicle was hit by an IED—the military acronym for an “improvised explosive device,” or, plainly, a roadside bomb.

“All I heard was a ‘pop,’—the sound of a champagne cork from one hundred meters—the Microsoft sound of opening a new window—a finger snap from across the office,” she writes in her book Application of Impossible Things.

“I vividly remember taking a long, deep breath—more of a sigh that echoed an internal sigh . . . I was tired inside, exhausted from long days spent trying to train a new project manager while catching up with a demanding workload after an insufficient two weeks of leave. I didn’t want something hard, something that required effort. I wanted to rest.

“Tough luck.

“Get on with it, I told myself.

“Then I opened my eyes.”

Sudman was no longer able to see from her right eye. Both of her hands were covered in blood. Her injuries included broken teeth, “some of which took a quick exit through my face,” a heel broken by shrapnel, a hole in her skull exposing her frontal sinus, a skull fracture, and shrapnel in both eyes and in her sinus. Her situation was critical.

None of this, however, is the most important part of her story. The most important part took place after the explosion, just before she opened her eyes.

She found herself delivering a lecture.

“In this new environment,” she writes, “I stood on an oval dais looking rather intrepid in my bloody and torn fatigues, slouching a bit, dirty and darkly tan, addressing thousands of white-robed beings.”

Sudman intuitively knew that these were not the actual forms of these beings. They were “non-physical in essence, taking on form as if they intended to do that for a particular purpose.”

Curiously, she adds, “most of these thousands were familiar to me, and all were my equal regardless of their admiration for my latest silly feat on earth. (How intrepid is it, really, to choose to get blown up?)”

And indeed these transcendent beings seemed to be fascinated by Sudman’s account of what it was like to get blown up. She did not deliver a lecture as we understand it. Instead, she writes:

I presented what seems from my current physical body/conscious mind perception to be a transfer of information in the form of an inexplicably complex matrix. The information was minutely detailed and broadly conceptual—at once layered and infinitely dense. It included events, thoughts, incidents, individuals, and groups in all their relationship complexities: stories, concepts, judgments, connections, nuances, layers, judgments, and projections . . . Rather than being a classic life-flashing-before-the-eyes scene, this download was a collection that emphasized what might be very broadly understood as cultural and political information. I was aware that I deliberately offered the condensed data in fulfillment of a request that had been made by this Gathering of personalities prior to my taking on this body for this physical lifetime.

In essence, Sudman was uploading information about her experience to this “Gathering.” In order to genuinely understand this experience, a being from outside this dimension would have to have an enormous amount of background knowledge. What is a Land Cruiser? What is a war? What, for that matter, is getting blown up? Sudman appears to have conveyed the sum total of this knowledge to these beings immediately and directly—very much unlike the way we communicate on planet earth.

Sudman’s account brings to mind the language of angels as described by the eighteenth-century Swedish visionary Emanuel Swedenborg. In his book Heaven and Hell, he writes: “The language of angels . . . is so full of wisdom that they can in a single word express what we cannot say in a thousand words; and the concepts of their thinking can encompass things the like of which we cannot grasp . . . Because angels’ language flows directly from their affection, . . . angels can express in a minute more than we can say in half an hour, and can present in a few words things that would make many pages of writing.”

Swedenborg, writing around 1758, could hardly have thought of downloading, but one suspects that he might have used this analogy had he known of it.

Sudman’s description also resembles Eben Alexander’s in his NDE. When Alexander was in an altered dimension, his questions were answered, he says, “in an explosion of light, color, love, and beauty that blew through me like a crashing wave . . . These bursts . . . didn’t simply silence my questions by overwhelming them. They answered them, but in a way that bypassed language. Thoughts entered me directly . . . As I received them I was able to instantly and effortlessly understand concepts that would have taken me years to fully grasp in my earthly life.”

The chief difference between Sudman’s account and Alexander’s is that Sudman was doing the communicating, while Alexander was being communicated to.
All in all, Sudman estimates that this transcendental status update took place in five seconds of earthly time. For this reason, she calls this alternate reality the Blink Environment.

It is a far richer and more multifarious realm than the one we know. Responding to some questions of mine in September 2016, she wrote:

This is an environment, a “place,” as we might perceive it, where beings can have form if they choose to experience it that way. If one chooses to have form here, it’s a malleable form, easily changed or dropped. It’s a place, or a frequency, that has some access to the physical world but is not overlapping, and has some interest in the physical world but is not interfering. My sense is that it’s a place that beings use, but is not a place any being dwells for any length of time—not in the way we think of as having a long experience within. Time/space is experienced differently there, and my sense is that it accesses or sits within some sort of frequency band that experiences time/space in a much more comprehensive and multidimensional way. All relationships within this environment are friendly, supportive, egalitarian, and respectful. Communication is instantaneous. It’s not telepathy so much as just instant sharing; information is made available and absorbed.

One significant detail in Sudman’s story is that she gave her account to those beings in response “to a request that had been made by this Gathering of personalities prior to my taking on this body for this physical lifetime.” Could she have made some prelife choice to be blown up in this way and report back to her colleagues about it?

Possibly. Sudman says that all events in our lives, no matter how they seem or feel at the time, are the result of predetermined choices we have made. There are, in a sense, two selves: “the whole self mind” and the “human mind.” The “whole self mind” is aware of the totality of a being’s experience, and in fact has chosen and created it, even though the “human mind” may have no recollection of having done so. “In fact, we are the creative force in our lives, through our human minds and as infinite beings having an experience through these bodies and minds.”

To put it plainly, your whole self creates your reality: your limited, human self may be, probably is, only aware of some part of this reality.

This view is certainly more sophisticated than the simple belief that you create your reality. If you create your own reality, how did you do it? Did your bad thoughts bring about that auto accident? Did your hostile feelings toward that person cause him to get sick? You don’t need to follow these lines of thought very far to realize that they are quick and easy paths to madness. Sudman writes: “Believing or knowing that we create through thought can be empowering, but it can also be infuriating and frightening because if we create with our beliefs, then we have to acknowledge that we created THIS or THAT in our lives . . . ‘I did NOT create that!’ (I hear you!) . . . and it may be true. You in your human mind awareness did not necessarily create this or that. You as a whole being, however, had to have either created it or agreed to it” (ellipses here are Sudman’s; they do not indicate omissions. All emphasis in quotes is also Sudman’s).

Thus she believes that the choices she made for this life included the opportunity to be blown up by a roadside bomb in Iraq.

I am reminded of the myth of Er in the last book of Plato’s Republic, which itself is an account of an NDE. Er, a soldier, is slain, or nearly slain, on a battlefield. Journeying through the land of the dead, he comes to the point where the souls choose to take on their next lives, in which “there was every kind of mixture and combination.” They draw lots to find the order in which they will be allowed to choose their lives. “The drawer of the first lot at once sprang to seize the greatest tyranny, and . . . in his folly and greed . . . failed to observe that it involved the fate of eating his own children.” The soul of Odysseus, the shrewdest of men, draws the lowest lot and has the last choice. He chooses the life of an ordinary citizen who minds his own business, and says that he would have done the same if he had drawn the first lot.

In Plato’s account, as in Sudman’s, the soul chooses its whole life and the baggage that comes with it, good and bad. But Plato does not explain why this should be the case. Sudman gives this explanation:

From expanded awareness every action is understood to express creativity, have meaning, and influence the balance and order of the whole of All That Is. From my experiences in expanded awareness, it appears to me that no being is considered evil or bad. Actions of a being may be understood to be disruptive, inharmonious, or detrimental to the creative flow within any one reality, but the creativity of an action could be understood as valid—perhaps even necessary or useful—regardless of the overall disruption.

Thus all life choices, good and evil, from the perspective of the whole self, have an integral place within the whole.

Such an attitude detaches one from conventional moral judgments: “Instead of thinking, Whoa, that person is seriously f*ed up! I could think, Whoa! That experience took guts, or That one gets high points for drama, or Huh—very subtle, or Shit—they’re really piling it on, or Hmm—they’re like a microcosm of the macrocosm of what’s going on in the world, or   I wonder what I’m/they’re doing with this? I wonder how it fits into the cooperative whole of creation?”

This perspective has something to be said for it. The present-day world gives us endless opportunities to become upset or angry or exasperated—attitudes which do absolutely no good whatsoever, as humanity should have learned long ago. Viewing them with greater detachment may not always prevent evil, but it very likely will keep one from compounding it.

Sudman’s view resonates with what I believe to be the inner meaning of the myth of the Fall in Genesis. The primordial man and woman eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil: that is, they wish to know what good and evil are like. As a result they are cast into a realm where it hurts to have babies and you have to work hard for a living: “In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children . . . in the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread” (Genesis 4:16, 19). That is this realm—earthly life. You will notice that nothing is said about hell.
               
Similarly, in Sudman’s view, the human task, or desire, is to experience the total range of possibilities, good and evil—not only in other realms, but in this one. And in fact this is the only plausible explanation for the whole course of history: that the human race has collectively chosen to explore all possible combinations and all possible outcomes at this level of reality—however delightful or excruciating. To put the matter another way, if you can think of it, and it is physically feasible in this dimension (and sometimes even if it isn’t), someone will have tried it.

The admiration that the Gathering express for Sudman casts further light on this issue. They admire her because it takes a certain specialized skill to function on this, the physical level of reality: not all beings can do it. She observes, “That it isn’t exactly easy from an energy standpoint seems to me, conversely and paradoxically, one reason why it can be difficult to remember who we are as Whole Selves while we’re in the physical. But the point is this: all of us are sharing a unique experience that takes real and amazing skill. We have absolutely no idea how amazing and totally cool we are, really, each of us, and how totally amazing and cool it is that we can maintain a physical body and comprehend experience from within time and space as we do.”

Nevertheless, this “unique experience” is clearly not pleasant at all points. This leads to another feature that Sudman’s experience shares with many other NDEs: the decision about whether to go back at all. Most people who pass through the gates of death are, at some point, given the choice of whether to stay in these heavenlike realms or return to a hard existence on planet earth. Of course we only hear from the ones who came back.

Sudman was given such a choice. The Gathering “requested that I return to my physical body to accomplish some further work. I was given to understand that my particular skills were needed at this time and would be effective only were I actually present in a body within the earth vibration.”

She goes on to say, “I’m entirely my own authority. I’m free to leave or stay. I’m free to alter agreements, negate them, or enter into new ones.” That much said, she adds, “to be honest, I don’t feel any attachment to the people, the landscapes, or the situations left behind . . . I’m not particularly interested in returning to the physical at all.” In light of all this, “that I could be so easily enticed to return to the physical when I was so exhausted is amusing to me now.”

Sudman declines to comment about what skills the Gathering believed that she needed to bring to the physical plane. “I consider them unique and interesting to me because they’re mine, but I don’t want a description of some of them to be interpreted as grandiose or ‘special’.”

Although she agreed to return to earth, “given my level of exhaustion and disinterest in the difficulties of this particular physical life to date, I requested that certain assistance be provided within that continued physical existence.” She was transported to a “deep place . . . where I could recuperate and restore my energies. Other beings assisted with this, doing most of the work while I entered a sort of spiritual deep resting state. From the physical perspective, this state lasted an equivalent of centuries within less than a moment . . . Some energy beings and I worked together, quickly repairing the body . . . The injuries weren’t entirely healed, as some were to be of use in situating me for tasks I had agreed to perform or things that I wanted to experience as a whole infinite Self.”

And then she returned to the reality of her bleeding body and the blown-up vehicle. Even after the healing performed on her in the other realm, her injuries required a long convalescence to heal.

Today Sudman lives in southern Arizona, where she has returned to her artistic vocation. Her oil paintings, which are featured in this issue, are abstract images reminiscent of the works of Paul Klee, in muted colors that evoke the desert in late and early hours. Her ceramic works, also in earth colors, have a feel of the Neolithic about them. Sudman also does psychic consultations by phone.

When asked how her perspective has changed since her experience in 2008, she replies, somewhat surprisingly, “I don’t know that it has changed. The NDE wasn’t a revolutionary experience for me. I think it was more evolutionary. It didn’t drastically change anything I thought or knew, it only maybe gave me a little more information in some places. Like any experience, it had some effect but it didn’t turn my world upside down, and the ways that it affected my worldview are probably not things I could tease out of the tapestry.”

When I ask her what message she feels she has to bring for humanity, she replies, “I have no idea, really. It’s too big an assignment for little me! All of humanity . . . yikes!” But she goes on: “Learn that affinity for yourself, good, bad, and ugly. Be your own best friend, loving all of it. Because from that, everything else follows: loving others, peace, all the good things.”

While this is good advice, I can’t help returning to the point at which I began this article. The principal message of Sudman, and of contemporary prophets like her, may simply be that these alternate realms, however strange they may sound and however much their realities seem to contradict our ordinary conceptions, do exist. Not only do they exist, but they are intimately interwoven with our reality, and shape it in ways that we do not see and probably cannot understand. This may be the thing we most need to hear today.


Sources

Alexander, Eben. Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2012.
Plato. Collected Dialogues. Edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns. 2d ed. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton/Bollingen, 1963.
Sudman, Natalie. Application of Impossible Things: My Near Death Experience in Iraq. Huntsville, Ark.: Ozark Mountain Publishing, 2012.
———. Personal communication with Richard Smoley, September 2016.
Swedenborg, Emanuel. Heaven and Hell. Translated by George F. Dole. West Chester, Pa.: Swedenborg Foundation, 2000.

Richard Smoley’s latest book, How God Became God: What Scholars Are Really Saying about God and the Bible, was published in June 2016 by Tarcher Perigee. A version of this article originally appeared in New Dawn magazine: newdawnmagazine.com.

 

 

 

 


Hildegard of Bingen: The Nun Who Loved the Earth

Printed in the  Spring 2017  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Overweg, Cynthia , "Hildegard of Bingen: The Nun Who Loved the Earth" Quest 105:3(Summer 2017) pg. 21 -25 

By Cynthia Overweg

The earth sustains humanity. It must not be injured; it must not be destroyed.
—Hildegard of Bingen

 

Theosophical Society - Cynthia Overweg is an educator, spiritual storyteller, writer, and filmmaker. She focuses on the interconnectedness of life and our shared aspirations to live in wholeness and peace. Her work has won awards from the National Endowments for the Arts and the American Film Institute.Hildegard of Bingen was no ordinary nun. The beloved Benedictine abbess stood at the epicenter of medieval Europe as a visionary and mystic. Famous for her visions of celestial wonders and vivid descriptions of an ordered and divine universe, she was a spiritual beacon to thousands of people who flocked to her monastery, seeking her advice and counsel.

So great was Hildegard’s spiritual stature that her petitioners included kings and queens, bishops and popes. But it was her passion for the natural world and our place in it that makes Hildegard particularly relevant today. She had a profound reverence for nature and placed great importance on our relationship with the earth. Her ideas transcend religious tradition to embrace a grand and inclusive vision: “Every creature is a glittering, glistening mirror of divinity,” she wrote.

Born in 1098 in Bermersheim, Germany, in the lush Rhineland, Hildegard was known as the Sibyl of the Rhine. In addition to her mysticism, she was also a prolific writer, musician, composer, theologian, playwright, teacher, herbalist, and healer. Scholars refer to her as a polymath—a person with extensive knowledge and training in several disciplines. She saw the earth as a living organism endowed with the same vital power that animates all life forms. It was a central theme in her life and work. “The earth sustains humanity. It must not be injured; it must not be destroyed,” she declared.

In Hildegard’s worldview, a beam of sunlight, the fragrance of a flower, or the graceful movement of a swan were all participants in the holy chorus of creation. To be out of sync with the beauty and fecundity of nature is to deny the divine force which enlivens body and soul. She called this force viriditas, using the Latin word for “greenness.” She envisioned this “greening power” as a force that continually nourishes the earth and all its creatures. For Hildegard, the color green symbolized nature’s vibrancy, ripening, and eternal becoming. She made it clear that we are not separate from nature, but an intimate part of it. When she observed the wonder and splendor of nature, she saw a divine underpinning which sustained not only the earth, but the cosmos. “Creation is the song of God,” she said.

Hildegard certainly wasn’t the first mystic or philosopher to venerate nature or to speak of a mysterious energy that underpins and sustains the visible world. Similar ideas can be found in the Bhagavad Gita, the Upanishads, and the Tibetan Buddhist worldview. Take, for example, the following statement by Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita: “I am the taste of pure water and the radiance of the sun and moon. I am the sweet fragrance in the earth and the radiance of fire; I am the life in every creature.”

Now compare Hildegard’s expression of the same idea, revealed to her, she said, by the “voice of the Living Light,” which spoke to her of the mystery which animates creation: “I am the breeze that nurtures all things green. I encourage blossoms to flourish with ripening fruits. I adorn all the earth. I am the rain coming from the dew that causes the grass to laugh with the joy of life.”

The similarity between Krishna’s statements and Hildegard’s is striking, but she could not have known about the Bhagavad Gita or any other Sanskrit text. Hildegard was a cloistered nun in rural medieval Germany, and she would have had no access to translations of Asian scriptures, had they even been available in her time.

Hildegard’s insights came through her own observations and inner experience. She had tapped into the same unifying principle that mystics of all traditions have spoken or written about. While Hildegard was often quite conventional when she gave theological interpretations, in her purely mystical work, there are parallels with Eastern philosophy.

  Theosophical Society - This image of Hildegard’s is known as The Cosmic Tree, or The Wheel of Life.
  This image of Hildegard’s is known as The Cosmic Tree, or The Wheel of Life.

“The Earth sweats geminating power from its very pores,” she told her nuns. She asked them to pay close attention to the rhythms of nature, because it holds the secret to our physical well-being and to the vitality of an inner life. She urged them to become partners with the natural world, saying: “Humankind is called to co-create, so that we might cultivate the earthly, and thereby create the heavenly.” While Hildegard saw the necessity of working cooperatively with nature to create heaven on earth, our modern world of climate change, rising sea levels, failing ecosystems, and extinctions of species has put the earth and all of its creatures in peril. But few in leadership positions seem to be listening to prophets of old—or to the latest science.

In recent years, there has been a resurgence of interest in Hildegard’s life and work. She has been the subject of dozens of books, documentaries, and the 2009 award-winning feature film Vision, which tells the story of her ferocious battle to overcome the opposition of a misogynist abbot to her founding of a convent. But with the help of a wealthy female patron and the approval of the bishop of Mainz, Hildegard succeeded in building a new center for her nuns, and gave them a level of freedom and creativity unheard of in her day. In 2012, after centuries of dragging its feet, the Catholic church under Pope Benedict XVI canonized Hildegard a saint and gave her the title “Doctor of the Church.”

Born into a family of nobility, Hildegard did not choose the religious life of her own accord. It was thrust upon her. The youngest of ten children, she was given by her parents as a “tithe” to the church when she was only eight years old. Painful as it must have been to relinquish custody of your child to be raised by nuns or monks, it was customary in the Middle Ages for members of the nobility to “give” a son or a daughter to the church, and by extension to God.

One can only imagine the emotional trauma this caused for families, no matter how devoted they were to their faith. A beautiful and shy little girl with a highly sensitive nature, Hildegard must have been frightened and disoriented when her parents brought her to live at the Disibodenberg monastery. The monastery now lies in ruins on a hilltop near the Nahe river, south of the Rhine. Because Hildegard once lived there, it attracts spiritual pilgrims and tourists from all over the world.

Once she arrived at the monastery, Hildegard was placed in the care of Jutta von Sponheim, a deeply religious woman and a family friend. Jutta was a well-regarded anchoress. Unlike a typical nun, an anchoress in medieval times went through a ritual of a mock burial, performed by a bishop, to mark her absolute “deadness” to the world. Anchoresses also took a rather extreme vow of perpetual enclosure in a small structure attached to a monastery or church. Jutta had mystical tendencies of her own and had insisted on being enclosed so that she could focus her attention on her interior life. She became Hildegard’s guardian, teacher, and confidant.

It wasn’t long before Hildegard confided to Jutta that from the age of three she had been seeing visions of a divine light. “I saw such a great light that my soul quaked. I have always seen this vision in my soul,” she wrote when describing her childhood experience. She had learned when quite young that others did not see visions, and that rather than be ridiculed, it was better to keep them a secret. But she entrusted her secret to Jutta, who seems to have understood Hildegard’s emerging mysticism, though it is unknown to what extent Jutta supported or encouraged her young protégé. What is known is that sometime between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, Hildegard formally became a nun under the convent leadership of Jutta.

Hildegard had reached the age when she would have been required to enter an arranged marriage had she not already been committed to the church by her parents. The roles of women were strictly prescribed in the Middle Ages: it was either marriage and children or life in a convent. To escape an arranged marriage, some young women preferred to enter a convent, where at least they could receive an education and have some measure of independence, as well as the opportunity to become leaders within their communities. When Hildegard took the veil, she had no choice in the matter, but always maintained that she did so willingly, believing it was her spiritual calling. In later years, however, she criticized the practice of tithing children to the religious life, saying they were too young and innocent to be required to make such a commitment.

For more than three decades after becoming a nun, Hildegard was a hard-working, though reclusive woman. But her blazing intelligence, spiritual maturity, creativity, and leadership skills were admired and respected by her peers. When Jutta died in 1136, Hildegard was elected abbess of the convent. She was thirty-eight. Up to that point, she had been suppressing her mystical visions since childhood, fearing disapproval, ridicule, and even accusations of heresy. By 1141, when she was forty-three, Hildegard’s health was breaking down. She was often sick and unable to work.

Then one day Hildegard had a vision that challenged her to finally break her silence. She put it his way: “In the forty-third year of my passing journey, when I clung to a heavenly vision with fear and trembling, I saw a very great light from which a heavenly voice spoke to me and said: ‘O weak person, ashes of ashes, dust of dust, speak and write what you see and hear. Because you are timid about speaking and unskilled in writing, speak and write these things as a listener understanding the words of a teacher. Give others a clear account of what you see with your inner eye, and what you hear with your inner ear. Your testimony will help them come to know me.’”

Theosophical Society -  An illuminated image of one of Hildegard’s visions, known as All Beings Celebrate Creation.  
 An illuminated image of one of Hildegard’s visions, known as All Beings Celebrate Creation.  

But Hildegard’s anxiety crippled her. “Although I heard and saw wondrous and mysterious things, I refused to write them down because of self-doubt and my fear of the opinion of others,” she wrote. Weary and frightened, she gathered the strength to begin recording her visions. Once she started to write, her health greatly improved.

Knowing that she needed feedback and support, Hildegard consulted the monk Volmar, who was assigned as confessor to her convent. Volmar was a kind and gracious man, who had enormous respect for Hildegard and her spiritual wisdom. Since his Latin was more classical and polished than Hildegard’s, he volunteered to be her secretary and write down what she told him. It was a collaboration that lasted until Volmar’s death more than thirty years later. The nun and the monk became close friends and confidants to each other. Volmar’s encouragement helped Hildegard develop the confidence she needed to find her own voice.

With Volmar as her secretary, Hildegard began to write Scivias, or “Know the Ways,” her first book about her visions and her theological interpretations of them. Once some of the book had been written, Hildegard wrote to the influential French abbot Bernard of Clairvaux, a Cistercian monk and close advisor to the pope, for his opinion of her visions and her work. Hildegard knew that Bernard was devoted to the Virgin Mary and was sympathetic to inward seeking and mystical experience.

It wasn’t long before a delegation of bishops was sent to the monastery to interrogate her and obtain a copy of what she was writing. She now had come face to face with her greatest fear: rejection and ridicule by ecclesiastical authority. But she maintained her poise during long and forceful questioning that went on for a couple of days. The bishops left skeptical, but without condemning her.

Hildegard’s manuscript was brought to Pope Eugenius III, who was pleased with it, and in 1148, he wrote to Hildegard giving her permission to write and publish her visions. By then she was fifty, a late start for any writer, but before she died in 1179 at the age of eighty-one, Hildegard had written five major books, composed seventy-seven sacred songs, written the first musical morality play, answered hundreds of letters from petitioners, publicly condemned church corruption and the philandering of priests, gone on an unprecedented speaking tour, and created a secret language for her nuns, all while managing two convents and facilitating her charges’ spiritual growth. Her accomplishments would have been remarkable in any age, but for a twelfth-century woman, she was one of a kind.

When a monk asked Hildegard how her visions came to her, she replied: “A fiery light of exceeding brilliance came and permeated my whole brain, and inflamed my whole heart and my whole breast, not like a burning, but like a warming flame, as the sun warms anything its rays touch.” When she was asked if she was awake or in a trance when the visions came, she said, “The visions I see I do not perceive by the eyes of the body, or by the ears of the outer self, or in hidden places; I receive them while awake, and seeing with a pure mind and the eyes and ears of the inner self, in open places, as God wills it.”

Hildegard’s claim of being lucid and awake when experiencing her visions in what she called the “Living Light” and the “shadow of the Living Light,” is rare if not unique. She suggested that although she experienced an altered state of consciousness, it was not spiritual bliss or a trancelike state. She was, as it were, accessing another dimension with “inner” sight and “inner” hearing that enabled her to encounter celestial beings and mysteries at the root of existence, while remaining conscious of her surroundings. Some have proposed that Hildegard may have suffered from migraines, and that the bright light she saw was an aura produced from an intense headache. But there is no way of knowing if she did suffer from migraines. Even if she did, they cannot account for the complexity and originality of her visions, or for her claim to feel the presence of the Living Light within her and near her.

The visions described in Scivias and her other books were “illuminated,” or painted as images by monks and nuns with artistic abilities, under Hildegard’s supervision. Part of what makes her appealing to contemporary readers is her unusual visual imagery. Many of her visionary images have been likened to mandalas, symbolic representations of the cosmos. Themes included the cosmic egg; angels and celestial beings celebrating the creation of the universe; humanity as a microcosm of the macrocosm; and what has been referred to as Hildegard’s “cosmic tree.” They also resemble mandalas in that they depict a circle inside a square to illustrate a mystery which the viewer is invited to enter.

Another important aspect of Hildegard’s visions was her experience of spiritual wisdom as a feminine attribute. Her description of the feminine divine principle, personified as Wisdom, was sometimes provocative, but always powerful. “O Holy Wisdom, soaring Power, encompass us with wings unfurled, and carry us, encircling all, above, below, and through the world,” Hildegard wrote. “Praise her! She watches over all people and all things in heaven and earth. She is incomprehensible to mortals. She is with all and in all; great is her mystery.”

But when it came to the feminine face of divinity, Hildegard was careful not to cross a theological line. Her fame did not give her license to contradict dogma, and she did not or could not support the ordination of women. Even if she had wanted to, it would have been heretical and therefore dangerous. Yet Hildegard managed in her own way to liberate herself and her nuns from the “curse” of Eve (a vindictive punishment described in the Genesis myth which still affects Western civilization) by celebrating feminine wisdom and power within the voluntary confinement of a religious life. She emphasized the predestination of both Mary and Christ. Both, she said, were at the intersection of eternity and time, and both were redemptive instruments of divine love. She was also optimistic about the possibility of men and women becoming fully realized human beings, writing: “Humanity, take a good look at yourself. Inside, you’ve got heaven and earth, and all of creation. You’re a world—everything is hidden in you.”

One of Hildegard’s most enduring symbols is a tree, which she used as a metaphor for the growth of the soul. “The soul is in the body, just like the sap is in the tree. Understanding grows in the soul, just like the greening of branches and the leaves of the tree. Therefore O person, you who think your understanding is good, understand what you are in your soul.”

Hildegard’s teaching can sometimes sound a bit like a Zen koan. She was adept at pointing to nature in order to help us better understand ourselves and the planet which has been given to us. She saw a spiritual kinship between us and the earth: “The soul is a breath of the living spirit, and with excellent sensitivity, permeates the entire body to give it life. Just so, the breath of the air makes the earth fruitful. Thus the air is the soul of the earth, moistening it, greening it.” For Hildegard, the earth was sacred.


Sources

Baird, Joseph, and Radd K. Ehrman. The Personal Correspondence of Hildegard of Bingen. Three volumes. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006.
Cirlot, J.E. A Dictionary of Symbols. Translated by Jack Sage. New York: Dover, 2002.
Flanagan, Sabina. Hildegard of Bingen: A Visionary Life. New York: Barnes & Noble, 1999.
Fox, Matthew. Hildegard of Bingen’s Book of Divine Works. Santa Fe, N.M.: Bear & Co., 1987.
———. Illuminations of Hildegard of Bingen. Santa Fe: Bear & Co., 1985.
Hozeski, Bruce. Hildegard von Bingen’s Mystical Visions. Santa Fe: Bear & Co., 1986.
Kujawa-Hobrook, Sheryl. Hildegard of Bingen: Essential Writings and Chants. Woodstock, Vt.: Skylight Paths, 2016.
Newman, Barbara. Sister of Wisdom. Berkeley: University of California Press,
1987.
———. Voice of the Living Light. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998.
Schipperges, Heinrich. The World of Hildegard of Bingen. Translated by John Cumming. Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1998.
Underhill, Evelyn. Mysticism: A Study in the Nature and Development of Spiritual Consciousness. New York: Dover, 2002.

 

Cynthia Overweg is an educator, spiritual storyteller, writer, and filmmaker. She focuses on the interconnectedness of life and our shared aspirations to live in wholeness and peace. Her work has won awards from the National Endowments for the Arts and the American Film Institute. For more information, visit www.cynthiaoverweg.com.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


From the Editor's Desk Spring 2017

Printed in the  Spring 2017 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation:  Smoley, Richard, "From the Editor's Desk" Quest 105:2(Spring 2017) pg. 2

It has become commonplace to say that our country is entering into a dark time.

It may be so; it may not be so. Forebodings of this sort do not have much value as predictions. Dreaded events often never arrive. On the other hand, many nations have marched cheerily and optimistically into bloodbaths.

But there are two points that, I think, need to be made in the current circumstances.

1. All nations rise, reach their peak for a generation or two, then inevitably decline. This appears to be an organic process. As the British author Havelock Ellis remarked, a civilization is no more to be blamed for decadence than a flower is to be blamed for going to seed.

2. All nations undergo periodic convulsions of mass insanity. (I talked a bit about this issue in the editorial for the winter 2016 Quest.) This may be occurring in the U.S. today. It makes sense that it would, because mental illness of all kinds is now pandemic nationwide.

I have never read or heard anything by anyone that gives a really satisfactory explanation of either fact. In War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy argued that history was brought about, not by great men, but by the collective wills of all the individuals taking part in those events. I believe this is true, but it does not take us much further.

Of course no one wants to be scooped up and whisked along by events, but they happen nonetheless. How are we to conduct ourselves in the midst of them?

In the present, standing orders still apply. People of decency and integrity—no matter what their spiritual orientation is—are always bound to live by the highest and best principles known to them. This is necessary in good times, but even more necessary in bad times— if only because, as experience has proved, sometimes your decency is your only safeguard. As the I Ching says about such situations, “The superior man falls back upon his inner worth / In order to escape the dif­ficulties” (hexagram 12, “Standstill”).

It is also useful to remember that, as the Buddhists teach, current conditions represent the ripening of la­tent karma. The seeds of todays actions were sown a long time ago. They will play themselves out, whether we like it or not. There is little one can do to reverse them. Nobody could have stopped World War II on September 1, 1939. This helps explain why The Key to Theosophy (as quoted in Tim Boyd’s “Viewpoint” for this issue) says, “The Masters look at the future, not at the present.”

This does not, of course, mean that we should take no action in regard to present circumstances. But it does mean taking a longer view of them. Some eso- tericists say they are working with a view to fifty or a hundred years in the future.

In light of this consideration, it may be useful to consider how the last hundred years have borne fruit. As Tim goes on to say, one of the great challenges, as seen by the founders of the Theosophical Society, was to counter the “superstition” of organized religion. In one way, this goal has advanced: the intellectual main­stream acknowledges that much of the Bible is not lit­erally true and that many of the dogmas of Christianity make no sense. In another way, the outcome has not been so good, as fundamentalists of all stripes have be­come stronger or at any rate more vocal. To provide a variation on Greshams law, “Bad religion drives out good.”

The weakening of religion has, unfortunately, strengthened another trend that Theosophy set out to combat: the “brutal materialism” of science. Material­ism stands on a shakier conceptual foundation than ever, and yet the mainstream intelligentsia cling to it ever more desperately—fearing that without it, we will have to go back to believing that the world was created 6000 years ago.

It is time to start asking harder questions of science. Here is one: the current environmental crisis is almost entirely the result of scientific development. We would not be facing climate change to the degree that we are if nobody had invented the internal combustion engine. The usual response is to assume that these are unfor­tunate side-effects of technological development, and that science can fix them perfectly well if it is permitted to do so. I wonder. At this point we have to ask, are the present crises merely incidental to a materialistic worldview or a direct and inseparable consequence of them? After all, if the world is simply a mass of dead matter (with the curious exception of ourselves), it is nothing more than a lump of dirt to be mined. We need not bother about cleaning it up.

Just as immediately, we face problems from the softer sciences, such as economics. Many take it as a given that market forces will produce not only the most efficient economy, but also the most just and equitable distribution of wealth. It is not hard to see who might find such theories appealing. But they have proved to be wrong.

Religion, science, economics—all of these disci­plines are working on premises that have long been found to be incorrect. If you are working from false premises, you will end up with false conclusions. That is obvious. The world as we know it is working on these premises. You can decide for yourself about the results.

“The world has not yet experienced any compre­hensive awakening or rebirth,” says A Course in Mir­acles—a statement I find it hard to dispute. Whether we are in dark times or not, clearly there is still much work to be done.

Richard Smoley


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