Quest Magazine

Printed in the  Fall 2022 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Scherini, Desiree Holmes,  "Other Worlds of Thought" Quest 110:4, pg 12-13

By Barbara Hebert
National President

The theme for this issue is “Other Worlds.” One may think of many ways in which discussion of this theme could diverge. For example, in Columbus, Ohio, there is an immersive art experience called OtherWorld. It is filled with large-scale interactive art, mixed reality playgrounds, and secret passageways where visitors are encouraged to explore and interact with a surreal world of science fiction and fantasy. Numerous videos on YouTube focus on information about the planets in our solar system and others that center on bizarre science fiction videos. Austin, Texas, holds an Other Worlds science fiction film festival every year. There are online interactive learning sites that are labeled “Other Worlds” as well as various stores around the country with that name, not to mention many books and movies. So the possibilities for articles in this issue are essentially unlimited.

My initial thought was many articles would discuss intelligent life on other planets in our solar system and other solar systems across the universe. This is a matter of conjecture for some and of belief for others. Theosophical literature discusses this topic.

Another mention of extraterrestrial life in the Theosophical literature occurs in Letter 62 (chronological) of The Mahatma Letters to A.P. Sinnett. The Mahatma Koot Hoomi writes, “There are other and innumerable manvantaric chains of globes bearing intelligent beings—both in and out of our solar system—the crowns or apexes of evolutionary being in their respective chains, some—physically and intellectually—lower, others immeasurably higher than the man of our chain. But beyond mentioning them we will not speak of these at present.”

Given the Theosophical teaching that souls incarnate in order to gain self-conscious awareness of their divine nature and connection with the One, it makes sense that souls could incarnate on other planets for this purpose. This is certainly a topic that many find fascinating and may explore further.

Several of the articles in this issue focus on other worlds in the sense of alternate realms of consciousness. Certainly for those of us on the physical plane, the various realms of consciousness can seem like other worlds. For this Viewpoint, I would like to veer into another direction that seems especially pertinent for our world today. On more than one occasion in the last few years, I have wondered, “What kind of a world am I living in?” Many of you may have wondered the same thing. In fact, I have gone from wondering about it to asking the question aloud: “Have I somehow journeyed to another world?” Our world right now is fraught with confusion, uncertainty, suffering, anger, and the loss of so much. It makes us yearn for a world filled with love, harmony, and compassion.

We can easily forget that our world is also filled with love, harmony and compassion. We find support and aid for those who are struggling, compassion for those who are suffering, and strength from those who stand up for their beliefs. From many perspectives, we live in a world of duality: struggles and support, suffering and compassion, strength in light of instability, loss, and uncertainty.

We may wonder if the world is worse today than it was 100 years ago, 700 years ago, or even 2,000 years ago. It seems that it must be worse, but glancing briefly at some components of history may provide greater insight. One hundred years ago, the world was recovering from the influenza pandemic and World War I, but it was also experiencing a time of expansion and solid economic growth. Seven hundred years ago, Europe in the 1300s experienced famine and plagues. The Great Famine of 1315‒17 was followed by the bubonic plague, commonly referred to as the Black Death, in 1346‒53. The ensuing depopulation brought on wars and social unrest. Yet at the same time, the Renaissance was beginning to shine its light in Italy.

Two thousand years ago, the world was also experiencing war and political turmoil. The first century AD saw the rule of the insane emperor Caligula and his assassination; the murder of his successor, Claudius, by his wife; the reign of Nero, with the burning of Rome in AD 64; and the Jewish revolt against Rome, culminating in the sack of the Jerusalem Temple in 70. There was at least one natural disaster with the explosion of Mount Vesuvius in 79. However, also during this time, it is said that Jesus was born and lived. In 96, the Five Good Emperors, starting with Nerva, began a nearly century-long reign over Rome.

It seems that each generation lives through a time of turmoil punctuated by positive events. As human beings, we tend to focus on the negative aspects and sometimes even believe that our time is the worst of times. But, is it?

We may be reminded of the opening words of A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, referring to the French Revolution of 1789 and its aftermath: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

It is important to ask ourselves, what are we focusing on? Are our minds and thoughts centering on “the worst of times,” “the age of foolishness,” “the epoch of incredulity,” “the season of darkness,” “the winter of despair,” or the opposite?

Theosophical literature tells us that thoughts are things. Our thoughts manifest as vibrations of mental matter and, if definite enough, can create a form consisting of energy from the emotional and mental fields. The Mahatma K.H. wrote to A.P. Sinnett, “Thoughts are things—have tenacity, coherence, and life . . . they are real entities” (Chin, 66). In another letter, to A.O. Hume, the Mahatma writes:

Every thought of [an individual] upon being evolved passes into the inner world and becomes an active entity by associating itself—coalescing, we might term it—with an elemental; that is to say with one of the semi-intelligent forces of the kingdoms. It survives as an active intelligence, a creature of the mind's begetting, for a longer or shorter period proportionate with the original intensity of the cerebral action which generated it. Thus, a good thought is perpetuated as an active beneficent power; an evil one as a maleficent demon. And so [an individual] is continually peopling his current in space with a world of his own, crowded with the offsprings of his fancies, desires, impulses, and passions. (Chin, 472)

These statements by the Mahatma must give us pause and compel us to “metathink”—to think about the thoughts we think! Our thoughts surround us (“peopling our space,” to paraphrase the Mahatma’s words) affecting us as well as those around us. They are the glasses through which we view the world.

If we continue to think about the difficult things that are happening in our world today, we are surrounding ourselves with those negative energies and vibrations. Furthermore, we attract other negative thoughts to us. Soon we have difficulty seeing anything positive around us. All we see is the sadness and suffering, and it can impact us dramatically in both physical and nonphysical ways.

On the other hand, if we focus on the positive, we surround ourselves with positivity. We can remind ourselves of the many acts of kindness and helpfulness, the compassion for others, the love that individuals show to one another, and the strength and courage that many show in standing up for their beliefs. In this way, we are peopling our space with beneficent thoughts, and we are inviting thoughts of similar vibratory patterns to us. Soon we are seeing the beauty in our world and feeling gratitude for it.

Centering our minds and thoughts on positivity is not to suggest that we ignore the suffering; rather, we acknowledge the suffering and work to alleviate it. Yet we do not allow the suffering to become our only perspective. When we focus on the beauty, goodness, compassion, strength, and love that can be seen in almost every corner of the globe, then we send those thoughts out into the world. In this way, we become a powerful force for good in the world. As Matthew Fox says in his interview in this issue, “We all have to ground ourselves in . . . the goodness of creation, the presence of the divine and of love and justice. We have to fill ourselves with those things without being in denial about the suffering.”

Source Material

Vicente Hao Chin, Jr., ed. The Mahatma Letters to A.P. Sinnett in Chronological Sequence. Quezon City, Philippines: Theosophical Publishing House, 1993.

Printed in the  Fall 2022 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Scherini, Desiree Holmes,  "Experiencing the Other World of the Devachanic Plane" Quest 110:4, pg 9-11

By Desiree Holmes Scherini

When someone speaks of other worlds, images of outer space and distant planets often come to mind. We may tend to think of these worlds as far away from us, alien and unreachable. However, each of us inhabits many worlds right now, even though we aren’t commonly able to observe them.

Most Theosophists have a grasp of the many states of being that we inhabit. These states can be classified into three, seven, or even a myriad of stages. In the three, we acknowledge body, mind, and spirit. The basic divisions generally given in Theosophical teaching include seven subtle stages: body (rupa), vitality (prana), the astral body (linga sharira), the animal soul (kama rupa), the human soul (manas), the spiritual soul (buddhi), and the spirit (atma). Each of these states is a world of existence that our being can and does experience.

In waking life, we are most keenly aware of our physical world: our bodies, homes, furnishings, aches and pains, as well as physical pleasures. While the physical body is resting in meditation or sleep, we may become more aware of our astral being. The mind is free to roam through dreams, time, and space without the limits of the physical body. In deep states of meditation, temporary physical death, or hypnosis, our spiritual being may travel even further, to the edge of the highest level of being, while the body still remains in physical form. These experiences have been documented throughout the years, some through near-death experiences (NDEs), others through meditation or even spontaneously.

Perhaps the most difficult thing to fathom is the independent state of consciousness that is separate from the physical body. Our three-dimensional reality seldom permits us to conceive of the mind as existing beyond the brain. Luckily, in recent years, some scientists have given more serious consideration to the concept that mind, consciousness, is indeed independent of the physical body. NDEs have been instrumental in supporting this claim, as survivors have shown no brain activity yet have returned to life with extraordinary stories of their time while “dead.”

After years of careful investigation, many previously skeptical researchers have come to support the concept of consciousness existing beyond the body. Among them is Dr. Peter Fenwick, a highly regarded neuropsychiatrist who believes that “the brain does not create or produce consciousness; rather, it filters it.” Fenwick believes that “consciousness actually exists independently and outside of the brain as an inherent property of the universe itself like dark matter and dark energy or gravity.”

Similarly, Dr. Brian Weiss, a respected psychiatrist, did not believe in reincarnation until one of his patients began discussing past-life experiences under hypnosis. After confirming elements of the patient’s stories through public records, he became convinced that an element of the human personality survives after death.

Similarly, psychologist and hypnotherapist Dr. Michael Newton, who described himself as a skeptic by nature, specialized in clinically practical behavioral modifications for the treatment of psychological disorders. He resisted requests for past-life regressions until a patient found relief from chronic pain by spontaneously going back to a past-life experience of injury. This led Newton to a long career of using past-life regression to help resolve current life issues, and even more importantly, to discover that his hypnotized subjects could report back to him about their experience of the spiritual realm during the passage of the soul through what he came to term “life between lives,” passing between this life and past lives. His work led to thousands of regressions, providing case studies that reported unexpected and extraordinary correlation of the subjects’ experiences.

Therapeutically, this work also led to deep emotional healing and insights, and Newton went on to develop and teach a hypnotic therapeutic process called “Life between Lives: Spiritual Regression” with Dr. Allen Chips through the National Association of Transpersonal Hypnotherapists.

As a hypnotherapist, I have been lucky to be trained in past-life regression therapy and Newton’s and Chips’ process. Training for these processes requires that the student be the subject of the hypnotic processes as well.

Here I want to share my direct experience of the spirit world, which I will correlate to the devachanic plane of Theosophy. But first I would like to provide a previous personal experience which provided me some confirmation of the reality of this other world.

My mother passed away in the summer of 2019. I was there in the rest home to help at the time. The morning after her death, while I was in a half-awake state, she appeared to me in the form of her physical self. She had three smooth, flat stones in front of her. She was waving her hand upward into the air while raising up her torso. She said, “Build me up,” and something about her bed. Her message didn’t make sense at the time, but I made a note of it and told my sister and father.

Two days later, while visiting the cemetery, we were presented with the options for her burial, among them a new mausoleum, a tall, smooth stone structure. We then knew that she wanted to be interred in the mausoleum for her final resting place (her “bed”).

Following that communication, I had several dreams of my mother that I would share with my family. After about three months, my father said he felt sad that he never had dreams of her, although he missed her immensely.

Since she had communicated with me, I decided to ask her if she had a message for my father. As I woke one morning, I stayed in the half-awake state, with closed eyes, and asked her for a message. She did reply, with quite a detailed response for my father. It led us to a wooden chest containing a letter in which she expressed her love for him and recounted when they first fell in love. She had sent it to him several years ago, while he was traveling, but it had been returned “to sender” because he had left the hotel by the time the letter arrived. Neither my dad nor I had any knowledge of it before then, yet it held the perfect message for a grieving husband.

During that exchange with my mother, I felt that our connection was quite strong, so I asked more questions. “What is it like there?” I asked.

She answered, “It’s beautiful! Everything is beautiful! I’m beautiful!”

I asked if my godparents and my sister, who are all deceased, were there.

My mother said, “Yes” and even mentioned that Donnie, a favorite dog from before my birth, was there as well. Then she surprised me and brought me out of my state by saying, “You’re here too; you just don’t know it.” This was the first of three confirmations that I would receive that my being is not limited to the physical plane.

A month or so later, as I prepared for my certification as a spiritual regression specialist, I had several books to read, primarily those of Dr. Michael Newton, in which he documents the experiences of subjects who independently described their journey through the spiritual world. As I read the narrative of each one, along with Dr. Newton’s overview, it was made clear that the subjects routinely reported that their souls were not encapsulated in the physical body and that there was a portion of the soul that always stays in the “heaven world.” They added that while we are in our normal waking state, most of us are unaware of this, and we tend to believe that our whole being is only here, in the body.

From his subjects’ reports, Dr. Newton noted that “the average soul takes around 50 to 70 percent of their energy into a body. This can vary from life to life, depending on a soul’s body choices and state of advancement” (Newton, 135).

Then, in the late fall of 2019, a couple of months after my mother’s message about me “being there too,” I was preparing to give a presentation on devachan (best described commonly as a layer of “heaven”) to my local Theosophical lodge.

I referred to a small book by C.W. Leadbeater entitled The Devachanic Plane, or The Heaven World: Its Characteristics and Inhabitants, first published in 1896. In it he describes the spiritual realm and explains that the soul, or spirit, inhabits several different levels of being, which differ in frequency. Among those levels is the physical body and the nonphysical “bodies.”

Leadbeater states, “We have not at present in the English language any convenient and at the same time accurate words to express these conditions; perhaps to call them respectively embodied and disembodied will be, on the whole, the least misleading of the various possible phrases.” This he found more appropriate than the terms ‘living” and “dead,” inasmuch as the soul never ceases. So again I found a reference to the soul or spirit existing in that realm, both while “alive” and while “dead.”

Thus I had three diverse and separate confirmations, separated by source and time, which substantiated the reality of the particular “other world” of devachan. With further study, I came to understand that my mother’s first communication with me was from the astral plane (where the recently deceased is still connected to the physical world). Her description a few months later represented her experience of the devachanic plane, to which she must have transitioned (which is indeed heavenlike, and the being is surrounded by loved ones and beauty).

Then came my first opportunity to experience this other world through the process of hypnotic spiritual regression. Unlike the thousands of case studies in Dr. Newton’s books, I did have some prior knowledge of others’ experiences before my own session. I had read accounts of some of them and noted the similarities of the stages of passage through the spiritual realm, so I had an expectation of what I would experience.

However, I was surprised to find that my own experience did not fit my expectations completely; it seemed to have its own unique process for my visit. Even so, it was similar enough to provide me with some confidence that there was indeed something true about the experience and that I wasn’t simply making it up based on what I had read. As with other things of this nature, unless one experiences it oneself, it can seem quite questionable.

In my experience following the hypnotic induction (which was quite long), I no longer quite sensed my physical body, although I was still aware of it. At first, I was simply experiencing darkness, seemingly for quite a few minutes, until amorphous colors began to appear, moving and mixing. Blues and purples, as if lit from within. Then appeared a point of light, seemingly distant. As I told my hypnotic facilitator what I was seeing, I was directed to go toward it (yes, the “light at the end of the tunnel”). As I did I came into a cavelike space, where there were many different orblike lights in different colors. As I observed them, I began to recognize them as friends and family, even though they only appeared as colored, energetic orbs of light. Some bounced about, as if to get my attention.

I questioned why I was seeing them, as all of them were still alive. I expected to encounter those who had passed on, not the living. It was as if we all greeted each other, and although we had no physical bodies, there was still a sense of emotion. When I passed into the next “chamber,” this emotion became expansive and brought physical tears as I encountered similar energetic beings, this time those who had passed on. Again, I recognized them: my sister, a pink orb; my godmother, green; many others, in various hues; and my mother, a golden and brown glowing orb that came toward me and seemed to embrace me in loving energy.

To my right there was a large white light, which seemed to accompany me through the whole process. I didn’t want to move on from this space, but eventually passed through a tunnellike corridor, where geometric shapes began to fill my inner vision. As I progressed, they began to take forms like buildings, although they were not solid. I seemed to float through them, experiencing a sense of learning. The remainder of my journey brought insights for this lifetime, with messages received, and my facilitator eventually brought me out of the hypnosis. (This is a very brief explanation, as the complete process took about four hours.)

As a hypnotherapist practicing this process with clients, I have been fascinated to note the similarity in experiences they have had to mine and to the case studies of Dr. Newton. I give my own account to offer a personal report of experiencing this other world, which we always inhabit, yet which lies outside of our everyday physical perception of reality.

Throughout history, there are reports of the experience of these other worlds. Many of us have experienced at least a glimpse of them. As Leadbeater indicated, and as current quantum physicists report, our reality exists in different frequencies. Like a radio dial, we can adjust our antenna to receive a signal. We do indeed exist in many worlds at once. These inner worlds are available for the curious quester in each of us to explore.

Sources

Leadbeater, C.W. The Devachanic Plane. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1916.

Newton, Michael. Life between Lives: Hypnotherapy for Spiritual Regression. Woodbury, Minn.: Llewellyn, 2004.

Tucker, Jim B. “Children Who Claim to Remember Previous Lives: Past, Present, and Future Research,” Journal of Scientific Exploration 21, no. 3 (2007): 543‒52. 

Desiree Holmes Scherini is a board-certified master transpersonal hypnotherapist and certified life coach. She has several other certifications as well as a BA in psychology from the University of California. She has a higher diploma in Theosophy from the Theosophical Society in England and enjoys her continued studies in Theosophy. She hosts “Intuitive Journey with Desiree” on YouTube and Podcast. She is also an artist and the author of Journey to Joy: The Written Path. She is a member of the National Capital Lodge in Washington, DC. To hear her account of her past-life regression, listen to her podcast, “Ghosts and the Spirit World: Intuitive Journey with Desiree,” on Apple Podcasts.

Printed in the  Fall 2022 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Horowitz, Mitch,  "Optimism of the Will: Mind Power as a Philosophy of Life" Quest 110:4, pg 36-39

By Mitch Horowitz

It is a common assertion in alternative spirituality that mind power is the primary force in the universe and that thoughts are causative. If these statements are true, they place the practitioner in front of a daunting question: what is mind power for? Is it just a metaphysical ego trip? Or a mode of escapism?

I have wrestled with this question for many years. At this stage of my search, I have ceased to distinguish between what are considered to be eternal values and temporal ones. I believe that any such division is artificial, however deeply imbued in us it may be by the force of familiarity.

Much of Eastern and Western religious thought tells us that we live in a hierarchical cosmos, and things that are essential, eternal, sacred, and everlasting belong to the “greater you,” to a higher degree of existence. You progress toward this higher degree as you shed worldly attachments and illusions, sometimes broadly called maya or samsara, and realize that attachments foster suffering.

I believe that this idea, as foundational and familiar as it may be, does not suit the life and search of the contemporary seeker. In my observation, we have fallen into a rote and recitative division in which we think in terms of attachment and nonattachment, identification and nonidentification, personality and essence, ego and true self, temporal and eternal. At this point in my search, I have come to believe that the essential purpose of life is self-expression. Self-expression can take any number of forms that are intimate and necessary to the individual. This is not the same as consumption of a gross variety, which merely aims to salve a lack of self-expression.

I am opposed to any barriers that may have been thrown up between the seeker and his or her sense of self-expression. The only thing that I stand against—the only moral code I employ on the path—is that I would never intentionally do anything to block or deter another person from striving for the same human potential that I wish for myself.

Even in our age of decentered and discursive information, we imbibe too many homiletic ideas about what constitutes the search, what reflects progress on the path, and how one would evaluate that progress. I believe that the evaluation of the success (a term of which we should be unafraid) of a philosophy, therapy, religious, or spiritual viewpoint is the conduct and experience of the seeker.

In Scripture, we read that the creator fashioned the individual in its own image. In the ancient text called The Emerald Tablet, a similar note appears in the principle “as above, so below.” If we take these notions seriously, if these ideas actually mean something to us—and they are at the heart of the Abrahamic and Hermetic religious systems—they must mean that you, the individual, are capable of creating within your own sphere, as you were created.

Created from what? Hermeticism teaches that all of existence emanates from an infinite presence, from which nothing can be added or subtracted. This original substance has no proportion; it cannot be measured, limited, or contained within concepts of time, space, or dimension. The one thing that we consensually understand as fitting that definition is mind.

The Hermeticists used the Greek term nous to describe an Overmind, which they saw as the source of creation. These Greco-Egyptian thinkers believed that each individual emanates through concentric spheres from this higher mind. As a being born of mind, the individual is endowed with corresponding creative abilities within the physical framework in which he or she dwells. But this schema also holds that we are limited by the laws and forces of our cosmic framework. “Ye are gods,” the Psalmist says, “but ye shall die like men” (Psalm 82:6‒7).

Observation dictates that we live under immensely diffuse laws and forces—of which I believe mental causation is one. A law is, by definition, ever operative. This does not mean, however, that it is experienced uniformly. H₂O is always water, but water can, of course, be vapor, liquid, or solid depending upon temperature. Gravity is constant—it is mass attracted to itself—but you will experience gravity differently on the moon than on earth, on Jupiter, or in the vacuum of space. The law of mental causation may work similarly: it is constant, but myriad forces mitigate your experience, sometimes deterring it from its apparent function. Hence we do not categorically flee from limits when experimenting with the mind power thesis.

Is there any difference between thought and spiritual appeal? The sensitized mind may be what we colloquially call spirit. We know from academic ESP studies that the mind evinces extraphysical qualities.* Extraphysicality is my basic definition of spirituality. As such, mind and spirit may be part of the same scale. Let me share a personal experience, which touches on that prospect. 

Several years ago, I was part of a very demanding esoteric order. Many people in the group were intellectually refined, and the rigor of the search was deeply felt. Physical demands were placed on us. Seekers could be pushed to their limits. I can assure you that nothing does more, or works more quickly, to skewer fantasies about yourself than being awakened at an inconvenient hour in an unfamiliar or uncomfortable place to perform some difficult task: you discover your limits quickly. People who are accustomed to succeeding in familiar or comfortable settings, who are considered “wise owls” in their domestic realms, or who see themselves as spiritually advanced, become leveled when they are exposed to a very different scale.

One winter, we were planning a camping trip near the New York‒Pennsylvania border. If you have ever gone winter camping in the northeastern United States, you know it can be tough going. But this trip was planned for a purpose. We were gathering in the woods to join together in the search.

My teacher gave me a particular task in preparation. He mixed in a little humor with it, but it was nonetheless a veritable and meaningful effort. He said that the women in the group were going to sleep in tents in the freezing nights. The men were staying in a cold-water cabin—basically a large, uninsulated shack, which was little better. My teacher said that if the female campers had to get up at night to relieve themselves, in order that they would not have to venture into the icy woods, I was to go out and buy buckets for their tents to serve as chamber pots. But these buckets, he said with a glint in his eye, had to be of a particular type. They had to be pink and heart-shaped. If, after really trying, I could find no pink, heart-shaped buckets, it would be acceptable for me to buy red, heart-shaped ones. If I really found myself out of options, I could finally buy red buckets of a standard shape.

This was before digital commerce exploded, so the search for an unusual item required phone calls and visits on foot. I lived on the East Side of Manhattan, and I embarked on a search across New York’s boroughs for pink, heart-shaped buckets. I did not want to disappoint my teacher, and I felt that the task was important on several levels. I put everything into it. I called and visited bed and bath stores, hardware stores, home goods stores, and contractor stores, crossing myriad places off my growing list. I got nowhere. I could not find pink, heart-shaped buckets. So I decided to switch to plan B and look for red buckets, first heart-shaped and, if that proved futile, of a standard shape. That did not seem too difficult.

Oddly enough, here I was in New York City—one of the commercial hubs of the world—and I could not find red buckets of either type. Again, I called and visited hardware stores, paint stores, you name it. Nothing. Early one evening, out on a household errand, I told myself, “Well, it’s time to call my teacher and admit that I failed. I’ve searched everywhere for pink, heart-shaped buckets. I searched for red, heart-shaped buckets, and then just regular red, circular buckets—but came up empty.” Something told me to wait a bit longer: do not call him yet.

As this was running through my head, I was standing outside of a little neighborhood grocery store, someplace you run to pick up eggs or milk. I entered the store and headed toward the back to the cold foods section. When I reached the rear of the store, right there stood a gleaming, brand-new pile of pink, heart-shaped buckets. In near disbelief, I grabbed a stock boy and asked, “What color are those buckets?” He said, “Pink.” I asked, “And they’re heart-shaped?” Regarding me somewhat strangely, he agreed and volunteered, “They just came in today.”

I was astonished not only because the odds and circumstances of finding my hallowed item right then and there seemed infinitesimal (this is so even if you use the “law of large numbers,” which dictates that across a large population, weird things must happen to someone), but there was an additional factor. It is critical to recall that there is one thing that statistics cannot really get at: the emotional stakes and personal meaning of an experience. The individual is invested with a certain something in relation to the thing encountered—whether a yearned-for relationship, job offering, home listing, crisis averted, stranger who helps, or a friend who has been long out of touch. The emotional stakes and private meaning of a situation can heighten its rarity and pertinence beyond any measure of chance. That is what I experienced in this situation. It exemplified for me an ineffable truth: there is something lawful about mental exertion.

To focus on just one aspect of the mind causation thesis, it seems to me that the trigger of conveyance behind thought and circumstance is the uniqueness, dedication, and totality of an individual’s focus, mental and otherwise.

Why should this be? In Hermetic philosophy, all actions, cycles, and events represent a kind of rhythmical swing. A pendulous, rhythmical swing necessitates a mirroring swing. To switch for a moment to standard mechanics, Isaac Newton made the observation, which has been validated in both macro and particle physics, that objects separated over vast distances exert precise mirroring effects over one another, a process for which we have been unable to fully account.

Contemporary string theory is among the theses developed to explain this mirror effect. Within the schema of string theory, all of reality, from the particulate to the universal, is joined by networks of interwoven strings, providing unseen and extradimensional antecedents for observed events, including those that we call chance. 

In terms of human endeavor, when we dedicate ourselves to an ideal and we bring totality of effort—mental, emotional, and physical—to concentrate on that point, we set in motion a rhythmical swing. There must be a corresponding motion. That motion moves along the arc of your focus, provided there is no overwhelming countermovement based on another event, action, or physical barrier within your framework.

Is this more than supposition? To consider that, follow me briefly down a different path. It strikes me that our senses are nothing more than organic instruments of measurement. If we want to get down to definitions that even a philosophical materialist could love, what else are sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste than instruments of measurement, which transfer data to your central nervous system or psyche?

Over the course of more than ninety years, researchers in particle physics have amassed indelible evidence that a subatomic particle exists in what is called a wave state or a state of superposition: the particle appears in an infinite number of places simultaneously. It is not localized, or actual, until a sentient observer decides to take a measurement, or a technical device, such as a photometer, periodically takes one.

There exists debate over whether a device represents a method of measurement distinct from an observer, as well as whether the “collapse” from wave to particle results from an observer’s individual psyche or “transpersonal mind behaving according to natural laws,” as noted by Bernardo Kastrup, Henry P. Stapp, and Menas C. Kafatos in a May 29, 2018, Scientific American article, “Coming to Grips with the Implications of Quantum Mechanics.” This transpersonal mind, the writers continue, “comprises but far transcends any individual psyche,” a description similar to the Hermetic concept of nous. The authors compellingly argue that even if a device is used for measurement—and thus localization—perception and intent, either of the individual, the metamind, or both, remains the determining force.

Readers who look up this Scientific American article will find that my descriptions of quantum theory are, if anything, conservative. We are, in fact, witnessing a kind of reality selection in the quantum lab, pertaining not only to particle behavior but also to the nature of observation and creation—or, again, selection—from among infinite, coexisting realities. A decision to measure or not measure sets in motion innumerable possibilities. This is the “many worlds interpretation” of quantum physics. A law, as noted, must be constant, although it is not necessarily transferable to every situation or free from mitigating or surrounding circumstances.

Quantum mechanics has brought us to the undeniable conclusion that consciousness, or the psyche, cannot be extracted from physics and material existence. All is entangled or whole. Hence, if our senses function as devices of measurement, we are nudged in the direction of self-selection.

The implications of quantum data are increasingly important because we are encountering parallel insights in other sciences. Researchers in neuroplasticity use brain scans to demonstrate that thought alters neural pathways through which electrical impulses travel in the brain. Brain biology must be understood as the product of thought as much as the other way around. Hence I am engaging in more than metaphor when I speak of rhythmic correspondences, sensory measurements, and mental selectivity.

I believe that nothing on the path does more to stifle your sense of morale, purpose, possibility, and selfhood than being told what you are supposed to find, how you are supposed to live, what your spiritual values are supposed to be, or what the search is supposed to be about. Self-determination is vital to everything I have been describing.

In my observation, the ability to direct your mental and emotive energies requires a measure of assurance and hopeful expectancy. This is commonly observed in placebo studies. The belief that something can happen is critical. Another elusive concept, faith, is an umbrella term for these catalytic factors. Faith is bound up with, and in some ways equivalent to, persistence. That is the experience described in my story of the buckets. Through the passion of dedication and meaningful persistence, my full psyche was in play. The psyche is a compact of thought and emotion.

Nonetheless, thoughts, emotions, and physicality run on separate tracks. If thoughts ruled us, no one would have a problem with anger, addiction, or overeating. Emotion and physicality are often stronger than thought. We can use our minds (which run on a continuum with spirituality) to help circumvent mood or craving; but those things are enormously powerful, and they sometimes must receive their due. Moods and cravings are not just to be corralled and reorganized; they may have a valid claim on us. I point this out simply to highlight that thought is not the only mediator of power.

As an amalgam of thought and emotion, the unified psyche is powerful: it is the totality of your psychology. This compact entity forms only when you progress in the direction of a passionately felt need. That is why I consider desires sacred. A desire does not necessarily liberate you from things that are owed to others. But a desire points you in the direction of authenticity. As such, a desire should be carefully understood and, whenever principle permits, heeded. Do not allow a noninvasive desire to get taken from you. Because persistence in its direction summons the forces called faith, expectation, belief in self, and investment in the greater possibility of the individual.

In the afterword of The Culture of Narcissism, philosopher Christopher Lasch sharpened his critique of religious or social models that extol gratification and pointed to his vision of a sounder, stabler approach to life. He observed compellingly:

The best hope of emotional maturity, then, appears to lie in a recognition of our need for and dependence on people who nevertheless remain separate from ourselves and refuse to submit to our whims. It lies in a recognition of others not as projections of our own desires but as independent beings with desires of their own. More broadly, it lies in acceptance of our limits. The world does not exist merely to satisfy our own desires; it is a world in which we can find pleasure and meaning, once we understand that others too have a right to these goods. Psychoanalysis confirms the ancient religious insight that the only way to achieve happiness is to accept limitations in a spirit of gratitude and contrition instead of attempting to annul those limitations or bitterly resenting them.

My wish is not to foster an imagined escape from life’s obligations or a justification to bend others to our desires. Indeed, the chief sign of weakness masquerading as agency is when someone continually burdens others to repair his moods, support his psyche, or dispense rewards. Nor am I positing a system without limits or barriers. Unwillingness to bow to or acknowledge frustrations can become a form of theater in which the indestructible being conceals his or her own lack of self-belief.

I pursue experiential philosophies that elevate and encourage our expansion toward self-expression and heightened existence—without denying existential trauma. Such outlooks bring purpose, intention, striving, focus, and beingness to our existence. The philosophy of mind causation, on the terms explored here, not only abets authentic selfhood but forms its foundation.

As I see it, nothing in this approach abrogates or fundamentally conflicts with Lasch’s analysis. More importantly, the mind causation thesis contributes a defensibly greater possibility to the human situation than what appears in Lasch’s or many other secular psychosocial outlooks. As seeking people, we must avoid delusional excesses, which occur on either extreme—mystical or materialist—of how one views the psyche.

Within New Age culture, as Lasch justly observes, we are often conditioned to think in elusive or inflated concepts of self-development and its horizons. People of a spiritual orientation might use terms like realized, enlightened, or illumined. I find such language excessive. People of a psychological bent might use terms like well-adjusted, actualized, or fulfilled. Those concepts are more graspable; but, like the vocabulary of cognitive-behavioral therapy, psychological terminology can confine the individual to a life of diagnostic contentment rather than supporting a more expansive sense of attainment.

I reaffirm my contention that the true aim of life is self-expression. And we possess tools—including mind causation—that can help us in that effort. Such prospects are not to everyone’s spiritual and ethical tastes, but they do not require a break with philosophical sobriety.

* See, for example, a meta-analysis of psychical research data that appeared in the flagship journal of the American Psychological Association: “The Experimental Evidence for Parapsychological Phenomena: A Review” by Etzel Cardeña, American Psychologist 73, no. 5 (2018): 663–77. 

A PEN Award‒winning historian, Mitch Horowitz is the author of books including Occult America, The Miracle Club, Daydream Believer, and Uncertain Places. Mitch is a writer-in-residence at the New York Public Library. His books have been translated into Arabic, Chinese, Portuguese, French, Italian, and Spanish. His work is censored in China. Mitch is a member of the Theosophical Society in America. He is on Twitter @MitchHorowitz and on Instagram @MitchHorowitz23.

This article is adapted from a chapter in Daydream Believer: Unlocking the Ultimate Power of Your Mind, published by G&D Media, July 2022.

Printed in the  Fall 2022 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard,  "From the Editor's Desk" Quest 110:4, pg 2

It’s natural to associate the idea of other worlds with life on faraway planets as well as the subtle levels of reality described by the esoteric traditions.

Lately, though, my thoughts have been going toward the other worlds that may have existed on this planet. I’ve just finished a fascinating new book by Carole Nervig entitled The Petroglyphs of Mu: Pohnpei, Nan Madol, and the Legacy of Lemuria.

Nervig started out as a Peace Corps volunteer on Pohnpei in the late sixties. Pohnpei (in case the name isn’t instantly familiar to you) is one of the islands of Micronesia in the South Pacific, 1,339 miles northeast of New Guinea.

Pohnpei has some sites featuring ancient megaliths and petroglyphs (as usual, made when and by whom is unknown). One site, Nan Madol, on the east coast, is well-known to archaeologists. Nervig, who has traveled to Pohnpei intermittently since her Peace Corps days, has delved into ones that aren’t as well documented.

At one point, Nervig was told in a dream to climb Takaieu Peak in the center of the island. Although it’s only 164 feet high, a journey there has a number of impediments, notably mud. Nervig says that the interior of the island gets an unbelievable 400 inches of rain a year.

Nervig was told to climb it alone, but in the end a local family sent their two sons along with her as guides. Alone with them in the wild, she grew uncomfortable with their sexual banter, which is common among Pohnpeians, but only adults.

She had thought they were between eight and twelve, so she was led to ask how old they were. Eighteen and twenty-six, as it turned out. “Are you guys some of the aramas tiktik (little people or pygmies) of the legends?” she asked.  Yes, they were. “This was flesh-and-blood proof that oral history must be taken seriously” (emphasis Nervig’s).

The story proceeds in more detail, and Nervig produces many illustrations showing the petroglyphs and their similarity to similar carvings from far-flung locations.

Similarly, James Churchward’s books on Mu in the 1930s argued that this commonality of symbols points toward the existence of a lost continent in the South Pacific called Mu. By this view, Mu was home to an advanced civilization. It was submerged in a cataclysm, but outposts of its civilization can be found everywhere from Taiwan to Mesoamerica and points beyond. Churchward discussed this theme in a number of books, including The Lost Continent of Mu, The Children of Mu, and The Sacred Symbols of Mu.

If you want something more scientifically grounded, you can look up Zealandia online. Some geographers class it as a continent, though a submerged one: 94 percent of it is under water. The part that isn’t includes the two main islands of New Zealand (hence the name) and New Caledonia. On average, it’s about 3,500 feet below sea level.

It seems possible that Zealandia was above water recently enough to house an advanced civilization whose remnants were disseminated after the continent sank in prehistoric times (although Churchward considers Zealandia to have been only a colony of a much larger Mu).

How would Mu relate to the Lemuria known from the Theosophical literature? A map of Mu was commissioned by King Kalakaua of Kauai in 1886. It is reprinted in the book, and it shows Mu extending from the southwest coast of Alaska all the way to Africa. Thus Mu and Lemuria would have been part of the same megacontinent. But it may make more sense to think of them separately. Lemuria has traditionally been placed in the Indian Ocean, and there is a great deal of lore about it, particularly among the Tamils. If you want to delve into this subject, I recommend The Lost Land of Lemuria by Sumathi Ramaswamy.

Then we have to consider the relation of these civilizations to other worlds in the interstellar sense, since many tribes contend that their ancestors came from star systems such as the Pleiades.

 My reaction to this information is complex. In the first place, like many such books, Nervig’s contains such a welter of details and ideas that it’s hard to sort through them. I come away from this work overloaded and unsure of quite what to do with it all. At the same time, I can’t avoid seeing some truth here. It is becoming increasingly evident that prehistory, even in comparatively recent times, differs greatly from conventional views.

It is not easy to relate these traditional ideas to archaeological discoveries. As Nervig writes, “Due to a contemporary cultural/intellectual bias, these oral accounts as input for analyzing incomprehensible archaeological or sacred sites are systematically ignored, discounted, and ridiculed by academia.”

A veil of silence separates history—what we know since written records start, around 3000 BC—from prehistory. This veil partly consists of what we think we know about these subjects versus the actual truth.

Possibly as the generations turn over in such fields as archaeology and archaeoastronomy, some of this veil will begin to lift.

Richard Smoley