Beyond Spiritual Struggle

Printed in the  Summer 2021  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Kezwer, Glen"Beyond Spiritual Struggle " Quest 108:3, pg 13-15

By Glen Kezwer

glen kezwerSpiritual struggle: two seemingly straightforward English words, but let’s have a closer look at each of them.

Spirit: the inner existence of a human being, which cannot be touched by the fingers, seen by the eyes, heard by the ears, smelled by the nose, or tasted by the tongue. In other words, the spirit is that which cannot be perceived by any of the senses, yet is the essence of all living creatures. It makes us alive, aware, and conscious.

Struggle: proceeding towards some goal with difficulty or effort.

So spiritual struggle means the strenuous or arduous endeavor to know our true nature.

Having been personally engaged in the spiritual pursuit for four decades, I find struggle to be too strong a word: path, effort, or transformation are more in line with my personal experience. I prefer path to struggle because this quest involves a starting point—wherever we are when we decide that the spiritual goal is worth seeking—and an ending point, which could be described as oneness, enlightenment, self-actualization, or self-realization, to name a few. Not everyone reaches the enlightened state, but the path is still worth pursuing, because it brings many positive changes along the way. It is overall a joyful journey, which nurtures a life of less troubling desire, pain, and suffering and increased happiness, ease, peace, and fulfilment.

Effort is definitely involved. We cannot come to know our spirit, or essence, without using certain techniques such as meditation, the study of the human mind—both our own and others’—and the examination of our place in the world.

The path certainly includes transformation. Our thinking and understanding of who we are and the universe in which we live constantly change along the way. The path begins when we realize that the knowledge we have had up to a certain point in our lives is inadequate. As Richard Smoley puts it, spiritual development “requires that we admit the limits of our ordinary ways of seeing and being” (Smoley, 19).

Why would a person want to pursue such a goal? After all, many people spend their entire lives without undertaking such a journey. The motivation can be as simple as the desire to live a life of happiness, free from pain and suffering. It can also be something deeper, such as a yearning to explore our essential nature, but whatever the motivation, the goal is the same: knowledge of our innate spirit.

Without knowing our essence, we can never attain true happiness. I don’t mean the temporary happiness that comes from acquiring a good job, attending a child’s wedding, winning a lottery, eating a good meal, or falling in love. I am not denigrating these moments of delight. They are all important and natural parts of the life of a human being, and their pursuit is worthwhile. But in the end, both happiness and unhappiness are opposite sides of the same coin, and more importantly, they are transient. However, there does exist a state that is beyond happiness and unhappiness, sorrow and delight, freedom and bondage, in other words, beyond life’s pairs of opposites. Some would even say that the achievement of this state is the ultimate purpose of a person’s life on earth.

The goal of spirituality is to attain the knowledge of the oneness or unity of all of creation. Human beings normally perceive the world from the perspective of duality. They see themselves living in bodies that are separate from the rest of the world—and indeed the universe—which can sometimes seem unfriendly or even hostile. The Indian scripture Ashtaavakr Gita succinctly sums up this situation. Ashtaavakr, the teacher, is speaking to King Janak, his disciple:

Ordinarily, all human beings with their eyes see objects, things, and persons as different, different. You are also saying the same thing: that there is a world, very real, and there is you, the person with a body, who is separate from the world. This has created a sense, a definite, particular sense, which concerns “I” as one person and “you and the world-body” as a second person. This vision is troublesome for everyone. (Swami Shyam 2001, 14–15)

Another Indian philosophical work, Yog Vashishth, puts it differently:

Your mind is meant only for seeing forms as forms—each one separate from the other; all others separate from the one; the one and the many separate from yourself; and the one, the many, and yourself as altogether separate from the very Self. (Swami Shyam 2017, 2:160) 

For some, the spiritual journey involves cloistering themselves away from the world in a monastery or a nunnery. By shirking the world, they seek freedom from its vicissitudes in order to concentrate on contacting their inner being. While I believe firmly that people should choose whatever path is suitable for them, for most, this would be an extreme step. And can you really free yourself from bondage by removing yourself from the world?

Years ago, in India, I went with a friend to visit a temple. It is customary for temples in India to house, temporarily or on a long-term basis, renunciants, or sadhus. Sadhus are ascetics who have left the world—their possessions, job, family—and taken to wandering the country. They may be young men just starting out in life or older men who have already had a career, raised a family, and now have undertaken this path after fulfilling their worldly obligations. Whether young or old, the sadhu seeks freedom from the world. This tradition is still alive in India today, with an estimated four to five million practitioners.

My friend had two daughters, and at one point she was showing their photos to some of the sadhus. One of the men commented that she could not be free from the world and its trappings because she had a family. The only way to be free, he said, was to renounce all of that.

Her reply made sense to me: “Yes, but try having a family and being free from the world at the same time. That is the real practice.”

In my view, she was right. Any true renunciation of the pain and suffering of the world comes from renunciation of the division that occurs in the mind. The mind of a human being is where the essential work lies.

I am not saying that the ascetic path does not work for such men. The sadhu tradition is respected and has a long history, and I certainly wish them all success. However, whatever path we choose, it is the attachment in the mind that must be tackled.

Another friend, in his early days on the spiritual journey, decided that his possessions were an obstacle to his progress, so he should dispose of them. Living in Montreal, he went to the Jacques Cartier Bridge and threw many of his belongings into the St. Lawrence River. It didn’t take him long to realize that this had been a mistake, especially when he had to start buying replacements for the things he had dumped. This kind of renunciation did not work for him.

For me, real freedom comes from renouncing the idea that we are bound by the world, which we see as separate from ourselves. My experience is that the mind of a human being creates the world, so in order to be free from it, we each have to transform the working of our own minds. In deep sleep, no world exists; neither do the mind and its accompanying happiness and unhappiness. When we wake up in the morning, the mind reappears, along with the whole world that it has constructed.

The world is a source of both joy and suffering. We pursue material objects, and once we get them we feel happiness—but only temporarily. A cousin of mine had just landed a good position with a prestigious law firm. He was pleased with his new status—and of course, the income that came with it—and decided to buy himself a car commensurate with his new position in life. I can’t remember what kind of car it was, but he proudly told me that there were only 250 of them in all of southern Ontario. After two short weeks, a thief made off with the car. His object of joy had quickly been transformed into a source of pain.

I do not at all advocate giving up things or living a life of deprivation. The two people who introduced me to the spiritual path were a wealthy couple from South Africa who were not shy to show that they were well-off, yet they had devoted their lives to the spiritual quest. We don’t have to give anything up. We only have to add one thing—knowledge.

Here I am going to introduce another term for spirit: Knower. The Knower is that which knows the thoughts that come and go in the mind. Scientifically, in order for an object to be observed, a subject is necessary. The thoughts in the mind are the objects to be known, and the Knower is the subject that watches them. The Knower is always present. It is there when we are awake, when we dream, and when we sleep. It was even there before we were born and will remain after we die. It is the spiritual essence of one and all.

Many people are unconsciously aware that the Knower exists. I was once in the city of Kanpur in India, giving a talk on meditation to a group of young Rotary Club members visiting from Argentina. Their leader, Dick, a friendly, jovial man in his fifties, was fluent in English. As I spoke, I would pause every few sentences so that he could translate. Things were going smoothly—I understood enough Spanish to know that he was giving an accurate rendering of my words—until I got to the word Knower. He stopped me, saying that he did not understand. After I elaborated a bit, a light bulb lit up in his head. He raised his index finger and said excitedly, “Ah yes, I understand. El que sabe. The one who knows. I’ve intuitively known that there is such a thing as a Knower all of my life, but I’ve never before heard it expressed in words. I thank you.”

He had always had an unconscious awareness of the Knower, and the mention of it allowed him to recognize it.

Knowledge of the Knower is the ultimate destination of the spiritual path. The Knower can also be called the Witness Self, Watcher, Observer—whatever word best helps us understand it.

The mind gets us into the thought of separation, and the same mind can get us out of it. It has to be transformed and come to where oneness or true happiness lies.

Although the Knower is always present, it mostly remains hidden. The way to gain greater awareness of the Knower is through meditation. For me, the three most powerful words on the spiritual path are, “Close your eyes.” By doing so, we enter a state of oneness where there is no division. We see the world as our own being or creation and not as something separate.

In meditation, our vision is cut off. Vision is the predominant sense. It is estimated that 80 percent of sense perception is mediated through our sight. Shutting it off allows us to concentrate on our inner being, the Knower.

In meditation, we sit in a comfortable position, close our eyes, and watch. Thoughts may begin to come and go in the mind. Contrary to what many people think, thoughts are not a hindrance in meditation. This is a very important point. As the Knower, we simply observe the thoughts and remain aware that they are not separate from us. Our thoughts may cease, leaving a peaceful, blissful state. This is the state of the pure Knower, unadulterated and free. It is our essential nature, unfettered by any sense of division; it is the sense of oneness:

To realize the sense of Oneness, the sense of division should be given up. This will happen when one stills the mind and unfolds the sense that unifies everything that is perceived as separate. When this sense of division is transcended, it is called renunciation. (Swami Shyam 1998, 92). 

The only thing to renounce is division. This comes through meditation.

I will end with a quote from the Ashtaavakr Gita that perfectly describes the ultimate state which is reached on the spiritual path:

The removal of bondage and the elimination of sorrow and suffering come to be realized and experienced only when a person reaches the nature of Oneness. (Swami Shyam 2001, 114) 


 

Sources

Smoley, Richard. “Why Ritual Works: An Explanation Based on the Hawaiian Tradition of Huna.” Quest 108, no. 3 (summer 2020), 13–19.

Swami Shyam, trans. Ashtaawakr Gita: The Scripture of Knowledge for All Times. Kullu, India: International Meditation Institute, 1998.

Swami Shyam, trans. Ashtaavakr Gita: Simplifed Knowledge of the Self. Two volumes. Kullu, India: International Meditation Institute, 2001.

———. Yog Vashishth: The Eternal Clarity. Kullu, India: International Meditation Institute, 2017.


Glen Kezwer is a physicist who has been practicing and researching the science of meditation since the early 1980s. Following the spiritual path is the central focus of his life. He is the author of Meditation, Oneness, and Physics, and The Essence of the Bhagavad Gita, as well as many articles on science, meditation, and spirituality. He is a course author with the online teaching website Transformationmeditation.com.


Viewpoint: Initiation into the One

Printed in the  Spring 2020  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Hebert, Barbara"Viewpoint: Initiation into the One " Quest 108:2, pg 12-13

Barbara Hebert
President

IBarbara Hebertnitiation is a topic of fascination to many. We may reasonably wonder about the basis for such interest. Some individuals may want to receive initiation in order to acquire power or knowledge, hoping to learn the secrets of the universe or acquire psychic or supernatural abilities. On the other hand, perhaps the fascination runs much deeper. It may be because on some level we recognize that, as souls, we are on a spiritual journey and have an inner awareness that there is much more to us and to our journey than simply this physical life.

Annie Besant writes about initiation:

It means an expansion of consciousness. Initiation itself is a certain series of events through which the [hu]man passes; actual events and experiences taking a certain amount of time, not a vague indefinite series of feelings, but actual communications and thoughts and actions gone through by a [hu]man out of the physical body, in the presence of a great assembly of the Masters. The result is that the [hu]man becomes conscious of a new world, as though some great new sense had been given . . . which opened . . . a new world . . . As a [hu]man born blind might know the world by hearing, taste, touch, but if [the] eyes were opened would see a new world . . . not dreamed of stretching around . . . on every side, so is it with the [hu]man who, having passed through the great ceremony of Initiation, comes back into [the] body, into the mortal world . . . Another world is around [the individual], a new phase of consciousness belongs to [that person]. [The person] sees, where before [s/he] was blind. [The person] knows, where before [s/he] only hoped or guessed. 

The teachings of Theosophy indicate that our spiritual journey will allow us—or perhaps more accurately, push us—to grow, thus increasing our sense of personal and universal awareness. As we travel the spiritual path, every time we surmount an obstacle we grow a tiny bit. Eventually these tiny bits of growth combine to bring us to a totally new stage of consciousness.

Geoffrey Hodson writes:

When we are conscious solely in this . . . material and mortal aspect of our nature, we are temporarily unconscious of both our divinity and unity with God. As our evolution proceeds, we gradually rediscover this lost knowledge of oneness with the Deity. This is the ultimate secret of life. The salvation of [humanity], following [its] so-called fall, is an ascent into full experience of the fact that God’s image lies at [each hu]man’s very core.

For the goal of human evolution is the standard of perfection described in Christianity as “the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.” This implies the attainment of a divine state of omnipotence—or perfected and resistless will; of omnipresence—or perfected and all-embracing love; and of omniscience—or perfected and all-inclusive knowledge. Furthermore, and most importantly, the attainment of this perfection is absolutely certain for every person. 

Put simply, initiation, as described in much of the literature, is an expansion of consciousness. This expansion provides a greater understanding, not just from a cognitive perspective but also from an experiential one, of the unity of all beings. It seems to me that the true wisdom gained through each successive initiation pertains to the reality of the essential unity of all life. We are not separate from one another, as we appear to be; rather we are like the various colors that are dispersed when a white light shines through a prism. We look like different aspects, but at our root we emanate from the One Being.

At this point in our lives, we may understand the concept of the unity of all life intellectually; that is, we have the knowledge in our physical brains, and we believe it. But with each successive initiation, the cognitive component slips away until we fully experience the reality of what it means to be one with all others.

It is difficult to imagine how glorious it must be to experience unity, if only because the personality and the physical brain are not part of that experience. Initiation goes beyond the physical realm into the realm of the soul and ultimately into the realm of the One, thus empowering, even compelling, us to dedicate ourselves more deeply to working for humanity.

When we talk about working for humanity, we are talking about raising the consciousness of all beings. At the same time, as I have mentioned in previous Viewpoints, in order to work for humanity, we must work on ourselves. As we change and grow in conscious awareness through observation and effort, we are impacting all of humanity. As one unified whole, any time one aspect changes, the whole must change, even minutely. As each of us makes tiny changes in our consciousness, we are changing all of humanity, even though our contribution is so infinitesimally small that we can’t see it.

With each increase in consciousness, we gain a greater sense of responsibility. More awareness equals more obligation. As we begin to see the world more clearly, we also begin to see our responsibility more clearly. This responsibility ultimately requires self-sacrifice. The self is sacrificed because it disappears. There is no self—there is only one whole. Initiation is giving up the self, bit by bit, until at the final initiation, there is no longer a sense of a separate self; there is only a sense of the One.

Therefore an individual looking toward initiation in order to gain knowledge or power may find it, but perhaps not with the anticipated outcome. What is truly received through various initiations is the recognition of our obligation to serve humanity. The knowledge gained is the increasing experience and awareness of the unity of life. The power gained is the loss of the separate self and all of the personal attachments of that separate self.

As Hodson indicates, all of us will ultimately experience initiations, as well as the expansion of consciousness inherent in them. It will happen at some point. Desiring initiation would seemingly slow the process rather than expedite it. On the other hand, an intentional focus on personal growth while helping others as much as possible would accelerate the movement.

Theosophists are encouraged to study, meditate, and serve. We are encouraged to listen to our own inner voice and use our discernment as we walk the spiritual path. The thoughts expressed here are simply my reflections at this point in time. I’m wondering about yours. What are your thoughts about initiation and movement on the spiritual path?


Sources

Besant, Annie. Initiation: The Perfecting of Man, Chicago: Theosophical Press, 1923.

Hodson, Geoffrey. “The Spiritual Self and Its Goal of Perfection”; https://theosophy.world/resource/articles/spiritual-self-and-its-goal-perfection; accessed Jan. 5. 2020.


Supernormal: Science, Yoga, and the Evidence for Extraordinary Psychic Abilities

Supernormal: Science, Yoga, and the Evidence for Extraordinary Psychic Abilities

Dean Radin
New York: Deepak Chopra Books, 2013. 369 + xxiii pages, paper, $14.

Scientific explorations of human potential often focus on technological and chemical enhancements to the human body, leaving the cultivation of our natural capabilities as mere hints of what can be altered through artificial means. In Dean Radin's latest offering, Supernormal: Science, Yoga, and the Evidence for Extraordinary Psychic Abilities, the veteran psychical researcher brings us back to the self as the starting point for investigation. He comes up with surprising evidence that a journey inward may reap more rewards than anything that conventional science can offer us.

Radin has three previous works under his belt, but this is his most provocative book yet, delving into the deeper implications of psychical research for self and society. Supernormal explores some of the exciting conclusions that can be drawn from the extensive peer-reviewed research and tears apart the misconceptions and misrepresentations that are common in the skeptical subculture. Radin doesn't tease us with a weak-kneed appraisal of what can be understood from over a century's worth of accumulated data. Instead he makes a full-scale assault on commonly held assumptions that limit us from embracing the radical possibilities of human existence.

While Radin's previous books have covered similar ground, this work, framed around an exploration of the Hindu and Buddhist siddhis (extreme abilities and states of consciousness reported by advanced yogic practitioners), provides a unique connecting point to the cross-cultural dialogues that are being fostered by the Dalai Lama with Western scientists. As Radin points out, these powers are commonly reported in all major religions: "Tales of supernormal mental powers are not unique to the yogic tradition. Most of the same abilities are described in Catholicism as chrisms and in Islam as karamats. In Judaism, nahash or divination may be practiced by a zaddik [holy man] . . . All shamanistic traditions are saturated with such tales." Experiences assigned by academics to the realm of legend, myth, and hagiography may in fact bring us closer to what we are at the very core of our reality.

Supernormal provides a solid starting point for bridging between ancient and contemporary understandings of the world and to evaluate the reality of esoteric and so-called "occult" doctrines. Telepathy, clairvoyance, precognition, and psychokinesis are all examined in light of their exposition in Eastern sutras as well as in scientific data. We are also treated to examinations of abilities such as bilocation, teleportation, manifestation of physical objects, and other feats that seem to stretch credibility to the utmost limit. While careful in his analysis of each claim, Radin emphasizes that in the traditional sutras, these abilities are not presented as wholly metaphorical but are given as literal powers that can be attained through advanced practice.

Balancing between his scientific examination and the incredible potentials described in works such as the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali and Avatamsaka Sutra, or Flower Ornament Scriptures, Radin is able to evoke a wonderful sense of possibility without ever falling into fantasy or gross speculation. He maintains this delicate balance even when he takes us into evidence that the universe's very structure may support something akin to the reality expressed in popular works such as Rhonda Byrne's The Secret. Hence our participation in reality may go much deeper than crude manipulations of the material realm.

Readers familiar with esoteric doctrine will be delighted to find within Supernormal a well-organized apology (in the classic sense) that utilizes Western science to open up the reality of the hidden realms of human potential. Those whose interest lies in more scientific areas will find in the book a powerful means of taking their inquiries into the far-reaching realities that outshine popular materialism and skeptical mythmaking. At the time of writing for this review, Supernormal is currently ranked as the number one best-seller in its category for two weeks in a row by Nielsen BookScan, and is holding a high ranking on Amazon as well, showing that Radin has touched on a deep need within our culture. In doing so, he will hopefully provide one more key to understanding ourselves and our society in a way that can lead to greater growth and fulfillment of who and what we truly are.

David Metcalfe

David Metcalfe writes the "Psi in the News" column for the Reality Sandwich Web site. Dean Radin will be a featured speaker at the Theosophical Society's Summer National Convention in July 2014.  


Adi Parva: Churning of the Ocean

Adi Parva: Churning of the Ocean

Amruta Patil
New York: Harper Collins, 2012. 276 pp., hardcover, $64.75.

Epics form such a precious place in our lives. We grow up with them. In the beginning, they are stories that we go to sleep with. Then we grow older, and they become pathways for our lives, a beacon in our dilemmas and a guiding star in our dark nights.

The Mahabharata is one of the two major epics of ancient India, the Ramayana being the other. The story of a conflict between good and evil and of blessings and curses, the Mahabharata comprises eighteen parvas (chapters), of which Adi Parva is the first. The first thing I noticed about this book is that it says, "via Amruta Patil" and not "by Amruta Patil." A unique depiction of the stories from the Adi Parva in the graphic medium, it is the first of a trilogy of graphic novels we will receive from her. "The conclave of creators is a crowded space," she writes, and she too has entered the conclave of retellers of this epic story. 

Many versions exist of the Mahabharata (including a famous Indian TV series that brought all activities to a stop when it was shown). For those that grew up as children in India, the one that is most memorable is the one told at bedtime by our grandmothers. The amazing thing about the origin of Patil's book is that she was not born in a traditional family. There was no storytelling granny whispering in her ear at bedtime, she says in one interview. So her journey into the Mahabharata was a solitary one, which she started at age twenty-one. Her discoveries were original ones and not tainted or colored by other views and impressions. "It was like taking off layers of wallpaper and seeing how the walls were like," she says. She felt a connection with the tales of Mahabharata, and therein perhaps lies the seed for this work.

Is the Mahabharata a story to be read? Not really. It is a story to be heard, and now Patil has introduced us to a story that is to be experienced visually, to be seen through the eyes of a new observer. The graphic novel genre in India is in the hands of a niche readership (ages eighteen to thirty-five, English-speaking). It is new and not something readers have been brought up on. It is still experimental, with rules being formed as the writers go  along. Hence we have to drop our preconceived notions of the epic and see it fresh in this book.

Patil learned how to paint for this book. She worked on it as a part of residency at La Maison des Auteurs in Angoulame, France, through a grant from the French embassy in New Delhi. It was like a "room of her own" for her. "I wasn't looking for a feat of friends. I needed safety, solitude, stability, and sanctuary . . . and had that for one charmed year," she says. She did not throw away a single page, painting over as much as she could. The text and the paintings intermingle, the images effortlessly changing from watercolor to charcoal to pencil. It is a gorgeous work.

I am not sure how traditionalists will look at Patil's work, but she is faithful to the essence of the story while being unencumbered by traditional expressions. Reading, or rather experiencing, this book, I felt that she has lived up to her responsibility. As a narrator in the book says, "In any case you are not held captive by old narratives. Tales must be tilled like the land so they keep breathing. The only thing you owe allegiance to is the essence." We find here in Adi Parva via Amruta Patil a tale that is alive and vibrant. It is a visual joy. Read it slowly. Don't be in a hurry to turn the page.

Dhananjay Joshi

The reviewer, a professor of statistics, has studied Hindu, Zen, and vipassana meditation for the past forty-five years. He is a regular contributor to the Indian periodical Lokmat.


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