Quest Magazine

Printed in the  Fall 2021  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Abdill, Ed, "Recollections of Dora Van Gelder Kunz" Quest 108:4, pg 10-11

Members’ Forum
Ed Abdill

I was just twenty-four years old when I joined the New York Theosophical Society, and I met Dora Van Gelder Kunz on the very first members’ meeting that I attended. In those days, we had a vegetarian dinner before the meeting, and Dora was in the serving line. We soon formed a friendship that lasted about forty years.

Dora was born in Java, Dutch East Indies (present-day Indonesia), in 1904. Her parents were members of the Theosophical Society, and as soon as Dora was old enough to join, she did. Like her mother, Dora was born clairvoyant. Since she and her family lived on a remote sugar plantation owned by her father, neighbors were not close by, and she had no playmates. When Dora saw a recently deceased person, so did her mother. Consequently, Dora thought everyone saw what she and her mother saw. It was only as an older child that she realized that clairvoyance is rare. In later life, Dora was elected president of the New York Theosophical Society, and then president of the Theosophical Society in America, where she served four terms from 1975 to 1987. With Dolores Krieger, she founded the healing modality Therapeutic Touch (see review on page 40). She died in 1999.

As a gifted clairvoyant, Dora helped hundreds, if not thousands, of people deal with physical and psychological problems. I consulted her on a few occasions and was amazed at her ability to spot my problems immediately. On one occasion I thought I might have prostate cancer, so while at Pumpkin Hollow, I asked Dora to take a look at me. Rather than mention the possible cancer, she immediately said, “Eddie, you are depressed. You don’t want to do anything now, do you?” I had not realized I was depressed, but when she said that, I realized I was. She said, “When you go back to New York, look at the trees, and see how beautiful they are.” Then she told me there was no cancer in the prostate, and she was right.

When I got home, I did as Dora recommended and looked at the beautiful trees. The next Wednesday, when I came into the NYTS, Dora looked at me and said, “Oh, Eddie, you look so much better.” Of course I did not look any better physically. Dora had seen the improvement in my emotional field. I responded, “Of course I do, Dora. I did what you said.”

Dora had a great sense of humor, and as I also have a good sense of humor, we had many laughs together. Dora’s laughter was a cackle. Occasionally, she would laugh at something that none of us got, but her cackle soon had everyone laughing. Although her sense of humor was great, her feelings of compassion for all who suffered were even greater. Dora was not sentimental. She could work with anyone in pain, do what she could for them, and never fall into pity. She knew that pity would not help, and worse, that it would drag her down to a point at which she could not help anyone.

One amusing incident that showed her clairvoyant ability happened one night at a members’ meeting. We had an extremely difficult member who made it clear that she, and she alone, “understood Theosophy.” After a member spoke, she would often say, “You said, but Theosophy clearly teaches . . .” One night, when the annoying member was being particularly difficult, Dora was in the library on the floor above the meeting room. Just when we were all quite irritated at the difficult member, Dora appeared in the room, and she calmed everything down. Later, I asked Dora why she appeared when we needed her most. She said, “Well, I was sitting in the library, and all this prickly stuff kept coming up through the floor. I thought, is that a Theosophical meeting going on down there?”

Dora had an enormous vocabulary, but her strength was not in words. Often she would not complete a sentence, and just as often would use the wrong words. Yet she was able to impress the minds of most with her meaning.

Meditation was an important part of Dora’s life, and she helped many to learn how to meditate. I learned from her, and am eternally gratefully that I did. Dora conducted a meditation class just before member meetings. She was able to stimulate something deep within students that awakened them to the meditative experience.

Once, just before meditation, Dora made a pejorative remark about the Liberal Catholic Church, in which I am a priest. No sooner did we begin to meditate than I got the strongest impression of her saying, “Don’t worry about it. That was just my personality,” and it was.

While Dora was not a member of the LCC, she knew the value of the church, and she could see its services clairvoyantly. Once our bishop asked Dora to observe a mass said in the evening to see why C.W. Leadbeater, one of the church’s founders, said it should only be said between midnight and noon, as the church did until about 1955. She did, and she reported that angels appeared and participated, that the elements were consecrated, but when the Host was broken after consecration, the energy did not spread out over the neighborhood to bless the people. Rather, it was grounded through those present. The energy was lost.

As the title of her biography, A Most Unusual Life, suggests, Dora did indeed have a most unusual life. I vetted her biography and wrote an endorsement for it. To learn more about my dear friend Dora, I highly recommend that you read A Most Unusual Life: Dora van Gelder Kunz, Clairvoyant, Theosophist, Healerby Kirsten Van Gelder and Frank Chesley (Quest, 2015).

Ed Abdill joined the Theosophical Society in 1959. He has served as president of the New York Theosophical Society, and he served on the national Theosophical Society in America board, both as a director and as vice president. He has lectured for the Society throughout the United States and internationally. Ed has authored two books, The Secret Gateway: Modern Theosophy and the Ancient Wisdom Tradition and Masters of Wisdom: The Mahatmas, Their Letters, and the Path.

Printed in the  Fall 2021  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Hebert, Barbara, "From the Editor’s Desk" Quest 108:4, pg 8-9

Barbara Hebert
National President

Some individuals may see the theme of this issue and think it is about the great teachers, the holy ones whom many believe stand behind the Theosophical Society and its formation. Many of us perceive that at least two of these beings, the Mahatma Morya and the Mahatma Koot Hoomi, are responsible for bringing the Theosophical Society into being, with the aid of H.P. Blavatsky, Henry Steel Olcott, and others.

Those of us who believe that these great ones established the Theosophical Society are forever grateful. Personally, I have no doubt that they continue to stand behind this organization as its members share the Ageless Wisdom in countless ways.

There are other ways of thinking and talking about teachers, however, and the articles in this issue, including this Viewpoint, share some of these ways.

The word teach is typically defined as causing another to know something. A teacher, then, is someone or something that causes another to know. Closely associated, of course, is the definition of learn, which is typically defined as gaining knowledge or awareness. However, when we look at the etymology of the word learn, it takes on a deeper meaning, especially for those of us who are attempting to walk the spiritual path. From the website etymonline (https://www.etymonline.com/word/learn), we read that the word comes from the following: 

Old English leornian “to get knowledge, be cultivated; study, read, think about,” from Proto-Germanic *lisnojanan (cognates: Old Frisian lernia, Middle Dutch leeren, Dutch leren, Old High German lernen, German lernen “to learn,” Gothic lais “I know”), with a base sense of “to follow or find the track,” from PIE root *lois- “furrow, track.” It is related to German Gleis “track,” and to Old English læst “sole of the foot.”

Læst, by the way, survives in modern English as last: the word for the model of the foot on which shoes are shaped.

Therefore, if we look to its origin, we find that the word learn stems from a sense of walking to find or follow the path, using the soles of our feet.

This is exactly what we are doing: walking to find or follow the path. Our learning is based upon following the path, one step at a time. If our purpose on this physical plane of existence is to become fully human through learning and growing, through the expansion of our consciousness, then, if we are open to it, everything and everyone is our teacher, and we can learn from everything and everyone. We learn so that we may find or follow the track to become fully human, to move forward in our spiritual evolutionary process.

A teacher is anyone or anything that helps us to know or become aware of something, especially about finding and following a path that has been chosen. If one has chosen to become a welder, the path may be knowledge of the process of welding. The same is true for someone who has chosen a path to become an accountant and has gained knowledge of accounting.

Many of us, in addition to our mundane career paths, have chosen a spiritual path. We focus on increasing our knowledge and awareness about spirituality and spiritual evolution for all beings. 

How many people do you know who go through their lives rarely learning from the circumstances that surround them and from the people with whom they come into contact? Often these individuals look externally for solutions to problems and difficulties. They blame the world, their jobs, their families, or any number of other things for what is wrong in their lives. Sadly, these individuals don’t even seem to realize that there is a track to find, much less follow.

This track is the spiritual path, and it compels us to learn. Once we become aware of it, we can never lose that awareness. We may ignore it or pretend that it is unimportant, but the knowledge never leaves us. Once we know that there is a spiritual path to follow, we can’t unknow it. At some point on our journey, whether in this lifetime or a future one, it manifests as “divine discontent.” It will niggle at our consciousness until we finally pay attention to it.

I’m reminded of the fairy tale about the princess and the pea. Written by Hans Christian Andersen, it is a Danish fairy tale about a prince who wanted to marry a princess. It was important that she be a “real” princess, and he had great difficulty determining who could qualify.

Then, one dark stormy night, a young woman came to the town gate and knocked on it. Wet and bedraggled, she insisted she was a princess. The queen, questioning whether this was true, set about creating a test to determine if the girl was truly a princess by heaping twenty mattresses and twenty pillows upon a bed. Under these, the queen placed one raw pea. The young woman slept on this bed and in the morning was questioned about her night’s sleep. She reported that she hadn’t slept at all and that she was bruised from something hard that had been in her bed.

The young woman’s words proved that she was indeed a real princess to the satisfaction of the queen and the prince. They believed that only a real princess could be so sensitive and delicate. So the prince and princess were married and lived happily ever after, and the pea was kept in a special cabinet.

While there are many morals to this story, the one that jumps out at me is that regardless of how many soft things were placed between the princess and the pea, she knew there was something there—something deep within that she could not ignore. She was unable to sleep, remaining awake through the night.

We are all aware of the idea that many people are asleep to the reality of the spiritual self, believing that the temporary physical self is the only reality. Andersen’s fairy tale points out that we cannot remain asleep when there is something deep within that pushes us toward awakening.

Everything and everyone we encounter gives us the opportunity of learning, of following the path we have chosen. As we go about our daily lives, we encounter people and situations that can be our teachers if we open ourselves to this possibility. The “pea” may take the form of a difficult family member or coworker or long lines in the grocery store. As we respond or react to them, we can use the opportunity to learn more about ourselves, to increase our self-awareness. The more we learn about ourselves, the more likely we are to move forward on the spiritual path. 

We can ask ourselves questions such as: Why am I so frustrated with this long line? What is going on inside of me? What is it about this person that pushes my buttons? What is this button, and how can I get rid of it?

Self-observation and self-awareness are key to walking the spiritual path. Difficult though they are, especially when they have to do with being honest with ourselves, they are an essential component of becoming fully human. Lifetimes upon lifetimes, it requires vigilance and determination to remain open to any situation or individual that can help us learn more about ourselves.

I firmly believe there are great teachers “out there,” who may inspire and motivate us to continue walking this difficult path. Yet the most important teachers seem to be the ones that are placed in our lives every single day: the situations and fellow human beings who provide us with the learning that is essential on our spiritual journey. May we have gratitude for all that teaches us and propels us on our way.

Printed in the  Fall 2021  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard, "From the Editor’s Desk" Quest 108:4, pg 2

From the Editor’s Desk

Many people claim to have spiritual teachers whom they barely knew and who barely knew them. The teacher might have thousands, even tens of thousands of disciples, so it has always been hard to understand how any one of them (outside the innermost circle) can claim that individual as any kind of preceptor.

It’s not my business to say who is whose teacher, or under what circumstances that name applies. But I would find it difficult to go to a weekend workshop—even, say, a Tibetan Buddhist empowerment—and claim the instructor was my teacher afterward. Even if one has attended many such workshops by the same person.

This observation forms the core of this issue. Three articles—by Lucy Oliver, Joscelyn Godwin, and the Members’ Forum by Ed Abdill—show another aspect of the spiritual teacher in our time: an individual, who may or may not be in any known lineage, who attracts a few dozen students with whom he or she works on a long-term basis. To me, this setup has far more potential for promoting long-term development than practically any other in this age.

The teachers in question were not gurus as such: they did not demand devotion and, in the case of Lucy Oliver’s Glyn, whom I knew myself, actively repudiated it. (For my portrait of Glyn, see “From the Editor's Desk Spring 2015,” Quest, spring 2015.) Nevertheless, they conveyed a certain knowledge and power that enabled their students to advance in a way that very few spiritual programs have.

In a Theosophical context, as Ed Abdill points out, Dora Kunz, the late president of the TSA, fulfilled this role for many, and her pupils that I know seem to think that no one since has managed to replace her.

We are talking about living human teachers here, and there may be many other kinds. Certain people say that they have had instructions from masters on the inner planes. This certainly seems possible, even likely, to me, but it is very difficult to claim any kind of authority on that basis. If you have any such experiences, I would imagine that the most prudent approach would simply be to keep your mouth shut about them. Nothing is easier than to sound crazy by prattling on about your contacts on the inner planes.

True masters, in my experience, make no such claims, even about themselves. I have been told, and I believe, one thing about masterhood, adeptship, and so on: if you claim to be it, you’re not it. Running around talking about yourself as a Master (with a capital M, of course) is itself a disqualification.

Hence genuine teachers are extremely evasive, not only about claiming such titles, but even allowing them to be applied. Even the Dalai Lama has said more than once that he is just “a simple monk.”

This presents a dilemma for the would-be student. How do you know who is genuine and who isn’t? Many of the highest teachers make themselves difficult to recognize, even affecting gruff or slovenly behavior in order to put off those who can’t see past appearances.

But then that is the first initiation. You have to have enough discernment to see past appearances—of any sort. On the flip side, demonstrating what used to be disingenuously called “crazy wisdom,” is hardly a reliable sign either.

A peculiar verse in the Gospels reads, “And they were astonished at his doctrine: for he taught them as one that had authority, and not as the scribes” (Mark 1:22). There is an obvious meaning here: the difference between genuine spiritual authority, as shown by Christ, and the mere chapter-and-verse knowledge of the scribes.

But there is another, more oblique lesson to be learned from this verse. The people had to have something in themselves that could distinguish genuine authority from pettifogging.

Unfortunately, there is no ultimately reliable touchstone. Even a sincere, ethical individual may really have nothing more inside than platitudes. Consequently, you have no guarantee that you will not be fooled. I would go further and say, if you can be fooled, you will be.

These are the risks we all run. You can never really tell the depth of another’s integrity. You can only maintain your own.

This puts me in mind of a peculiar theory of mine, which I cannot claim to be anything more than speculation. After their downfall at the hands of church and king, the medieval Knights Templar were accused of secretly worshipping a god called Baphomet. Historians have not known what to make of this claim. The Templars, the guardians of Christendom, worshipping some grotesque unknown god? Was it just slander cooked up by the priests?

Here is my suggestion. The Templars did have a god called Baphomet, which they used in their initiations. It was a ridiculous joke god invented for the purpose of the ritual. At one point the candidate was given the ultimate test: he was told that the secret of the Templars was they worshipped Baphomet. To become fully initiated into the order, the candidate was given the choice: he had to renounce Christ and worship Baphomet. But this was merely a test. If the candidate yielded and bowed down before Baphomet, he failed. If he refused to reject Christ, even on the threat of death, he passed.

You never know in advance what form the test is going to take.

Richard Smoley

Printed in the  Fall 2021  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Macrae, Janet, "Angel of the Pines" Quest 108:4, pg 34-37

By Janet Macrae

It was three o’clock in the afternoon on February 17, 2012.  I was inside the barn with my two horses: Baton Rouge, a dark brown Australian Thoroughbred with no white markings, and Poco, a chestnut American quarter horse with a white blaze on his face.

We were waiting for the saddle fitter. He was very late, and I was starting to get irritated. Should I just cancel the appointment and go home? I picked up the cell phone, but then thought twice and put it down. No, I would have to wait. The saddles were due to be repadded, and I did not want the horses’ backs to grow sore. To pass the time, I decided to take them out to the back field to graze. I put the halter on Poco, the younger horse, and led him from the stall into the hallway.

In view of the circumstances, and my frame of mind, what happened next was quite extraordinary:

The walls and ceiling of the barn somehow faded from my sight. Up in the sky, above the fields, I saw a slender, golden energy form radiating thin strands of white and golden light. It seemed to have a face (although I could not discern any features), above which was a rounded golden arch resembling a halo. I’m not sure to what extent I was using my physical eyes. It resembled, or felt, like a dream image. But I was in my waking state, and this being seemed very much in the real world.

Almost immediately, a feeling of recognition came over me. I knew what this was! It was a great Angel of the Pine Trees. I had seen an illustration in an old book that looked exactly like this . . . no, not exactly . . . I tried to focus more clearly . . . This angel had an indentation in the middle, like a waist, while the angel in the book did not.

 I stood motionless, staring, for perhaps ten seconds. The angel did not move, and there was no message or other communication of which I was aware. Then it was gone. The walls and ceiling of the barn came back into view, and I felt my hand on Poco, who was waiting patiently.

Why had this occurred? I could think of nothing that might have brought this about. There was little time to ponder, however, because the saddle fitter finally arrived. When he finished, it was still daylight, so I took the horses out to the back field, as I had planned. This was a large, unenclosed area where the grass was relatively undisturbed and, even in February, fairly lush. Coming out here was one of the high points of the horses’ day. I held Poco on the lead rope, but this past year I had been letting Baton Rouge, the older one, wander freely. He never strayed far. The three of us were like a small herd, enjoying each other’s company and the peacefulness of the landscape.

I usually tried to make this back field time a meditative experience. On that particular afternoon, however, my mind was not at all quiet: it was filled with thoughts of angels. I was trying to remember some of the things that Dora Kunz, the codeveloper of the Therapeutic Touch healing method, had taught about them. She had been able to see them since her childhood, and sometimes (not too often) she would give some descriptions to those of us who studied with her.

Dora emphasized that angels, or “intelligences,” as she referred to them, do not have physical bodies: they comprise a separate evolutionary line inhabiting the higher dimensions of this earth. There are many different types, she told us, but they are all aspects of the universal order; they help to balance the forces of nature. Some types are involved with humanity, but generally in an impersonal way. Indeed, this was one of the big differences Dora found between humans and angels. As humans, we tend to take things personally; angels do not. There are angels who preside over cities and towns, helping to balance positive and negative energies. Others are associated with hospitals, sending supportive energy to the ill and to those who care for them. Dora said that if we try to quiet our minds and attune to them, we can receive some help.

Working under the supervision of the angels are many varieties of nature spirits. These are smaller, less intelligent entities whose energies are of a denser quality, closer to that of the physical earth. Because of this relative density, they are more often seen by human beings: they are the fairies, gnomes, sea sprites, and elves that appear in the world’s folklore. I wondered why I had suddenly seen an angel and not one of these entities that appear to be more accessible.

I stood there in the grass, remembering Dora’s voice, until a chilly wind suddenly arose that penetrated my jacket. “Come on, boys, we’re going in.” I led Poco toward the barn, and Baton followed us closely. He did not see well out of one eye and would get a little fearful at dusk. Inside the barn, the staff was distributing hay and preparing the evening meal. The horses were content, and I was free to go home.

It was a short beautiful drive from western New Jersey across the Delaware River to eastern Pennsylvania. I entered the house and immediately took out a book that I had bought almost forty years ago: The Kingdom of the Gods by Geoffrey Hodson, a gifted clairvoyant from New Zealand. He had made extensive observations of many types of angels during the 1920s and had engaged an artist to paint some of them following his descriptions. I found these illustrations to be so beautiful and interesting that I returned to them many times over the years, and even showed the pictures of the healing angels in some of my nursing classes.

	The Angel of the Pines, from Geoffrey Hodson’s Kingdom of the Gods.

I first opened to plate 6: “A Lord of the Pines.” This was definitely the type of angel that I had seen. But Hodson’s lens was much more focused than mine, because he showed, in greater detail, the specific lines of energy radiating from the angel’s denser form. Indeed, these lines actually resembled the foliage of pine trees. Hodson explained that angels take on, to some degree, the characteristics of their physical region. In the illustrations, the Pine Angel is slender and graceful, like many pine trees; the Mountain Angels are broad and massive; the Angel of the Sea is curved and wavelike. It is easy to understand why they have been depicted in paintings and other art forms as beautiful people with wings. The denser core of these beings does have a humanlike appearance: the radiating bands of energy give the impression of wings, and the fact that they live in the higher dimensions reinforces the idea of flight.

I spent the evening looking over sections of the book, and the next day I described what I had seen to a few people at the farm. They listened with interest and asked to see the book. Word spread, and soon everybody knew about it. And then, happily for me, some corroboration came within a few weeks.

David, the owner of the farm, is a surgeon who likes to relax by taking long walks in the woods. He told me that he saw “a Great Being in the sky over the fields. It was like a Christmas tree. All lit up!”

We were sure that we had seen the same Great Being. David’s beloved dog had recently died, and I wondered if the Angel had reached out to him because of that. Both Dora Kunz and Geoffrey Hodson say that major transitions such as birth and death are attended by angelic forces. But why did the Pine Angel reach out to me? Although I did not realize it at the time, and might not have been willing to accept it, the consciousness of the angel was embracing my horse Baton Rouge.

Baton had been abused by a former owner but had made great progress in healing with the help of therapists using several modalities over the years: chiropractic, massage therapy, acupressure, and Therapeutic Touch. He showed great interest in the healing methods, giving his full attention during each session. “He’s exceptional,” said the chiropractor. “He tries to figure out what I’m doing and work along with me.” I always felt that Baton was more than a horse. Someone once remarked that he seemed to be a human being in a horse’s body.

Baton was twenty-eight years old, and he finally seemed at peace with his life. The status of his physical health, however, was worrisome to me. He suffered from arthritis, allergies, and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. On the afternoon of June 5, almost four months after the sighting of the angel, he had a severe respiratory attack. Our vet came and gave him some potent intravenous medications. “This should take care of it,” he said. “Baton should be better in the morning.” As he was leaving, he gave me an oral bronchodilator to use when necessary. I watched Baton carefully, and he continued to improve as the hours passed. Sheila, David’s wife, who is a physician, told me she would keep an eye on him, so I returned home in the early evening.

I ate a quick dinner and then sat at my desk thinking over the events of the day. Baton had had many episodes of respiratory difficulty before, but this attack was much more severe, and it frightened me. I was also worried about the coming summer heat, which takes a toll on all the animals, particularly the older ones. At some point, a thought of the angel crossed my mind. Should I ask him to help Baton? Geoffrey Hodson’s book contains illustrations of beautiful healing angels that preside over hospitals, sending supportive energy to the ill. This angel was not of that type, but he might be able to help in some way.

Dora Kunz, using her clairvoyant ability, observed that angels are attracted to altruistic feelings. She used to suggest that nurses and other caregivers try to attune to them in their work. But she had an admonition: angels, by their very nature, are not able to grant personal favors. The universe is orderly, she would remind us, and angels work as agents of the laws of nature. They exist in the higher realms, where the experience of time is more expansive. Thus they can see into the future and get a sense of the destiny of the living beings around them. Angels can and will help, but they cannot work against destiny.

With this in mind, my inner sense told me to proceed: make a request, but be nonattached to the outcome and accept whatever happens. So I visualized the angel and made the intent to connect. Then I pictured Baton and asked the angel to help him in any way that would be appropriate. I did not expect a direct response, but hoped there would be an improvement in Baton’s condition. What happened next was a complete surprise and one of the most profound gifts I have ever received.

In just a few seconds, I felt a generalized sense of pressure, as though some type of energy were gently impinging on my subtle field. Then it felt as though part of my subtle energy field on the right side became synchronized with the new frequency, and it was this synchronization, or partial synchronization, that allowed me to experience the angel’s presence. I am not sure that any amount of spiritual reading or meditation could have prepared me for this. I had never felt such a majestic presence, so completely above our human personality dynamics, and yet so profoundly courteous to me at this level.

“I acknowledge your request.” This was not so much an audible voice in my inner ear as an idea impressed from without on my mind. I sat with my eyes closed, barely breathing. Across my inner visual field came a sequence of moving images: I saw Baton surrounded by little earth-tone figures. They stood about as high as his knees. Were they plants? No, they looked like plants, but they were moving around. Then I saw that they had stubby legs and odd-looking faces. They were nature spirits! I watched them perform some kind of dance around Baton. An inner circle suddenly formed, so now Baton had two circles of nature spirits dancing around him. At one point they seemed to be covering his body with leaves. Baton seemed to be completely comfortable with these little beings and what they were doing.

The vision faded, and I sat at my desk for a long time. At first I was too stunned to move or even to think. Then I felt compelled to write down what had happened. This was a glimpse into another dimension and, like dreams that are not recorded, it could slip back into the depths of my unconscious. And so I wrote, hoping the words would anchor this experience in my waking mind. I wondered if the great angel sent some energy or life force through the nature spirits, directing them to perform a healing ritual dance. It was my hope that the angel’s energy would help Baton regain his strength. Many horses are now living well into their thirties, I reasoned, and with all the supportive therapies available, Baton could be among them. But at that moment, the angel could see what I, in my physical consciousness, could not: that my hope, my personal wish, was not his destiny.

 And so it happened, very quickly. On the morning of August 13, two months after the dance of the nature spirits, I was preparing a late breakfast when the phone rang. It was Sheila. “Baton doesn’t look good at all,” she said. “I think he’s critical.”  Our vet was away, so I immediately called the nearby equine clinic. Then I ran out the door. It was brutally hot, as it had been all week, and now Baton was in respiratory distress.

Gemma, a young vet, quickly arrived. She medicated Baton, and he soon started to breathe more easily. However, Sheila detected an irregular pulse and asked Gemma to do a scan of his chest. She agreed, and we were all shocked as the picture emerged: his heart was so enlarged that it was impinging on his lung.

“This doesn’t look good,” said Gemma. “You can bring him into the clinic for a cardiology workup, but I doubt, in this condition, that we could give him any more than a week.”

I stood there trying to think clearly. The clinic is excellent, but I felt Baton would not want this option. If he stayed here, however, how much discomfort might he endure? Even if he managed to survive more than a week, he still faced the rest of the summer heat and the early fall allergens. Hard as this was, I knew I had to let him go. Gemma accepted my decision and said she would make the call for his body to be picked up for cremation. She then went to her truck to prepare the injections, and we led Baton out to the back field.

There was an unusual, profound stillness in the air. Everything seemed to have stopped. Most of the horses had been brought inside because of the heat. The instructors were on vacation, so there were no lessons, and the custodian had the day off, so all the machinery was quiet. In the distance I saw a woman leading her horse out to graze in the front yard. In the back field there were four of us with Baton: Gemma and her assistant, me, and Sheila, who had stayed with us all morning. Soon, when it was all over, there was only me, kneeling there on the grass beside him.

I covered Baton’s body with a sheet and waited there in the stillness and the heat, periodically taking refuge in the shade of the barn. I felt for Poco and tried to comfort him. After a while, maybe an hour, I heard the sound of a motor and saw an unfamiliar square truck making its way up the driveway. A sympathetic man got out of the truck and asked me to sign something. He also suggested that I leave. “You don’t want to see him hoisted onto the truck,” he said. So I went back into the barn and waited with Poco until the sound of the truck faded away.

Then Carolyn appeared, the woman who had been grazing her horse in the front yard. I did not know her well, because she had only recently started boarding her show horse here. Someone told me that she lived on her own farm nearby.

“I’m really sorry about this,” she said. And then, after a moment, she added: “Did you see all the eagles?”

 “No.”

“About ten or twelve of them came when your horse died. They flew over him in a big circle and then flew away. I’ve never seen so many—maybe a pair or two—but nothing like this.”

I wished that I had seen the eagles, but I was not looking up at the sky. I was looking down at my loss. Even in my shocked state, however, I felt a sense of mystery and gratitude. How fortunate that she had been there, at that moment, able to see what I had not. A circle of eagles. I thought about the circle of the nature spirits, and I wondered if the eagles also had been sent by the Angel of the Pines.

It was only later that my friend Geri, who lives with her family on a nearby farm, told me that she too had seen the eagles. Around noon on that hot August day, she was standing in one of her fields with a friend.

“There were several of them in a circle,” she said. “They were flying so low that I could see some individual feathers. And they were flying in your direction, towards you and Baton. I had never seen anything like that, and I remember I said to Maryanne, ‘Oh my God, what kind of a sign is this!’”

It was a sign, to me, of successful completion. Birds symbolize the human spirit and its flight to a higher dimension. Eagles, in particular, indicate strength, victory, and the release from bondage. And the circle, in all cultures, means wholeness, fulfillment, and the completion of a cycle. The circle of eagles told me, therefore, that Baton had accomplished his life’s purpose. He had been hurt and, with Poco and me at his side, had walked a long path of healing. His earthly life was fulfilled, and he was open to a higher level of existence.

Sources

Hodson, Geoffrey. The Kingdom of the Gods. Madras, India: Theosophical Publishing House, 1952.

Kunz, Dora, and Dolores Krieger. The Spiritual Dimension of Therapeutic Touch. Rochester, Vt.: Bear and Co., 2004.

Kunz, Dora van Gelder. The Real World of Fairies. Wheaton: Quest Books, 1977.

———. “Devic Consciousness,” Quest 97 (fall 2009), 152–53.

Van Gelder, Kirsten, and Frank Chesley. A Most Unusual Life: Dora Van Gelder Kunz, Clairvoyant, Theosophist, Healer. Wheaton: Quest, 2015.

Janet Macrae taught holistic nursing at New York University for many years. She is the author of Therapeutic Touch: A Practical Guide (Knopf, 1987). This article contains excerpts from her e-book On the Road to the Spirit: A Journey with a Horse, available through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and SmashWords, 2014.