Quest Magazine

Printed in the  Spring 2018 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Lachman, Gary, "Efforts and Awakening: Insights from the Works of Maurice Nicoll" Quest 106:2, pg 24-28

Pictures of ourselves prevent us from seeing what we are like . . . You have, let us say, a picture of yourself being kind, just, self-sacrificing and full of good will . . . You do not realize that you are often cruel, selfish, unjust and sometimes full of evil will . . . Now in such cases you do not see your evil but project it on to others. That is, what you do not see in yourself you see reflected in the other person. (Psychological Commentaries, 3:964)

Psychological space is not visited by the physical body, but by the mind, the emotions, and the sensations . . . This invisible world is as real as physical space . . . This inner psychological invisible country, in which we really live our lives, has good and bad places. It has in it heaven, hell and an intermediate place. When we are in the negative part of the Emotional Centre, we are, inwardly, in hell. (Psychological Commentaries, 3:978)

The word translated throughout the New Testament as repentance is in the Greek meta-noia which means change of mind . . . The particle meta indicates transference, or transformation, or beyondness. The other part of this word— -noia—is from the Greek word nous, which means mind. The word metanoia therefore has to do with transformation of the mind. (The Mark, 92–93)

The idea of recurrence is ancient. It is an idea that has lurked in the background of man’s speculations about life from the beginning of European thought. But it is an idea that has so much latent content that we cannot expect any clear formulation of it. It is too deep. (Living Time, 160)

All sacred writings contain an outer and an inner meaning. Behind the literal words lie another range of meaning, another form of knowledge. According to an age-old tradition, Man was once in touch with this inner knowledge and inner meaning. There are many stories in the Old Testament which convey another knowledge, a meaning quite different from the literal sense of the words. The story of the Ark, the story of Pharaoh’s butler and baker, the story of the Tower of Babel . . . And in the Gospels the parable is used in a similar way. (The New Man, 1)

The right hand is ordinarily the more conscious. The more conscious side of a man is the external man, the side he makes use of most: the less conscious side is the inner, deeper man . . . The outer man is formed by contact with outer life, to adapt to life . . . A man with only an outer side developed towards life is a half-man—a one-sided man in the sense of a man cut longitudinally in half. He has one leg and arm and half a brain. There are two sides to a man, a right and left, an outer an inner. They have to be joined together to form the entire man. (Psychological Commentaries, 3:1067)

We are taught, as an exercise to increase consciousness, to try sometimes to take consciously the opposite view to the one we mechanically take. This is including the opposite, but not rejecting the other viewpoint. It is bringing the opposites together towards a middle by including both sides in consciousness. (Psychological Commentaries, 5:1566)

Man is given more than he needs, and this is one of the mysteries of life. He only uses part of his brain. He is given more than he needs for just living his natural life. He is given a far larger house than he uses, or needs for the purposes of ordinary life. As said, he has a brain which is bigger than is necessary for him. (Psychological Commentaries, 5:1764)

Through Self-Remembering we come under new influences which otherwise cannot reach us. If you feel the extraordinariness of your own existence, if you feel the miracle of your body, of your consciousness, of the world that surrounds you, if you begin to wonder who you are, then you are in the state necessary for Self-Remembering . . . In all this the sense of mystery is in us, the sense of the miraculous. It is not necessary to go to Tibet to find the miraculous. You can find it here, now, at this moment. (Psychological Commentaries, 2:601)

Man is both in Time and in Eternity. Eternity is vertical to Time—and this is the direction of Self-Remembering—the feeling of oneself now. Every now is eternal. To remember oneself the feeling of now must enter—I here now—I myself now—I distinct from past or future—the newness of myself—I now. And if the act is successful you will know for yourself that Eternity is always in now and can be experienced as a different taste of time. (Psychological Commentaries, 3:945)

The following six quotes are from Nicoll’s diary, found in Maurice Nicoll: A Portrait by Beryl Pogson, 180–211.

Every effort made individually lifts us above the trend of things, the swings of good and evil, which is life.

Taking life as a training for spiritual development—that is indeed the only message. It is beginning to transform it.

Nature invites us to think beyond the senses, which is the only solution to life’s meaning.

Is it not clear that to develop anything in oneself one must isolate oneself from collective influences?

Synchronicity puts us temporarily above the ordinary laws of horizontal time . . . through a special stroke of attunement, causing correspondence between outer life and inner life.

As soon as we begin to observe examples of synchronicity, we seem to attract them.

Emphasis in all quotes is from the original. Selections are by Gary Lachman.

SOURCES

Nicoll, Maurice. Living Time and the Integration of the Life. London: Watkins, 1981.
———. The Mark. London: Watkins, 1981.
———.The New Man. New York: Penguin, 1976.
———. Psychological Commentaries on the Teachings of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky. Five volumes. London: Watkins, 1980.
Pogson, Beryl. Maurice Nicoll: A Portrait. New York: Fourth Way Books, 1987.

Printed in the  Spring 2018 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Levine, Arlene Gay, "The Alchemy of Adaptation" Quest 106:2, pg 20-21

By Arlene Gay Levine

How should we be able to forget about those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave.
―Rainer Maria Rilke

From the instant we first draw breath, freedom is our imperative. This urge, which I like to call joy, sings in our blood even before we are born. It manifests as a goad to escape the bounds of the womb, followed by the constrictions of our nuclear family and on into the world of school, relationships, and work, where yet again we chafe at enforced limits and rules. Are we merely prisoners of the circumstances in our lives, or have we permitted a kind of negative magic to take hold in the form of an inverted comprehension of our true role in the cosmic play?

Did you ever consider what magic really is? There are countless blossoms on this tree, so many versions of the truth. To me, magic is something beyond the ordinary, whether it is in the way we think, see, believe, or live. Always there is the sense of a presence outside of ourselves and of time and space. Nikos Kazantzakis provides an elegantly simple formula in his novel Zorba the Greek: “Since we cannot change reality, let us change the eyes which see reality.” How might this unusual transformation come about?

When I was in my early thirties, I had a numinous encounter. Up until that point, the material, sense-oriented version of life here on earth clouded my thinking. Despite my comprehensive study of sages, saints, poets, philosophers, and esoteric systems, I often felt myself, particularly during difficult times, to be an insignificant piece on Somebody’s chessboard. How exasperating to be tossed about and battered by circumstances over which there appeared to be no control! Yet such irksome situations forced me unwittingly to learn and grow, bringing me by grace to this transformative event.

I was not blinded by the light of my mystical experience; on the contrary, I was finally allowed to see with new eyes, if only for that ecstatic interlude. The Light I knew then as Love offered the gift of freedom from the fallacy of separation. For me, this moment qualified as magic: clear, conscious self-identification with the One Life and thus with everything in existence. Even though this perception-altering event was fleeting, it became a beacon for all further work toward spiritual development. Much like alchemists of old who searched, step by step, in an attempt to turn “metal” (think human personality) into gold, I determined to continue in-depth experiments in this remarkable way of perceiving and participating in reality. I just did not yet know how to proceed.

A few days after this happened, feeling rather deflated and confused, I realized I had very little food in the house. The last thing I wanted to do then was visit the local market, but even newly minted mystics have to eat. The place was crowded and noisy. Being highly sensitive to both these conditions, I hurried to complete my chores. Out of the corner of my eye, a stack of purple leaflets near the checkout caught my attention. Without much thought, I serendipitously picked one up and stuffed it in a bag with the carrots and lettuce.

At home, relaxing with a cup of chamomile tea, I began to read. A woman was offering a yoga class several blocks away from where I lived. This was rather remarkable in my small suburb back in the early ’70s. Little did I know that the purple paper would be my introduction to another step toward enlightenment. Although it escaped me at the time, the English word union is the precise translation of the Sanskrit noun yoga. Soon yoga and all it encompassed became an important part of my process. Daily practice through meditation, breath, and bodywork advanced a slow but steady adaptation toward knowledge of my own true nature.

No longer could I accept old beliefs based on control and fear. I had encountered firsthand something entirely other, and the path of yoga confirmed this. Yes, there would always be trials to overcome. Now, however, I knew I was not alone or being manipulated by some arbitrary taskmaster. The real power that had opened my heart chakra with the golden Light of Love would provide both tests and the help needed to evolve.

Many artists speak of allowing “the brush to paint,” “the fingers to play the notes,” or “the words to arrive.” Is this magic? I believe so. They are really referring to a skill they have developed, through conscious receptivity, to become clear vehicles for Universal Will. Over time, maybe over countless lives, we can gradually learn to let the “little me” step out of the way “for the performance of the miracles of the One Thing,” as the Hermetic text The Emerald Tablet puts it. Only then may we experience the magic of true freedom.

Arlene Gay Levine is the author of Thirty-Nine Ways to Open Your Heart: An Illuminated Meditation (Conari Press) and Movie Life (Finishing Line Press). Her prose and poetry have found homes in an off-Broadway show, on the radio, in The New York Times, and in numerous journals. Visit at http://www.arlenegaylevine.com.

Something Is There

not really you and yet . . .
Something exists beyond
all those bits and pieces creating
whom you imagine you are,
more enigmatic than the mortal
looking back at your face
in the mirror every day.
It is the One gazing at you
from the inside, peaceful,
old as forever and younger
even than tomorrow.

When the you that you know,
perhaps falling short of how
you wish you could have been,
is no longer here, something,
that other boundless, soundless
Light made of Love who is and is not you,
will still be waiting,
an open hand inviting you to
the magnificence of its Mystery
once again . . .

Printed in the  Spring 2018  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Price, Leslie, "Facing the Third Object: An Interview with Kurt Leland" Quest 106:2, pg 17-19

By Leslie Price

Kurt Leland is a familiar figure to members of the Theosophical Society in America. In addition to his work as a national speaker, he has contributed to Quest more than once. An interview with him appeared in our fall 2013 issue, and his article “The Rainbow Body: How the Western Chakra System Came to Be,” based on his book Rainbow Body: A History of the Western Chakra System from Blavatsky to Brennan (Ibis Press, 2016) appeared in our spring 2017 issue.

In the fall of 2017, Leslie Price of the Theosophical Society in England conducted an email interview with Kurt focused on the vexed topic of the Society’s Third Object: “To investigate unexplored laws of nature and the powers latent in humanity.” The interview appeared in part in Insight, the TSE house journal, and in full on the Insight website.

Leslie Price: You have published a new edition of C.W. Leadbeater’s book The Chakras (Quest, 2013) and edited Invisible Worlds: Annie Besant on Psychic and Spiritual Development (Quest, 2014). Besant was a supporter of Third Object work in the Theosophical Society. How can the Society today take the Third Object—“to investigate unexplained laws of Nature and the powers latent in humanity”—forward today?

Kurt Leland: During the first fifty years of the TS’s existence, Third Object studies focused on learning more about the universe of possibilities for intuition, thought, feeling, and action opened up by Theosophical teachings, such as those concerning subtle bodies and planes. After the deaths of Besant and Leadbeater in the early 1930s, the focus seems to have shifted away from accumulating such knowledge to proving that powers of clairvoyance and healing were latent in humanity and could be developed for the benefit of others and as a contribution to science. These goals were pursued by the Theosophical Research Centre, headquartered for many years in London.

Throughout the entire history of the TS, there have been struggles between experiencers and nonexperiencers of such powers over how to integrate such knowledge into sensible governance of the TS. Numerous schisms have left their scars, including distrust of people in the movement with claims of psychic and spiritual abilities. Nonexperiencers have been somewhat fundamentalistic about interpreting H.P. Blavatsky’s cautions against mediumship as a universal ban on such practices (whereas she actually said, “Subjective, purely spiritual ‘Mediumship’ is the only harmless kind, and is often an elevating gift that might be cultivated by every one”: Collected Writings, 6:329). A climate of fear, distrust, and discouragement of the development of psychic and spiritual abilities has arisen, based on the notion that such abilities are potentially dangerous to oneself and to the well-being of a group (as in cases in which charismatic individuals with claims to such powers try to take over an existing TS group).

In my role as national lecturer for the TSA, I’ve taken the following steps to rehabilitate the Third Object. First, I admit the potential dangers of development of psychic and spiritual powers—but I also point people toward the writings of Blavatsky, Besant, Leadbeater, and others within the movement that indicate how such development may be safely undertaken. There’s much wisdom of this sort in Theosophical writings, and it deserves to be better known, both within the TS and beyond.

Second, I encourage people to share their inner lives with each other within the context of TS gatherings—which may include dreams, out-of-body experiences, near-death experiences, mystical experiences, contact with deceased relatives, and so on. Such sharing deepens our connections with each other and builds lasting communities. There is too little such sharing in our society—and where better to make space for it than in the TS, where so much literature is devoted to understanding such experiences? I’ve been told that when I lead a meeting along these lines, no one wants to leave when the time is up, whereas when a meeting of the same group is engaged in intellectual discussion of Theosophical concepts alone, people run out the door when the hour is over.

I’ve come to realize that nearly everyone who is attracted to the TS has had at least one spiritual or mystical experience of some sort. Honoring that fact and encouraging further study of the theoretical basis of such experiences would go a long way toward encouraging visitors to join and groups to retain members.

Finally, I keep in mind something I learned from my training as a musician, which required many years of study of musical theory. When I was able to see the application of musical theory to a piece I was performing or composing, I experienced a moment of illumination that not only justified such study, but also revealed the composer’s practice in a new light and suggested ways of communicating what I’d learned to an audience.

Why shouldn’t our study of the Third Object do the same? The theory is amply presented in the works of Theosophical writers who were gifted with clairvoyance and other psychic and spiritual powers. TS groups contain members who have had such experiences. The art is to create a safe context for people to share such experiences and then suggest ways in which Theosophical theories, and writings, about subtle bodies and planes explain them. Then the teachings come alive.

Thus my recommendation for exploring the Third Object is not to create groups to try to prove anything about the existence of psychic or spiritual powers, or to lead people directly into the development of such powers, but to create a safe environment for discussing such things. The chief means of creating such safety is to distinguish between selfish and unselfish sharing. Selfish sharing is self-promoting: it tries to impress others with one’s spiritual status and tends to erode the principle of brotherhood. Unselfish sharing is made as a contribution to human knowledge and tends to support the development of brotherhood.

The failure of the TS to support Third Object studies in recent decades may have been the result of a loss of understanding of how these studies contribute to practice of the First Object of the TS, universal brotherhood. Even if we go no further in the development of our psychic and spiritual abilities than to empathize with the suffering of animals and our fellow human beings, we have taken an important step in linking the basis of all psychic and spiritual powers—the unity consciousness associated with the principle of buddhi, which Besant and Leadbeater called spiritual intuition—with the principle of universal brotherhood.

It is not perhaps a large step beyond that to realize there may be other, less tangible realms and beings who may also experience suffering as a result of human ignorance, to feel empathy and brotherhood with them, and perhaps through that fellow feeling, to embolden them to show themselves to our inner vision. It’s my belief that the emphasis on universal brotherhood in the TS encourages the development of unity consciousness and the principle of buddhi, and that there’s no safer way for our psychic and spiritual abilities to unfold than through constant immersion in unity consciousness in our thoughts, feelings, and actions.

Leslie: C.W. Leadbeater remains a controversial figure in the TS. As one of the few persons to produce a scholarly edition of one of his books (the best-selling The Chakras), can you see how we can come to a balanced appreciation of his contribution?

Kurt : I’ve come to see Leadbeater neither as a saint (an often encountered assessment in certain TS circles) nor as a “monster of depravity” (to use his own words to sum up reactions in some sections of the TS and beyond), but as a flawed human being trying to master socially and spiritually pernicious motivations—allegedly including pedophilic tendencies—and not always succeeding. Let me be clear that it is the pedophilia and not necessarily the homosexuality that I consider pernicious, and that I use the word pernicious only with regard to behaviors that were damaging to himself, others, and the Theosophical movement. The various exposures and scandals helped to keep him in check and could be seen as karmic interventions, perhaps even motivated by the Masters, to make sure that a valuable worker did not wander too far astray and to remind him that too much was at stake to be sacrificed for mere personal pleasure, especially when the psychological and spiritual well-being of his young male charges and the reputation of the TS were at stake.

As a society, we have learned since his time that it is always wise to make sure that there is more than one adult about whenever adults are supervising children. And with regard to persons of spiritual authority, we have also learned the detrimental effects of creating an air of superior knowledge and a charisma that bewitches people’s common sense and allows them to be manipulated or abused. Certainly unmerited claims of social or intellectual status or of wonderful if not miraculous physical or spiritual adventures—for example, the many untruths Leadbeater told to enhance his position in the eyes of others—have accompanied the establishment of spiritual movements preceding, contemporaneous with, and following Leadbeater’s involvement with the TS. Such things are important considerations for understanding the development of spiritual and religious movements within academia.

When we have set aside these personal and historical elements, what we have left is the value of Leadbeater’s teachings. I believe we are unwise if we accept them without acknowledging the personality flaws, but equally unwise if we reject them wholesale because of these flaws. Through studying various other movements, I’ve come to the conclusion that the clearer the information that is available to a teacher, the more likely it is that that teacher will fall as a result of personality flaws. They fall so that their followers are forced to take back the spiritual authority they gave up by joining such movements. This is a natural evolutionary process, and Leadbeater simply represents an expression of it within the TS. The larger teaching is that it isn’t safe or helpful for us to accept what any spiritual teacher says without examining its validity and usefulness for ourselves. We must develop discernment as well as reliance on our own internal spiritual authority.

Much of what Leadbeater taught has passed into New Age lore without question or challenge—though the people who pass it on are often unaware of its origins and may have developed or improved upon it. I think current scholarship should make those origins clear. Much of what has not been perceived as useful in Leadbeater’s teachings—for example, the voluminous information on the past lives of various TS members—has been forgotten, and probably rightly so. In general, I think the principles he taught are often valid and useful, but the details used to illustrate them may be subject to personal and cultural limitations. They can’t be taken literally, but they shouldn’t be entirely dismissed. Thus rehabilitation of Leadbeater would require extracting the principles from the historical and personal context in which they’re embedded. I’ve sometimes thought that a reader’s guide to Leadbeater’s writings might demonstrate how that sorting could be done, not only as a lesson in the development of discernment, but also as a means of assessing his legacy and influence on later developments in spiritualist, Theosophical, and New Age thought.

Leslie: At 50 Gloucester Place in London (the headquarters of the English Section) we have just had an international conference devoted to Annie Besant, with papers from several countries and the launch of a new biography: Annie Besant: Struggles and Quest by Muriel Pécastaing-Boissière. What research is now most needed into Annie Besant’s work?

Kurt : I’ve noticed as I travel to various TS groups around the United States that Theosophical lecturers and discussion groups focus on certain texts, such as The Secret Doctrine or The Mahatma Letters, or on certain ideas, such as karma or reincarnation. There is little historical consciousness, except with respect to those works. There is also perhaps a tendency to choose texts accepted by most Theosophists as authoritative. The result seems to me to be an unacknowledged leaning toward fundamentalism.

Given the vast scope of Theosophical literature produced after the death of Mme. Blavatsky in 1891, especially by Besant and Leadbeater, much of what it contains of personal and perhaps global value (especially in consideration of Besant’s powerful writings on universal brotherhood) is being passed over. Thus, within the TS itself, I would like to see an emphasis not merely on Theosophical teachings, but also on historical context within the movement—and especially on the development of skills of discernment in reading controversial works or writers to discover what may be of value, what may be outdated and require rethinking, and what may be questionable and require further investigation or should be set aside as unhelpful or pernicious.

In reading Blavatsky’s Collected Writings, I came to the conclusion that she was as much if not more interested in presenting Theosophy as a method of intellectual and spiritual inquiry than as a body of spiritual beliefs. The TS no longer seems to emphasize this method, though it would be of great help in evaluating problematic works and authors, and would perhaps be one of the most useful traits, besides universal brotherhood, for Theosophists to carry with them into the outside world, where religious and political fundamentalism is flourishing.

As far as academic scholarship is concerned, my wish is that equal attention be placed on Besant’s involvement with the TS and with Indian politics as has already been placed on her pre-Theosophical work for the free-thought movement, and laborers’, women’s, children’s, and animals’ rights. The latter subjects are academically fashionable and have led to a skewed perspective on Besant’s motivations and an implication that she went off the deep end when she joined the TS, rather than that she saw in Theosophical teachings a broader and more integrated platform (“the synthesis of science, religion, and philosophy,” as Blavatsky put it) from which to do the same work, not only in England, but in India.

Both within academia and the TS, I believe that researchers are limited in perceiving the full scope of Besant’s work by the large amount of material she produced, not only her 600 or more books and pamphlets, but also many presently unknown lectures, articles, editorials, and journals. Though a Collected Writings seems in order, the initial work of collecting her writings has not been done. There are enormous gaps in our understanding of her political work in India because the daily and weekly papers she produced there from 1914, New India and the Commonweal, are largely unknown. There are also many lectures and articles produced for the Esoteric School of Theosophy that are unavailable to nonmembers. This policy makes it difficult for historians to assess the development and scope of Besant’s clairvoyant abilities and activities.

Finally, I must admit to a personal bias against Besant’s World Teacher agenda on behalf of J. Krishnamurti. I have little confidence in most of her work produced after 1914, when she devoted herself so entirely to that agenda. And I think there are some Theosophists who dismiss her entire oeuvre on such a basis. However, I have recently been researching this phase of her life in depth and have begun to better understand her motivations. Such study has allowed me to bring a modicum of tolerance to my view of what she did. I no longer see her as simply mistaken, but as providing an object lesson in the dangers to spiritual organizations of certain beliefs and certain styles of leadership. We could all learn valuable lessons from her case.

Leslie Price is secretary of the Theosophical history conferences, held regularly at the Theosophical Lodge in England since 1986. He is also associate editor of the journal Theosophical History.

Printed in the  Spring 2018  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Lile, Minor, "Magical Realms of the Imagination" Quest 106:2, pg 13-16

By Minor Lile

Over the years since I joined the Theosophical Society in the late 1980s, I have been fortunate to be in the presence of teachers who have enabled me to deepen my understanding and relationship with the subtle or inner realms. These might be defined as the region where beings dwell who are not visible to the physical eye.

For the last decade or so, this aspect of my spiritual practice has involved studying these realms under the tutelage of R.J. Stewart. R.J.’s teachings are rooted in what he terms the sacromagical traditions of Britain, which is composed of various elements, including the Arthurian and Arimathean Grail legends (having to do with Joseph of Arimathea, who, according to legend, migrated to Britain with the Grail after the resurrection of Christ); Celtic and classical mythology; and the Western Kabbalah, as well as traditional folktales, stories, and music of the British people.

R.J. is a prolific author, with more than forty titles in publication. He conducts workshops and classes, both in person and online, with student groups in the U.S., England, and Israel (see www.rjstewart.net for more information). In his writings and workshops he incorporates an extensive array of sources, including the classical Greek philosophers ranging from Empedocles to Plato, more modern writers and scholars such as Rudyard Kipling, Dame Frances Yates, Aryeh Kaplan, and William Sharp (writing as Fiona Macleod), as well as stories from his own experience and that of his teachers and mentors, particularly the twentieth-century British occultists W.G. Gray and Ronald Heaver.

Both in his writings and workshops, R.J.’s work centers on engaging and reawakening the imagination. He characterizes magic as an artistic science that develops the imagination in ways that can expand one’s individual consciousness and also engender change in the outer world. As I have experienced it, this is not a magic of casting spells and the haphazard raising of potentially uncontrollable elemental forces. It is a practice of utilizing the imagination to engage and collaborate with the myriad beings of the subtle realms.

The Theosophical Society has a somewhat vexed relationship with magic and magical traditions. The writings of H.P. Blavatsky are representative of the difficulties. On the one hand, she wrote numerous articles extolling the accomplishments of Hermetic philosophers and mages throughout history and describing their work as scientific applications of the hidden laws of nature. At the same time, her writings include numerous warnings against the dangers of being seduced by the allure of ceremonial magic and coming under the sway of those whose work in the occult realms is rooted in self-advantage and ego.

The early history of the TS also reveals a fascination with magical acts, particularly acts of conjuring. Henry Steel Olcott’s memoir Old Diary Leaves is filled with such stories. The rituals and practices of the Liberal Catholic Church and the orders of Co-Freemasonry, both closely associated with TS leaders such as Annie Besant, C.W. Leadbeater, and George Arundale, can be construed as forms of a magical practice.

More generally, the Theosophical tradition assumes that there is an esoteric and occulted aspect to life that merits exploration. This is essentially what the Third Object of the Theosophical Society—“to investigate unexplained laws of nature and the powers latent in humanity”—is about. Yet there is no denying the dangers and risks inherent in such explorations.

A key issue seems to be temptation. The glamour of esoterically manipulating nature can lead to sorcery, which is its own distinct form of magical practice. Blavatsky said in fact that sorcery was the cause of the downfall of the ancient civilization of Atlantis. Others have since pointed to the parallels between our times and the end times of Atlantis.

There is also the relationship between magic and science to consider. Blavatsky herself wrote that science devoid of an ethical or moral foundation is a form of black magic. It is an open question whether humanity has the psychological or physical capacity to control the energies unleashed in the nuclear age. In this sense, the stories of the demise of Atlantis seem relevant regardless of whether one regards them as historically valid or mythological.

Many technological marvels of our time can be perceived as a form of magic in the sense that they are based on arcane knowledge that only a select few can comprehend and manipulate. How many of us understand how an instantaneous video conversation with another person halfway around the world actually works? Or how I can send a document through the ethers to my printer on the other side of the room? There are those who do understand, of course, or this technology wouldn’t be available, but for most of us, the mechanisms that make such things possible are arcane and esoteric.

In any event, there is no denying that Western magical developments over the last 150 years owe much to the doors that were opened by members of the Theosophical Society and others who were influenced by its teachings, such as the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, in the late nineteenth century.

In my view, there is a distinction to be made between the practices of the sorcerer and those of the magician. The sorcerer’s works are generally aimed at self-aggrandizement or the accumulation of power. The magician, on the other hand, works for the betterment of the world. In an archetypal sense, the magician represents the capacity each of us has to bring things into manifestation through the exercise of will—purpose rooted in compassion—and the aspiration to be of service in the world.

In popular culture, we can perhaps see this distinction by comparing Gandalf and Saruman in The Lord of the Rings. Both are wizards, but Gandalf can be understood as a magician of the highest order, who is transformed from being cloaked in gray to white because of his commitment to the well-being of Middle Earth. Saruman, on the other hand, has fallen into sorcery and ultimately experiences the downfall represented by the Tower trump in the Tarot.

Perhaps there is also some confusion between notorious practitioners of magic, such as Aleister Crowley, and our own individual potential for safe exploration and accumulation of experience in the subtle realms. While no spiritual activity should be considered entirely risk-free, there are those who offer teachings that can provide a meaningful but relatively secure and protected experience.

These teachings are rooted in guidelines that are simple and logical: stay within your bounds, avoid rough neighborhoods, be aligned with that which is good, and practice appropriate psychic hygiene. Nearly all of R.J.’s books and workshops include some discussion of self-protection rooted in an ethical framework like that espoused by the Theosophical Society. The well-known spiritual philosopher David Spangler is also very good at providing a framework for exploring the subtle realms (www.lorian.org). Another valuable resource is William Bloom’s 1997 book Psychic Protection.

What does such an exploration look like? Maybe it would be informative to share a recent personal experience of working in these realms. It takes place over a nine-month period from mid-January to mid-October 2017, and is illustrative of similar experiences I have had over the years.

Shortly after the start of the new year, I arranged for a divinatory reading with R.J. using his Merlin Tarot, a deck that he created in collaboration with the artist Miranda Gray in the late 1980s. The intention for the reading was to see what the cards had to say about the year ahead. I’ve done something similar for many years, most often with the I Ching, but also from time to time with the Tarot. While I tend to hold the results lightly, I also endeavor to engage and work with the potentialities that present themselves. Often the prognostications do seem to correspond with how life then unfolds.

One card that came up showed a woman with regal bearing and flowing black hair, sitting outdoors on a wooden throne. With her left hand, she holds upright a green shield that is balanced on her lap. At her feet stands a young bear. In the background, somewhat obscured by a wintry treescape, is the entrance to a cave. In the Merlin Tarot, this figure is the Queen of the Beasts (equivalent to the Queen of Pentacles or Coins in a traditional Tarot deck; pictured TK).

There are various ways of working with Tarot imagery. One traditional practice is to imagine oneself stepping into the scene on the card and engaging with what one finds there in a way that brings the scene to life. This is like active imagination as often used in Jungian dream analysis, during which the individual reenters the dreamscape in a meditative waking state and reengages with the dream content.

Along these lines, in early spring, I decided to enter the scene in this card. After a brief meditation to center and orient myself, I imagined my way into the card’s landscape. At the beginning, the Queen was seated pretty much as she is depicted, while at her feet the bear cub was napping. After exchanging some preliminary courtesies, I asked the Queen for permission to enter the cave. She nodded her consent. She then awoke the bear and indicated that she would like it to accompany me into the cave as a guide.

After entering the cave, the bear and I walked for some distance, generally continuing down and around to the right. Eventually we came to a small, dimly lit cavern or room that had been carved out of the living earth in some time long past. On the floor in the middle of the room was a small chest. It was apparent that the chest contained something for me, so I went over and opened it. Inside was a golden key. As I reached inside and took the key, I heard a feminine voice say, “This is the key to your heart.” This information was repeated two or three times, at which point this chapter of the story came quickly to an end. With appreciation for the gift, I made my way out of the cave, and returned to the outer world.

Over the course of the next several months, this experience would occasionally come to mind, and I would wonder where or when more might be revealed, and where I might find the lock into which the key fit.

The answer to these questions eventually arrived in mid-September, at the time of the autumnal equinox, during a program that was led by R.J. and his coteacher Anastacia Nutt. The setting was Indralaya, the Theosophical center on Orcas Island in Washington state, where my wife and I were residents and managers for nearly twenty years. R.J. and Anastacia have led annual workshops here for the last seven years, exploring an array of topics in the magical tradition.

One of R.J.’s great gifts is a capacity to draw material from many sources found throughout the Western esoteric tradition and weave a compelling story that establishes a thematic framework for the imaginal journeys and exercises in the workshop. The theme of this weekend gathering was “The Magical Art of Story.” Its premise was that our stories are meant to be engaged with and lived into rather than being perceived as mere entertainment.

On the first afternoon, participants were asked to find a quiet space somewhere on the grounds of Indralaya and to carry a question with them to the crossroads for exploration. In R.J.’s teachings, the crossroads is a place of peace, where beings from all dimensions and realms can gather to share information and work together.

In the course of studying with R.J., I have made numerous imaginal visits to the crossroads. For me, it often appears as two dirt roads that intersect with each other and form a balanced crossing pattern aligned with the cardinal directions of north, east, south, and west. I usually find myself standing alongside or in the middle of one of the roads a short distance (maybe eight to ten feet) from the intersection. Sometimes the crossroads are in the middle of a forest; other times they appear to be in open country. The setting is generally pastoral or natural. (I have never, to my recollection, experienced the crossroads as a busy city street, though I have heard others tell of encounters at such places.)

This time the crossroads were in open country, and I sensed that I was facing east. A large oak tree was located to the north and east of the intersection. Immediately upon my arrival, three emissaries came forward to greet me. They were humanlike in appearance, though somewhat smaller in stature. Their appearance was familiar to me and has an association with the fairy or nature-spirit realm. They were carrying with them a locked chest that they placed at my feet. Suddenly I remembered the key I had been given and realized that it happened to be in my pocket. So I took it out and opened the chest.

Inside was a wristwatch. The words “a timepiece for you” arose spontaneously in my mind.

This was not at all what I had expected. I resisted the idea that something as ordinary as a wristwatch would be the object that I would find. But that’s what it was, so I stayed with the experience and accepted the gift that had been given.

As I held the watch in my hands and looked at it more closely, I observed that its face was opaque and unreadable, as if there were secrets about the nature of time or of this time that were yet to be revealed. Soon afterwards, I realized that the watch face looked somewhat like the disk or shield that the Queen is holding on her lap.

I then noticed a small fellow gesturing to me from alongside the nearby oak tree. He was familiar to me from my previous journeys as a representation of the oak as a species. This time it was apparent that he wanted me to join him near the tree. After I did, he led me around behind the tree and showed me the “back door” of the oak, and he indicated that I could open it with my key and enter if I chose. 

In response, I placed the key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door, which turned inward. Beyond was a short landing, and beyond that was a stairway carved into the trunk of the tree that spiraled down and to the right. The stairway was maybe fifteen steps in length and led to a small, warm, well-lit room that had contained a sitting area with a single comfortable chair, a side table, and a table lamp. A bookshelf that held a few books and some other items was carved into the opposite wall. Behind the chair were some drawers that were carved into the trunk, a countertop of sorts, and another couple of shelves. Beyond the chair and table, against the far wall, was a large grandfather clock. Its ticktocking filled the small space with sound.

As I stood in the room and looked around, I could feel the timepiece on my right wrist. There seemed to be a certain resonance between it and the grandfather clock. There was also an awareness that in some way this was my room, a place that I could return to, utilize, and benefit from at any time.

Shortly after this, the time at the crossroads seemed to come to a natural conclusion, and I opened my eyes and returned to the outer world of Indralaya. It could well have been a form of cognitive dissonance, but it was astonishing to me how many conversational references there were to time during the rest of the day.

The following day, R.J. led another visualization exercise, during which we visited the island home of Morgan le Fay, the healer goddess of ancient Celtic tradition. In setting the scene, R.J. described the qualities that the earliest tales told of this powerful goddess. In those stories, she is both formidable and admirable. He also told of how in medieval times her reputation had been deliberately sullied by Christian interpretations of Arthurian legend that were intended to undermine older religions and practices.
In the visualization, we were led to Morgan le Fay’s place of healing, which was located at the base of a great oak tree. Once there, each of us was invited, if we chose to do so, to approach the Goddess and receive a gift of healing. When my turn came, I stood in her presence, and she reached out and placed her hands over my heart. As she did so, a feeling of well-being arose within me, accompanied by a sensation of release, as if some long-forgotten or neglected issue that had been troubling my heart had been mended.

We were then bidden to offer her a gift in return. Suddenly the golden key was again in my hands, and after a moment’s reflection, I offered it to her as my gift. Although my initial reaction was to feel a sense of regret, in the same instant I also recognized that it was the only true gift that could be given at this moment. It had fully served its purpose and could now be returned to the mysterious place from which it had come. With that realization, I held the key out to her, and she nodded her acceptance. I nodded in return and stepped back from her presence. Shortly thereafter, we returned once again from the visualization experience to the outer world.

Over the next several weeks, I returned to the room beneath the oak tree several times in my meditations and gradually became more familiar with its feel and contents. At times I could also feel the subtle presence of the timepiece on my right wrist. When I considered it in my imagination, its face continued to be opaque, but there was a sense that at an appropriate time more would be revealed.

Eventually that moment arrived. Again the revelation was surprising. It came during a morning discussion at the Krotona School of Theosophy in Ojai, California. The speaker had made a reference to the oracular injunction “Know thyself.” Coincidentally, this theme had also become prominent in a very spontaneous way during a workshop I had led at the school a week earlier. Suddenly I felt the weight of the watch on my wrist and looked at it in my mind’s eye. On the watch face was imprinted the word “NOW.” Suddenly the weeks of reflection on the quality and nature of time seemed to culminate with this reminder that past, present, and future all come together now, in this very moment, and that now is the only moment in which any of us have the opportunity to know ourselves.

In sharing this experience, I have tried to share an example of what one might encounter in awakening the imaginative faculty within oneself and exploring the inner realms. I have found that there is often an affirming quality to these experiences that can be of great benefit in discerning whether or not one is on the right path. If you wish to begin your own explorations, I very much recommend finding a respected and trustworthy guide or mentor to work with, either in person or through some form of correspondence. This will not only help to safeguard your experience, but can also provide appropriate orientation to whatever you encounter along the way.

In addition to having served as executive director and resident manager at Camp Indralaya for nearly twenty years, Minor Lile is a national lecturer for the Theosophical Society in America and serves on the national board of directors. His interests include long-distance walking and looking for the often hidden presence of the wisdom tradition in contemporary culture.