The Science of Wonder

Printed in the Spring 2014 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: 
BoydTim. "The Science of Wonder" Quest  102. 2 (Spring  2014): pg. 48-49

By Tim Boyd

 

Theosophical Society - Tim Boyd was elected the president of the Theosophical Society Adyar in 2014. He succeeded Radha Burnier.Like many other spiritual groups in the world today, the Theosophical Society expends a great deal of effort in trying to harmonize the teachings and experiences of the spiritual life with contemporary science. In our times the last thing anyone wants is to be regarded as "unscientific." This pressure to kneel at the altar of science has been both a blessing and a curse in popularizing the truths about consciousness and the inner life.

The great blessing of science, and of the scientific method which underlies it, has been the structure of knowledge that has been built over time. This structure provides a time-tested description of the workings and laws of the natural world that serves as the springboard for future additions to humanity’s knowledge base. Practically all of the known processes of nature have been examined and described—from fire to atomic energy, from photosynthesis to cell regeneration.

It is also the nature of the scientific process to continually recheck its own conclusions. It is not static, and no doubt all of its theories will one day be discovered to be wrong at worst, or true but partial at best. Thus science is best viewed not as the final word, but as the latest word. The theory that the earth was the center of the universe was superseded by the observations of Copernicus with strong support from Galileo. In his own lifetime the great genius Albert Einstein and his theories of relativity were challenged by findings in the upstart science of quantum physics. The famous exchange of words between Einstein and quantum physicist Niels Bohr captures the differences in their points of view. Einstein, commenting on the apparent randomness of quantum theory, famously said, "God does not play dice with the universe." In the face of experimental evidence demonstrating the correctness of quantum theory, Bohr’s equally witty reply was, "Who is Mr. Einstein to tell God what to do?"

From the perspective of the ageless wisdom, everything has and results from consciousness—plants, rocks, animals, people, as well as the materials and inhabitants of unseen, nonphysical realms. In The Secret Doctrine H.P. Blavatsky states, "Everything in the Universe, throughout all its kingdoms, is conscious: i.e., endowed with a consciousness of its own kind and on its own plane of perception." One example is the phenomenon of a tree’s roots that find leaks in water and sewage lines, sometimes following a pipe for a mile. The technical name for this attraction is hydrotropism—literally a turning toward water. Heliotropism is a similar term describing plants turning toward the sun. In the mineral kingdom the pattern and formation of crystals show a similar quality of consciousness. Snowflakes, diamonds, table salt, and countless other minerals each have a specific arrangement and pattern dictated by the consciousness of that material. Scientists observe and describe these phenomena without allowing for an obvious, if unquantifiable, cause that lies beyond their accepted scope. Science examines and describes the effects of consciousness, but not consciousness itself.

In contemporary science, studies abound that demonstrate the profound transformational effects of spiritual practice. There are also literally thousands of studies that demonstrate the existence of what Indian spirituality calls the siddhis—paranormal powers which tend to be latent in most of us. Familiar forms of these powers, such as clairvoyance, telepathy or thought transference, psychokinesis, and precognition, have been rigorously tested and repeatedly verified.

So why aren’t these studies common knowledge? Why is any attempt at a fact-based discussion of these issues routinely dismissed within the scientific community? The problem is not with science, but with the limits that the scientific community places on itself. The prevailing view among mainstream scientists is that true science must limit itself to the physical world, the world that can be observed and measured by the five senses, or with the aid of those instruments which enhance the senses. From the point of view of the spiritual practitioner, this is a serious limitation. Consciousness cannot be perceived by the physical senses.

Although paranormal capacities are dismissed by most physical scientists, modern practitioners of ancient spiritual traditions routinely apply the word "science" to their practices and teachings. The Dalai Lama has frequently said that each of us has access to the greatest laboratory possible to test and develop the teachings on compassion and wisdom—the laboratory of our own minds. In her writings HPB often referred to the "secret science" and "occult science." One of her definitions of Theosophy was couched in distinctly scientific terms: "Theosophy is the accumulated wisdom of the ages, tested and verified by generations of seers." There is no essential difference between physical science and the science of consciousness (Theosophy). It is strictly a matter of what band of the spectrum of consciousness is the focus.

The "scientific method" is at the core of every systematic approach to advancing knowledge and experience. Whether we attempt to understand the outer or the inner world, we first observe, then experiment. Out of this we form ideas (hypotheses) which we test and modify.

How can this method be applied? Let’s take a common human emotion—anger. We begin by observing what is happening inside of us when it arises. We observe that anger gives a powerful surge of energy. We also observe that it tends to go out at other people or situations. If we look closely at what is happening in our bodies, we see that the surge of energy is experienced as a heat, often focused in the head. We observe that angry outbursts tend to drive people away from us and fuel the anger in others. Seeing these things, we experiment. We might try suppressing our anger and check the results. We could try expressing it—shouting at people, striking them—and see what happens. We might draw on the accumulated knowledge of others who have addressed this issue. Sometimes they advise us to focus our breathing on the place in the body where the anger is felt, from the moment we first feel it until it fades. As a result of these experiments, we might form the hypothesis that anger is essentially an energetic experience and that regulation of the breath and focusing the awareness can moderate or relieve the uncontrolled effects of anger. We might also come to a more generalized conclusion that all emotions are energetic in nature and can be addressed by similar means. This would call for further experimentation.

It is unfortunate that our normal approach to such things is far less scientific. Over the course of our lives most of us develop a set of habitual responses which as often as not give us unsatisfactory results. We forget what has been called "the first law of holes"—"when you find yourself in a hole, the first thing you should do is stop digging."

Great spiritual teachers throughout history have rooted this scientific approach in their teachings. Much as the physicist presents mathematical formulas to be tested, wise men and women have passed down similar formulas for us to test and verify in our own lives. Below I share two such formulas with the suggestion that you take each one as an experiment. Through your self-experimentation you will be able to confirm the theory, reject it, or modify it according to your own findings. In the Buddha’s words, "Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense," and "only accept what passes the test by proving useful and beneficial in your life."

The first formula comes from The Voice of the Silence. "Self-knowledge is of loving acts the child." The experiment necessarily involves an initial determination of what constitutes a "loving act," followed by some consistency in behaving in that way. If the theory is correct, this behavior should result in a deepening sense of connection with the Self, the transcendent consciousness of the deepest recesses of our being.

The second formula is attributed to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Although it is unlikely that all of the words were actually his, its value is self-evident. "Until one is committed there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of creation there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that never would otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings, and material assistance, which no man can have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it."

Little more needs to be said. The experiment? Commit and observe.

 


From the Editor's Desk Spring 2014

Printed in the Spring 2014 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: 
SmoleyRichard. "From the Editor's Desk" Quest  102. 2 (Spring  2014): pg. 42

Theosophical Society - Richard Smoley is editor of Quest: Journal of the Theosophical Society in America and a frequent lecturer for the Theosophical SocietyIt seems that the more general your topic, the more likely you are to write in platitudes. Thus for this issue, I won't try to discuss education as a whole, but will limit myself to one finite arena: the state of the liberal arts, which, it is widely said, is in crisis.

The percentage of students majoring in such traditional subjects as English and history continues to decline, and others, such as classics, seem destined to evaporate entirely. There is, of course, the usual amount of lamenting about this sorry situation. Rather than add to it, I would like to step back and look at what liberal arts education is and was meant to be.

What is so "liberal" about the liberal arts? They have nothing to do with political affiliation or social mores. In fact the term is derived from the Latin liber, "free." The liberal arts curriculum was traditionally that of the free man—free not only in a political but in an economic sense. It was the education of those who did not have to work for a living and could devote their studies to improving themselves. Unlike the technical or mechanical arts, which worked on materials such as stone or wood, with the liberal arts, the material upon which one worked was oneself.

There is an esoteric component to this idea. In the original schema, which goes back at least to the Roman author Martianus Capella in the fifth century A.D., there are seven liberal arts, and they have a specific order. Moreover, each of these arts corresponds to one of the planets and luminaries known in antiquity. In ascending order, they are:
 
The Moon   grammar
Mercury   logic
Venus   rhetoric
The Sun   arithmetic
Mars   music
Jupiter   geometry
Saturn   astronomy


These correspondences were well-known in the Western tradition and appear, for example, in the Convivio of Dante and in the tympanum of the Door of the Virgin at Chartres cathedral. Some of the attributions are easier to see than others: Mercury, associated with the reasoning mind, is naturally connected with logic, while Venus, the planet of beauty, is connected with rhetoric, with presenting ideas in a beautiful and compelling way.

Furthermore, the sequence of these arts is portrayed as an ascent. As such they are connected with the esoteric idea of the soul's progress as an ascent through the concentric spheres of the heavens. This path is depicted in a positive fashion in Dante's Paradiso and in a negative fashion—as liberation from a series of evil planetary archon—in the Hermetic text known as the Poimandres, as well as in many other places.

These arts were not exactly the same as we conceive them: music did not so much involve playing an instrument as studying the harmonics innate in musical relations. Astronomy was inseparable from astrology until the seventeenth century. In any event, the liberal arts were originally seen as a curriculum aimed at inner development; they were not merely meant to imbue students with a hodgepodge of general knowledge. 

Over the centuries, the original schema of the seven liberal arts collapsed along with the medieval view of the cosmic order, and so did the goal of providing the student with a holistic view of the world. Now they are envisaged as training the mind to think clearly and critically without necessarily teaching students any specific skills.

Nevertheless, the liberal arts served comparatively well even for careers until the last generation or so. Up to that point, a college education was rare enough that it came close to guaranteeing employment somewhere regardless of what the degree was in. Today it is different. The abundance of college graduates, along with a tight job market, means that the liberal arts degree has lost its old cachet, and students are drifting toward more technical and vocational majors, such as business or engineering—the exact opposites of the liberal arts as traditionally conceived.

It's naive to assert that some particular historical development is a Good Thing or a Bad Thing. Realities are what they are, and no amount of editorializing will change them. But these reflections lead me to wonder if the liberal arts will not eventually go back to their original role of serving as an education for those who are free from economic concerns. It would be odd, of course, if the tremendous democratization of education during the last couple of centuries were to lead to this result, but this kind of reversal seems to happen often in history. If this development does occur, it will unfortunately lower the general level of culture and thought. But as a kind of compensation, it may allow this curriculum, in some new and reimagined form, to serve as a means of inner development.

Richard Smoley


President's Diary

Printed in the Winter 2014issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation:
Boyd, Tim. "Presidents Diary" Quest  102. 1 (Winter 2014): pg. 34-35

Theosophical Society - Tim Boyd was elected the president of the Theosophical Society Adyar in 2014. He succeeded Radha Burnier.Every year July is a busy month for us. Historically it has been the month when we have our Summer National Convention (SNC). Since we hosted the Dalai Lama’s visit to Chicago in 2011, we have made it a goal to use our Olcott national center to host one or more international events each year. This year we were at it again.

Drawing on the words of Mahatma Gandhi, our SNC theme this year was “Be the Change.” We brought together a truly impressive array of presenters to go into the concepts and practices that support genuine self-transformation. Our presenters were Sister Gabrielle Uhlein, a Franciscan nun who teaches around the world about Christian mysticism; Vic Hao Chin, past president of the TS in the Philippines and founder of the Golden Link School (now Golden Link College);Fernando de Torrijos, longtime TSA member and one of the world's most respected trainers of medical professionals in the practice of mindfulness; our own Maria Parisen, director of the Krotona School; Dorothy Bel lof TS Australia, an educator and international speaker; and Cynthia Overweg, TSA member and former foreign correspondent. (Cynthia's article on Milarepa appears in this issue.) Attendance at the convention exceeded the numbers from our Dalai Lama year. The convention had a distinctly international flair this year because of the many members from overseas who were also attending the Theosophical Order of Service (TOS) event that immediately followed our convention.

On the day the SNC ended, the TOS international conference began. More than forty people from eighteen countries attended. Historically, the event was the third international planning meeting, two of which we have hosted here at Olcott. The sessions were coordinatedby TOS international secretary Diana Dunningham Chapotin and Carolyn Harrod of TOS Australia, who both came early and stayed after the meetings ended. Among those attending was TS international vice-president Mahendra Singhal and his wife, Sashi. This was the third time this year that he and I had been together first in India at the annual convention, then in July in Brazil at that section's international school, and again at Olcott. Barring something unforeseen, we will make it four when I travel to India in December for the General Council and Convention at Adyar.

The TOS conference began with a ceremonial tree planting. One of the projects of the TOS/USA has supported war veterans services by soliciting sponsors for memorial tree planting. This newest tree on the campus was planted in memory of Colonel Henry Steel Olcott, American Civil War veteran and cofounder of the TS.

A week after the two conferences ended, my wife, Lily, my daughter, Angelique, and I were off to camp Indralaya. We were going to attend the Connections program, which takes place annually in August. For the second year in a row I had been asked to conduct the discussion portion of the program. Just to remind you, Indralaya is one of the Theosophical camps founded by Fritz and Dora Kunz and others. It is located on Orcas Island, Washington, in Puget Sound and has been operating for eighty-seven years.

The Connections program is a wonderful model of community. Each year it brings together participants aged eight to eighty. A number of families are now into their fourth generation attending programs at the camp. The daily rhythm for the program is like an ideal day. The day begins with meditation for those so inclined, followed by breakfast. All meals are prepared by an all volunteer kitchen staff, and at each meal some foods from the camp’s garden are featured. After breakfast, people go off to work on one of the various projects that have been planned for the session. This year one of the popular projects for the younger crowd was the demolition of one of the cabins. It was surprising just how soon it was before nothing but the foundation remained. There is always work in the garden. Another rehab project was started on one of the cabins. I helped a small crew to erect a greenhouse in the garden, which will make it possible to get an early start on the summer's crops. After work we came together under the apple trees for the morning discussion—my part. Then lunch; more work; down time; dinner; and an evening campfire, which featured music, entertainment, and on one night some old-school sweaty dancing.

Over the Labor Day weekend Lily and I headed in the opposite direction to our eastern jewel  Pumpkin Hollow Retreat Center, our Theosophical camp in Craryville, New York. The Northeast Federation of the TSA does an annual program at this time. This year the program teamed me up with Michael Gomes, our foremost Theosophical historian and all-around fun guy. It was an excellent program in a truly beautiful location. It was especially good for me because I had just had surgery on my shoulder one week earlier. It was a healing experience to sit by the stream, go to sleep at night to the sound of the waterfall below my cabin, and eat meals picked hours before from the abundant garden. It also did not hurt to have Carolyn Wheeler, camp manager along with her husband, Loren, do Therapeutic Touch on me in the evening.

On September 7 we had our annual big event at Olcott TheosoFest. This is the day each year that we invite the community to come and visit. Many people around the area look forward to it. This year 1700 people came. Ninety vendors with all types of services and products set up their stalls. Throughout the day we presented meditation programs and talks on Theosophy and related subjects. Over the course of the day almost fifty talks were presented. A number of our vendors this year sold jewelry and artwork. There was Indian food, pizza, ice cream. There were Tibetan Buddhist groups, Baha’is, healers of all types, nutritional therapists, sound therapies, and children's schools sharing information. We had a variety of Tarot readers, astrologers, and psychics. Again this year we had our well-attended Kids Korner, where parents and kids had a full day of activities everything from tai chi to Therapeutic Touch, from herbal remedies to belly dancing and more.

Later in September I traveled to Houston, Texas. We have three highly functional groups in the Houston area the 102-year-old Houston Lodge, the West Houston Study Center, and the Vietnamese Study Center. All of them came together and hosted my visit in each of their locations over the three days I visited. My visit concluded with the Vietnamese group, hosted at the home of Van and Lien Ly. That meeting was the cherry on top of the sundae. Seventy people attended—all of the women in colorful traditional attire. Before the meeting we had a Vietnamese vegetarian meal, and it required a great deal of self-control to keep from overindulging. Before leaving I told them I would be happy to return any time.

The month ended with seventeen members coming to the national headquarters from around the country for the Olcott Experience (OE). Although we have not done it for the past couple of years, the OE is an opportunity for active members in groups across the country to learn about the people and resources available to them at Olcott. It is also an opportunity to meet and get to know others and to share ideas and issues. David Bruce, our national secretary and head of the education department, organized the program.

As I write, we are midway through October. This month found me in Atlanta, Georgia, for a weekend program. I also traveled back to the fair state of Texas to visit with two more groups— in New Braunfels and in San Antonio. The group in New Braunfels is less than two years old and is a fascinating mix of serious students from a variety of backgrounds.

The San Antonio group is another 102-year-old branch. Apparently back in 1911 Annie Besant made a visit to the area, and as happened everywhere she went, people joined and groups appeared. San Antonio and Houston are the two remaining.

From San Antonio I traveled to New York City. This visit had little to do with TSA work. I was there for my mother's ninety-fifth birthday. My visit was too short to stop by one of the three tai chi classes she attends each week, or follow up on her voracious reading, or help in her gardening. It was just a wonderful opportunity to join with family and friends who came from around the country to celebrate a life well-lived. I do hope the secret to her longevity and clarity is genetic.

Tim Boyd

 


A Serpentine Path

Printed in the Winter 2014 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Gardner
, Amy. "A Serpentine Path" Quest  102. 1 (Winter 2014): pg. 27-31.

By Amy Gardner

Theosophical Society - Amy Gardner has a passion for exploring world religions, mythologies, and symbols. When she is not building, sculpting, and gardening, Amy makes her living as a writer.Hearing about Helena Petrovna Blavatsky for many years, I admit to envying her relationships with various masters. Despite being suspicious of those who claim to be gurus, I would welcome some higher being from a transpersonal plane to help me see beyond my limited worldview into Truth. Though I recognize that HPB's psychic and cerebral gifts far exceed mine, there is surely a wise one uniquely suited to tutor someone at my level of development. It seems completely logical that in pairing up with some more modest mentor, I could, like HPB and her adepts, contribute something relevant to life at this historical moment. 

Seeking to realize the connection with such a being, I have lately taken a moment during evening meditation to imagine meeting a spirit helper. I visualize befriending a great soul who would embrace me as an acolyte or apprentice. This saintly being would facilitate a shift in my way of experiencing reality and convey thoughts nuanced for our time. In turn, I would share these beneficial ideas with the world. 

Coincidentally, after ruminating on finding a secret teacher for several weeks, my friend Edward casually asks, "Would you like to take a meditative journey to meet your spirit guides?" 

Astounded, I wonder to myself, "Am I that transparent? How does he know about my private despair and longing?" Within a moment I reply, "How about Friday night?" 

Edward is an incredibly grounded seventy-two-year-old doctor of metaphysics who looks like a healthy fifty-something. Happily retired, he now makes a little extra income as a qigong instructor, history enactor, and lecturer. He listens more than he talks. When he speaks, his deep, resonant voice transports his audiences to distant realms. 

I completely trust him to prepare the somewhat elaborate conjuring ceremony, recite the proper mantras and invocation, take me to the meeting place, gently hand me over to my spirit guides, and bring me back whole. 

So when we meet in my living room without as much as a candle or a black tablecloth, I am a little disappointed. But I settle into my wooden chair across from Edward and close my eyes. In his low, soothing voice, Edward begins a guided meditation that starts with emptying my mind and body of thought and tension. From my feet through my scalp, he uses his voice to lull me into relaxation. Breathing fresh air into every vessel of my being, I become calm and alert. After a quiet pause, Edward invites me to take an inner journey.  

We go to the foyer out the front door, where I see his spotless white Cadillac. We get into the car, back out the driveway and into the street, and proceed north. A couple of miles up the road, Edward turns down an old road overgrown with grasses. The grass opens up to sand, and soon we see the ocean. We park at a turnaround and get out of the car. The sky is blue and filled with white gulls cawing above our heads. The shoreline waves ebb and flow rhythmically. We leave our shoes at the car and walk north into the salty damp breeze. My feet leave depressions in the cold, wet sand as we progress along the water's edge. 

Soon we encounter a hidden path into the trees. Edward beckons me deeper into the shady forest. The forest becomes dense with long vines and ancient trees. Dew clings to the leaves, and the place smells fecund as we trample fallen leaves into the earth. After a few moments the darkness lifts as we come upon a glade that opens to an ancient stone temple. The building is round, with seven colored steps that lead up to a door to an upper chamber. 

The first step is red. When I step onto this platform red light rises up my body from my feet through my crown. Waiting here, fully imbued with red, I experience the unique energetic vibration of this color. After a few moments, I step up onto the orange step. Again, orange light beams up my entire being and out through my head. I take it in until Edward tells me to go to the third step and feel the yellow surge as it permeates my body from my feet through my scalp. I go to the fourth step, and green light seeps up my feet through my head into the ether beyond. At the fifth step, I stand in an upsurge of blue light. At the sixth, indigo light blasts through my feet and up beyond my head. Finally, I reach the top, violet platform, and violet light rushes through me. Feeling a strange, luminous clarity, I approach the stone door, and it opens with a groan.  

My eyes grow accustomed to the purple glow inside the sanctuary. The room shines with the glow of a violet ring of fire. Edward stands outside the violet fire and turns away so as not to disturb my encounter. "You will step through the fire into the ring. Once you are there, take a moment to make your request. You probably came with an intention but you can ask for anything. Then wait. Something will happen." 

Alone now and a little uncertain what to do next without Edward's guidance, I step through the violet flame into the ring at the center of the temple. "Thank you for listening," I say silently. "I am here to meet my spirit guide." 

Immediately a large variegated snake appears in the ring. I am speechless. I want to evolve, commune with the ethereal planes, but instead I conjure this evolutionary throwback. Snake, sensing my disappointment, seems to try to impress me by slithering into a figure eight, a great ouroboros, then a coiling spiral. Seeing that the shape-shifting does nothing for me, Snake draws me into its mind, and as one creature we squeeze through a tiny gap in the marble floor. 

Caught unaware, I gasp as we descend into the bowels of the temple. Here the dark cells and small plank beds conjure up some dismal past reeking of mortification of the flesh. I can sense the disenchantment of interred acolytes who lost touch with life in the glade. Like an eerie medieval novel, the chambers and religious relics thrill and repulse me. I want to investigate, but Snake undulates onward. 

Continuing on through the basement, we brush against occasional tree roots that reach down and slowly break apart the dank, dripping stone foundation. Eventually we find a long tunnel that leads to a mossy stream. We enter the water at the bank, and it carries us into the sea. 

Rolling with the waves, we reach a drop-off into dark blue water. We swim along the rocky ocean shoreline into deep-sea lava sculptures and underwater caves. Light streams down from above as we swim up along the underwater cliffs, higher and higher until we break through the surface of the water and fly. 

As we soar upward, I take in the view. The sky above and sea below are pristine blue. The azure waters grow lighter toward the beach. Beyond the shore I see the forest and the roof of the temple in the dale. Higher we fly until, off in the distance, island formations enter the scene. Out of curiosity, we detour back to the island to explore this world in miniature. Before slithering into the cove, we rest and warm up in the sun along with hundreds of other colorful flowers, birds, and sea creatures. We all inhale the humid air and drink in the sun's bright rays through our peculiar bodies. 

Then I hear Edward: "And now it is time to say goodbye. Thank your guide and . . . " 

Of course Snake and I are still out on some tropical island in the ocean. Quickly we fly across the sea, dive through the waves, swim down into the lava caves, through the tunnel, past the subterranean cells, and up through the floor into the violet circle of fire. 

"Step through the fire and the temple door will open for you," instructs Edward. I jump through the flame and look back, but Snake is gone. 

Edward continues, "Now stand on the violet step, feel the color drain from you back into the temple step." Slowly I walk down each temple step as the violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, and red drain from my body into their respective steps.  

We walk away from the temple into the dark and clammy forest until the sky breaks through and the ocean appears once again. We walk along the beach, back to the white Cadillac. Looking out for one more breathtaking view, we get back into the car, spin around the cul-de-sac and drive back along the dirt road. We get back on the main drive and return to my house, where we park and walk back through the front door into the foyer. 

Back in my living room, Edward asks if anyone showed up at the temple. I feel a little apprehensive about telling him that my spirit guide is of the earthly realm. The guide that is crawling into my consciousness has remained relatively unchanged since before the dinosaurs. 

"Yes," I say looking at the floor. "My spirit guide is a giant snake, a serpent, a terrestrial, aquatic, and flying creature with geometric markings like a magic carpet." As I speak, I feel like I am just about as far from progressing along the evolutionary continuum as a human can get. 

Edward senses my confusion and nods while he looks at me silently. Soon he says, "You have to explore what snakes mean to you." Considering the common associations with the Bible's Satan and Freud's sexually repressed Victorian dreamers, I am a little embarrassed to talk about anything.  

Wanting to change the subject and regroup, I move into host mode. "Would you like to stay for dinner?" 

"I have to get home," he says. We smile and say goodbye. He gets into his white Cadillac"this time on the earthly plane"and drives away. 

Alone with my memories of the trip, I realize that I have a lot of preconceived ideas about snakes that tilt toward the negative: Satan, temptation, seduction, venomous strikes, knowledge of good and evil. I have trained myself to consider associations such as transformation, rebirth, and eternity, but these are not my first ones.  

Less than a hundred miles away from my house, Hopi people secretly revive the sacred Snake Dance. Certainly the spirit of Theosophy demands that I investigate my prejudice and explore the complexity of the symbol that animates so many religions. No true Theosophist would ignorantly reject a being that appeared during meditation. 

Over the next few days, I start to remember my actual experiences with snakes. As a child, I enjoyed shocking my friends by catching striped garden snakes in my suburban neighborhood in Minnesota. In school, some of the more annoying kids would play off my last name, calling me "Gardner Snake." Out in eastern Arizona, I went into an abandoned farmhouse and met a rattlesnake blocking the threshold as I tried to get out. Some time ago, my family realized we share our property with a stealthy seven-foot-long gopher snake that appears on cool autumn days. Despite their unfortunate reputation, I have never had a negative encounter with a snake. 

I have seen snakes sidewinding across the land, coiling in a spiral, and raising their upper bodies to get a better view. My mouse, rabbit, and gopher populations are in check because of these carnivores. Despite their obvious benefit to the ecosystem and their reclusive ways, people in my village seem to go out of their way to squash the creatures as they quietly warm themselves on the road at dawn. What is it that my people are afraid of? 

I decide to consult HPB's Secret Doctrine to better understand the multivalent reality of Snake. Within her vast exploration of the symbol, I am especially alert for those references that intersect with my experiences and the intuitive insights that arose through my meditation. 

The idea that strikes me first is the Serpent's role in navigating dualism. I have struggled to find some metaphorical truth in the idea that my human ancestors ate the fruit of the tree of knowledge and thereby discovered good and evil or duality in general. Certainly attaining knowledge of the world requires one to observe reality from afar to understand causes and effects. Through observation, I have come to know that the beneficial aspects of snakes come with fangs. When I notice something slithering near my feet or hear the warning rattle, I instinctively jump away, then investigate the facts. 

Yet the gifts of analysis, scientific discovery, judgment, and so forth lead to alienation from the whole. We learned to think scientifically through dissociating. Snake continues to receive blame for the human ability to act as "separator of the ONE into various contrasted aspects" (Blavatsky, 2:246).  

But I am beginning to learn that differentiation is a tool, not the whole truth. Snake as the dark and the light coexisting is a wisdom teaching that I am noticing in my daily observations and interactions with the world. Are cheap abundant foods, freeways, and automatic tellers all "good?" Are fossil fuel depletion, global warming, and mortality all "bad?" Positive and negative aspects come as two ends of the same stick. HPB says as much when she focuses her gaze upon the entwined snakes of the staff carried by gods who travel between death and life. Such domains may not be as differentiated as they seem. 

That the Serpents were ever the emblems of wisdom and prudence is again shown by the caduceus of Mercury, one with Thot, the god of wisdom, with Hermes, and so on . . . The Serpent has ever been the symbol of the adept, and of his powers of immortality and divine knowledge. Mercury in his psychopompic character, conducting and guiding with the caduceus the souls of the dead to Hades and even raising the dead to life with it, is simply a very transparent allegory. It shows the dual power of the Secret Wisdom: the black and the white magic. (Blavatsky, 2:327) 

Snake reminds me to perceive the connection between opposites: earthly and heavenly, material and ethereal, positive and negative. The cure for what ails a person or society is also a poison. Wealth and poverty writhe together. High-tech labor reducers and complexity coevolve.

Navigating the truth of the one in the many requires the ability to discern the whole of a conundrum. It is a delusion to imagine life with only one aspect of a duality. Neither good nor bad, the Serpent connects what humans pull apart.

In human nature, evil denotes only the polarity of matter and Spirit, a struggle for life between the two manifested Principles in Space and Time, which principles are one per se, inasmuch as they are rooted in the Absolute. In Kosmos, the equilibrium must be preserved. The operations of the two contraries produce harmony, like the centripetal and centrifugal forces, which are necessary to each other "mutually interdependent" "in order that both should live."  If one is arrested, the action of the other will become immediately self-destructive. (Blavatsky, 1:366) 

In my pursuit of perfection, of being "good" or successful, how often have I unwittingly sent my world out of balance? Despite my apparently inconsequential life, I know that my anxious pursuit of knowledge, justice, and making a contribution continually disturb some cosmic equilibrium. Struggling to conceal my dark side"my ordinary humanness and creaturely condition"I become self-destructive. The process is so apparent now.

As the days unfold, I realize that this mysterious visitor has inspired me to burrow into and deeply experience the formerly mundane world around me. Instead of wanting a particular outcome, I am rediscovering the astonishing quality of life in its raw revelation. The occult secrets that I aspire to know crawl around naked in the garden and the grocery store. Toads, dragonflies, hawks, trees, and even traffic jams pulsate with shocking vitality.

Weeks later, I notice that my need to meet a tutor, guru, or adept has thoroughly passed. The longing for a relationship with someone smarter than me is gone. I no longer bemoan my limited worldview or seeming irrelevance in an age of disposables, drones, and iPhones. The obsession with making some worthy contribution or changing the outward reality does not grip me. The world around me has become strangely fascinating. I am alive and aware.

Tonight, while I am reviewing my story, the summer monsoons hit my home. Great torrents of rain destroy the gardens, flood the subterranean shade structures, and return my orderly paradise to chaos. I write now by candlelight, listening to the hail pound the skylights. In my mind, I hear Snake hiss, then mock with forked tongue at the notion that I could create a landscape that could defy the reality of creation and destruction.

The rain eases up as the darkness descends. In the distance, bright jagged lightning continues to strike at the Sandia Mountains. Electricity has gone untethered. I put on my rain gear and walk into the deep water out my front door. Yes, I am wary, because her den has flooded too. Snake could be anywhere.


Sources

Blavatsky, H.P. The Secret Doctrine. Two volumes. N.p.: Theosophy Trust, 2006; http://turtlegang.org/history/ metaphysical/The_Secret_Doctrine_Vol_1.pdf;
http://turtlegang.org/history/metaphysical/The_Secret_Doctrine_Vol_2.pdf; accessed July 31, 2013.

Amy Gardner has a passion for exploring world religions, mythologies, and symbols. When she is not building, sculpting, and gardening, Amy makes her living as a writer. She lives with her partner in Corrales, New Mexico.


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