Otherwhere: An Interview with Kurt Leland

Printed in the Fall 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley
, Richard. "Otherwhere: An Interview with Kurt Leland" Quest  101. 4 (Fall 2013): pg. 130-135.

By Richard Smoley

Kurt Leland is one of today's most intrepid explorers of the inner planes. A musician and author as well as a visionary, he has written books including Otherwhere: A Field Guide to Nonphysical Reality for the Out-of-Body Traveler and The Multidimensional Human. A member of the TS, he has given lectures and presentations in Theosophical venues. In addition, he has an encyclopedic knowledge of the writings of the Theosophical leader Annie Besant. His latest work, an anthology of her writings entitled Invisible Worlds: Annie Besant on Psychic and Spiritual Development (Quest Books).

I met Kurt during his visit to Olcott in the fall of 2011, and was immediately impressed with the depth of his knowledge of and experience in, the astral and mental realms, which are for most people little more than vaguely understood concepts. He seemed to be the perfect person to feature in an issue on the astral plane. The following conversation was conducted by e-mail in the spring of 2013.

Richard Smoley: What exactly is the astral plane? How does it differ from the other unseen levels that esotericism talks about?

Kurt Leland: Many ancient and modem religions posit the sky or the stars as a paradisal destination for the souls of the dead. Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, Gnosticism, and the Christianity behind Dante's Divine Comedy divide this heaven in the sky into multiple layers (often seven) in which immateriality and blessedness increase as the soul ascends. In some religions, the soul may be detained in one or another of these layers to be purified before continuing to rise or returning to earth in a new physical body—hence the notion of purgatory in Catholic teachings. In the fifth century CE, the Neoplatonist Proclus seems to have originated the term astral (Greek: "starry") body as one of the soul's "vehicles." Since then, the word astral has been assigned by various esoteric traditions to a number of bodies, states of consciousness, and nonphysical locations. Even in H.P. Blavatsky's writings, the terms astral body and astral plane may refer sometimes to a particular state of existence beyond that of the physical realm and sometimes to any such state.

In later Theosophical literature, especially that produced by Annie Besant and C.W. Leadbeater, the astral plane is defined as the first nonphysical reality we encounter after death—less material than the physical plane, yet denser in substance than the higher planes and serving a purgatorial function.

Smoley: Could you talk a little about how the astral level fits in with other planes of reality that Theosophy discusses?

Leland: HPB defined a plane as "the range or extent of some state of consciousness, or of the perceptive powers of a particular set of senses, or the action of a particular force, or the state of matter corresponding to any of .the above" (Blavatsky, Theosophical Glossary, 255)

Thus the astral plane is a state of consciousness in which, by means of appropriate inner senses we perceive a particular state of matter (less dense than that of the physical plane, more subtle than that of higher planes). This matter corresponds to our states of desire and emotion. Thus the astral plane is sometimes called the plane of kama (Sanskrit: "desire") or the emotional plane. Higher levels of existence correspond to the mind (mental plane), the intuition (buddhic plane), and the spiritualized will (nirvanic plane).

Smoley: What does the astral plane have to do with the astral light as described by HPB, Etliphas Levi, and other occultists?

Leland: In Transactions of the Blavatsky Lodge, HPB calls the astral light "the dregs of akasha," a Sanskrit word meaning "radiance" (Blavatsky, Collected Writings 10:251). For her, akasha, one of the five elements of Hinduism (along with earth, water, air, and fire), seems to be the "substance" of nonphysical reality. It has seven levels, of which the astral light is the lowest.

Sometimes HPB speaks of "Astral Light" (uppercase) when referring to the higher levels. She also calls the "astral light" (lowercase) the astral body of our planet and claims that we have filled it with destructive images (thought-forms) based on selfishness—negative thoughts and feelings that separate us from the whole. No wonder she refers to dregs!

Besant and Leadbeater speak of the astral plane in similar terms, so it seems reasonable to equate the astral light and the astral plane. However, Besant and Leadbeater often describe the planes in travelogue form, leaving the impression that they are quasi-physical locations. HPB's notion of levels of akasha reminds us that when our inner senses are attuned to these levels, we perceive illusory images superimposed on a nonphysical reality more correctly perceived as degrees of radiance emanating from the Source of our planar system. Such images are often symbolic, drawn from our personal experience. They help us understand what we perceive in subtle realms, but they have no actual existence there.

Smoley: Could you say a little bit about how ordinary people experience the astral plane?

Leland: I'm not sure that ordinary people do experience it! Though dreams ordinarily take place on the astral plane, they rarely give clues about the structure of that plane and its regions and inhabitants. An extraordinary amount of lucidity is required to experience such things directly. But perhaps you mean, how would an ordinary person suddenly catapulted onto the astral plane experience it? This was my situation when my projection experiences began at age fourteen. I had no training, no desire for such experiences. I wasn't seeking them. I didn't know what they were—and I found them terrifying.

Most people fear that separation of the locus of consciousness—what we call ourselves—from the physical body means death, or at least the possibility of not being able to get back into it. I experienced that fear. I knew I was someplace else. I could see nothing, hear nothing, and I couldn't move of my own accord—my astral senses weren't sufficiently developed for such purposes. A presence of some sort was drawing me along. I fought to get away from it and return to my physical body. It may have been a benign presence, even perhaps a teacher. But I had no way of knowing what it was.

Just as we don't know how to sort out our sense impressions when we're born into the physical body, so it is when we first experience the astral body. We have to go from what Besant calls a sheath—an unorganized astral body that has only the possibility of responding to the matter of the astral plane—to a body, in which we feel and understand the full range of human emotion and have mastered it to some degree, to a vehicle of consciousness, which allows us to be fully aware of, and to move freely on, the astral plane because we've mastered our emotional nature.

Several years after my first projections, I learned what they were. I began to develop the senses of this astral vehicle so I would know where I was, what I was seeing, whom I was interacting with, and how to get from one astral location to another. The process took about twelve years.

Smoley: What does this level of reality have to do with dreams?

Leland: Though much Theosophical literature focuses on the astral plane as a stage in our journey between death and rebirth, this plane also represents the state of consciousness in which many of our dreams take place. Astral dreams serve much the same purpose as the purgatorial stage of the afterlife. They allow us to confront and release the emotional reactions built up within daily life. We confront them as dream images, and the corresponding changes in the physical body allow us to release them.

Though people often think of astral projection as a specialized technique that may be difficult or dangerous to develop, we project onto the astral plane every night when we're asleep. In our dreams, we tend to be self-absorbed, not recognizing the astral environment for what it is—just as we may not notice our physical surroundings when we're brooding in ordinary waking consciousness. Exploring the astral plane may require little more than turning our attention away from personal dream imagery toward the more public aspects of the astral plane—its scenes, dwellers, and phenomena.

Smoley: There is some implicit conflict about astral travel and similar techniques among Theosophists. There is the idea that these powers can be developed, but there is also a tremendous reluctance to develop them on the grounds that this can be dangerous. Where do you stand on this issue?

Leland: HPB's writings are full of warnings about the dangers of developing abilities such as channeling (mediumship) and astral travel. Back in the 1970s, a book of selections from her writings called Dynamics of the Psychic World was published. The editor's choices were sufficiently alarming that anyone who read it would naturally be wary of such explorations. Yet the following passage was not included: "Subjective, purely spiritual 'Mediumship' is the only harmless kind, and is often an elevating gift that might be cultivated by every one" (Blavatsky, Collected Writings 6:329).

HPB taught the students of her Esoteric School to seek the guidance of high spiritual Masters by "rising to the spiritual plane where the Masters are" (B1avatsky, Collected Writings 12:492). This is what she means by "subjective, purely spiritual 'Mediumship.— Some students may rise to that plane through meditation, with no awareness of bodies and planes. According to Annie Besant, these are the "mystics." Others may experience this journey more dramatically, as a rising from one subtle body and plane to another, with complete awareness of the scenes, dwellers, and phenomena encountered in each. Besant calls these the "occultists." She makes this distinction in her 1914 essay "Occultism," one of the texts I selected for Invisible Worlds.

I have learned that in nonphysical reality everything can be experienced as energy, information, and consciousness. Our inner senses are attuned to one or more of these aspects, resulting in what could be called our spiritual temperament. In meditative states or astral projection, the realities we experience correspond to our temperament.

If we're mystics, we respond to the energy aspect of nonphysical reality. Our experience will be filled with radiance, bliss, and a sense of ultimate truth—and may be otherwise indescribable. If we're clairvoyants, we respond to the information aspect. Our experience will be filled with vivid imagery and colors, seemingly real places and beings—which we tend to take literally, based purely upon appearances (for example, seeing the streets of heaven as paved with gold). If we're channelers, we respond to the consciousness aspect. Our experience will be filled with clairaudient encounters with seemingly friendly nonphysical beings— which we may not be able to identify as benevolent or malevolent or verify as truthful.

Ideally, we learn to counterbalance the strengths and weaknesses of our temperaments by developing our inner senses to respond to the other two aspects of nonphysical reality. Thus mystics who add information and consciousness to energy are able to sense the ultimate truthfulness of any nonphysical location or communication. I believe HPB was such a mystic. This is why she was so adept at finding the truths behind the world's religions and poking holes in the teachings of contemporary spiritualists, many of whom were insufficiently developed clairvoyants and channels. Of course, HPB was also a clairvoyant and a channel. The best teachers are highly developed along all three lines, but their primary temperament still colors their teachings.

Clairvoyants who add energy and consciousness to information know that the imagery they perceive as locations and beings represents a larger, otherwise inexpressible reality, and they recognize the need to interpret what they see as symbolic of that larger reality. I believe Leadbeater was such a clairvoyant.

This is why his descriptions of the astral plane are so vividly real to us as readers. But we must read them with our inner senses to discover the truth behind the often symbolic imagery

Channels who add energy and information to consciousness will have nonphysical contacts and will also know what they are, what their relationship to truth is, and the value of the information received from them. The twentieth-century Theosophist Geoffrey Hodson may have been such a channel. He's mostly known today for his vivid imagery of devas (angels) that he perceived clairvoyantly. But several of his early books, beginning with The Brotherhood of Angels and Men, were channeled by an angelic being called Bethelda.

Sadly, too many contemporary channels have access only to consciousness and information. They make extraordinary claims for the celestial origins of the beings who speak through them and they're fluent in delivering information, but to the discerning reader the results are little more than platitudes from the Pleiades.

So, to answer your question—I suspect that many Theosophists have the mystical temperament and are drawn to HPB's teachings because she also had this temperament. Such Theosophists will naturally distrust clairvoyant and channeled information as possibly less truthful than a direct experience of God consciousness achieved through meditation. The clairvoyants and channels may be more drawn to Leadbeater's teachings.

Some schisms in the Theosophical movement, as well as the resulting support or denigration of clairvoyance, channeling, and astral travel, may have been caused by unrecognized differences in spiritual temperament. Perhaps in moving forward, we can expand the notion of universal brotherhood to include these temperaments and recognize that whether we have the temperament of a mystic, a clairvoyant, or a channeler, the challenge for each of us is to add the missing sensitivities to our awareness, whether they be energy, information, or consciousness.

Smoley: There is some suggestion that images of future events lie embedded in the astral plane, and that having access to these is how prophecy works. Could you comment on this idea?

Leland: My understanding is that events take on energetic shape on higher planes and descend gradually into greater degrees of specificity, dropping from plane to plane until they manifest in the physical world. On the astral plane, such "event shapes" may have a high degree of specificity as to locations and persons, but not as to timing. As they get closer to occurring in our world, they begin exerting pressure to manifest on the physical plane, so that everything that is required to embody them lines up. People who are psychically sensitive may become aware of this pressure either as a hunch or sense of impending disaster or as an outright premonition with verifiable details. The closer these event shapes come to physical manifestation, the more likely such sensitives are to pick up on a specific time frame for their occurrence.

Theoretically, anyone who has access to planes higher than the astral can become aware of the shape of events as manifested on those planes — say, as archetypal imagery with a relatively low degree of specificity as to time and location. The prophecies of Nostradamus may be of this type: visions of archetypal event shapes that could replicate themselves on the physical plane in a variety of ways and that could generate any number of historically important events over the centuries since they were first uttered. This may account for their perpetual fascination as well as for the skeptics accusation that they're too vague to be applicable to a particular past, present, or coming event.

Smoley: Some esoteric traditions talk about things like egregores and (in the Tibetan tradition) tulpas —psychic entities that are created through thought power and will alone. Do you think there is any truth to this idea? Do you have any experience of these entities?

Leland: In Magic and Mystery in Tibet, Alexandra David-Neel tells the story of creating such a tulpa as an experiment in the application of techniques learned from Tibetan teachers. She vividly imagined a fat jolly Buddhist monk as a companion—who then seemed to be constantly near her. She could see it and feel its touch. It traveled with her, and she could watch it perform actions she hadn't willed it to do. It was also sometimes visible to others. However, after a while, it began to change form, becoming increasingly malevolent. Six months of constant practice were required to dissolve it.

Certainly this is a cautionary tale about the power of the will and the dangers of ignorant experimentation. HPB would probably say that because David-Neel had stopped refreshing the tulpa with her will, it was taken over by an elemental (a nonphysical being, not necessarily good or evil, but indifferent to humanity and often unintentionally inimical) or an elementary (the astral shell of a deceased person of evil disposition).

I've had no experience of egregores, which I understand to be similar to tulpas, but are created by the combined will of a group. However, I may have experienced a tulpa. In college, I developed a reservoir of ill will toward some fellow students who lived down the hall from me and who frequently interfered with my sleep by playing loud music into the wee hours. One evening, I made the experiment of trying to influence them to stop this behavior by the exertion of my will in meditation. The result was surprising—a lit firecracker was thrown through the open transom above my door and exploded. The shock to my system, when so relaxed, put me into a strange state of consciousness in which my ill will became objectified as a sinister beckoning presence in my dorm room. I ended up wrestling with it all night in a half-awake state until I'd bled off the feelings that created it and awoke.

Smoley: What dangers are there in trying to navigate the astral plane?

Leland: In an early article, HPB wrote of "the philosophical necessity of there being in the world of Spirit, as well as the world of Matter, a law of the survival of the fittest" (Blavatsky, Collected Writings 1:289). If we're going to explore higher planes, we need to keep this in mind—and make sure we're "the fittest." The same would be true of any expedition in the wilderness of physical reality. We try not to be part of the food chain.

Being the fittest would mean studying the rich literature on planes, bodies, and beings produced by the world's religions and mystics, including HPB, Besant, and Leadbeater. Trying to understand the similarity of function that underlies the often dissimilar imagery helps us to develop our inner senses (for example, recognizing that Hindu devas are similar in function to Jewish, Christian, and Muslim angels). It would also mean knowing how to protect ourselves against undesirable astral influences, or negative entities.

Perhaps the best way to think about the astral plane is that is presents a set of initiatory challenges we must confront to achieve the higher plane where he Masters await us. Every moral and emotional weakness will be tested on the astral plane. If we're possessed by such weaknesses in physical life, we may draw negative entities to ourselves on the astral plane, They may try to consume or possess us. If we learn how to deal effectively with such beings there, then we learn to master ourselves here— and vice versa. Thus the best protection against the dangers of the astral plane, as many Theosophical teachers have said, is purity of thought, feeling, and action.

According to Besant, as mystics, we may achieve the higher planes by meditation and selfless service. The practice of brotherhood with all beings gently draws to us higher contacts and opens us up to them. However, as occultists, we may seek to understand and master each plane of being. This is where the initiatory challenges of the astral plane come in. Those who fear such challenges may not feel ready for them—and for good reason, since fear itself will draw to them fearful experiences on the astral plane. For them, the path of the mystic is not only a safer way to the high teachers, but also a safer set of methods for a spiritual organization to promote. Thus it has become a primary focus in some Theosophical organizations.

In my opinion, the most radical thing HPB taught was that every level of our consciousness is provided to us by a category of higher beings who mastered that level in previous evolutionary schemes. When she says that our mind was given to us by such higher beings, she means that our mind is the result of participating in that higher consciousness. If we're separated from it through selfishness, we have a limited use of the mind. If we dissolve that separation through the practice of brotherhood with all beings, we become one with those who create and sustain our consciousness at the mental level. We thereby become one with the universal mind as expressed by those beings. They aren't our servants, as in black magic; and we're not their slaves, as in possession. Yet all they know is now our knowledge, and we become active agents on the physical plane in their task of sustaining and furthering the evolution of all beings. This is what it means to become an adept, at least at the mental level.

The astral plane represents the same challenge at a lower level. The so-called negative entities we encounter there are aspects of our own desires and emotions that stand in the way of oneness with the beings who create and sustain the emotional level of existence. They bar us from the great teachers until we have mastered our emotions.


References

Blavatsky, H.P. Collected Writings. Edited by Boris de Zirkoff. 15 vols. 
    Wheaton: Theosophical Publishing House, 1977-91.
Theosophical Glossary. London: Theosophical Publishing Society, 1892.


Viewpoint: Motive Is Everything

Printed in the Fall 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation:
Boyd, Tim. "Motive Is Everything" Quest  101. 4 (Fall 2013): pg. 124-125

Tim Boyd
National President

Theosophical Society - Tim Boyd was elected the president of the Theosophical Society Adyar in 2014. He succeeded Radha Burnier.In 1971 a man named Theodore Goias wrote a short  book that went on to become an underground sen­sation. The setting for this phenomenon was San Francisco just past the tumultuous peak of the 1960s. San Francisco had been a hub of activity throughout the decade and had developed into a little mecca for the hippie and drug culture of the era. The contempo­rary mantras of "Peace and Love," "Free Love," and "Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out" had attracted a popula­tion of young people pushing the boundaries of sexual and chemical norms. The buzzwords of the time were peace, equality, fairness, love, justice, and freedom. It was a mixed bag that included both intense darkness and light.

By 1971 much of the social and cultural upheaval that characterized the period was waning, and many of the young people who had been such a driving force in the various powerful movements of the time were look­ing for sustainable avenues to channel their energies. Woodstock had come and gone. The Vietnam war was winding down. The civil rights movement was losing focus. A cycle of prominent assassinations and bomb­ings was ending. The flood of Eastern holy men and women and gurus coming west was cresting. The prom­ise of a chemically induced higher consciousness had degraded into addiction, broken lives, and legal repres­sion. With so many currents of thought going on at the time, it would be difficult to identify a unifying theme.

Theodore Golas's book began its life with him hand­ing out mimeographed copies to friends. These became so popular that he self-published it in book form. When these first copies quickly sold out, an actual publisher picked up the rights. It has been in print ever since. Having read the book years ago, I can say that the writ­ing is accessible and interesting, but for me the book's most outstanding feature is the title. It is called The Lazy Man's Guide to Enlightenment. Priceless! Whether or not you appreciate the writing, that title is guaranteed to capture your interest.

The first two lines lay out the author's premise. “I am a lazy man. Laziness keeps me from believing that enlightenment demands effort, discipline, strict non-smoking, and other evidences of virtue." For longtime spiritual practitioners, these two sentences would be enough to lead to the conclusion that there could be little of value in the book. At the very least someone who has invested years in strict self-discipline and training in virtues, the idea that it is all unnecessary could be a little disappointing. But like so many things, laziness is a relative term, and the author himself shows no signs of conventional laziness. His focus is on awareness, and it could easily be said the sustained awareness he writes about only results from an extended regime of discipline and practice. Even for the lazy man "it don't come easy."

In my opinion, the book's popularity is completely due to the appeal of the title. While it does not suggest that we can get something for nothing, it does seem to say that there is a royal road, easy to walk, to the wisdom and contentment that we imagine enlighten provides.

What if there were a royal road to enlighten a single quality that stands out above and beyond all others? In Theosophical literature there is a saying that is frequently repeated. In letter 54 of the Mahatma Letters we find it expressed as "motive is everything".  It is a sweeping statement that demands a deeper consideration. What does it mean? In what sense is motive all-encompassing? A brief example might help.

I have known people who changed their diet from meat eating to vegetarian. They had reviewed the numerous medical studies about the superiority plant-based diet. In reading they found that heart disease is dramatically reduced; cancer is much less Iikely; high blood pressure, constipation, diabetes, stroke, obesity, and elevated cholesterol all are greatly reduced with the change to a vegetarian diet. Their motivation was the clear benefit to their health. After trying it for a short time, they also found that they slept better at night and seemed to have more energy. There was the added benefit that when summertime came, they looked much better in their bathing suits.

Other people I know also changed from a meat-based to a vegetarian diet, but for different reasons. They too had read the studies and discovered the personal health benefits, but they had also steeped themselves in other research. These new vegetarians had read books like John Robbins's Diet for a New America and had gained some insight into the practices of the meat industry. They discovered the enormous cruelty that went into the production of the foods they ate. They found them­selves moved by the suffering inflicted on the animals at every phase of their lives from birth to the moment of slaughter, and they made the commitment that they would not allow their eating habits to support system­atic cruelty to other feeling beings. 

So what are the results? To the chicken whose life is spared because these two vegetarians are no longer purchasing flesh foods, it makes no difference at all. Why she is not being eaten is probably not uppermost in the chicken's consciousness. It's just good to be alive. But how does it affect the two individuals who have become vegetarians? In terms of their personal health, they both reap the benefits of improved vitality and dis­ease prevention. What is the effect on the thinking of the two? Initially, for the one who is focused on her personal health, there is little change. Although the motive is self-improvement, the focus is still the self. Although it might be a healthier self, there is no expan­sion beyond personal boundaries, no broadened sense of connection with others, no extension of the sensitiv­ity to the needs of others. To the one who is motivated by compassion for the suffering of others, there is a dra­matic expansion of the boundaries of self. It is simply a fact that when we care for others, we enlarge the scope of our feeling and our thought. The limits of our sense of self expand as we identify with others. Our sensitiv­ity to the feelings and needs of others grows. These are not things that necessarily make themselves known in greater income or personal recognition. The effects are invisible, but real and lasting.

Our motivation colors everything that we do—all of our thoughts and actions. Often the consequences of our actions are unanticipated, but the productive motive behind them is something we can know quite intimately. Of the world's religions, Buddhism seems to address this idea of the primacy of motive most directly. From countless recorded sayings of the Bud­dha it is clear that he "got it." The first lines in the Dhammapada are: 'All that we are is the result of what we have thought: it is founded on our thoughts, it is made up of our thoughts. If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him, as the wheel follows the foot of the ox that draws the carriage ... If a man speaks or acts with a pure thought, happiness follows him, like a shadow that never leaves him." The second step in Buddha's Noble Eightfold Path is right motive/ intention. In speaking to his monks on one occasion, he made the point even more strongly: "O monks, what I call karma is motive."

Not long ago someone told me a quote from Sig­mund Freud: "Buddha was the greatest psychologist in the history of the world." I thought it was a won­derful quote. In the interest of accuracy I Googled it, only to find that it is one of those great sayings that was never said, but should have been. In any case, as with Theosophy, one of the beauties of the way Buddhism approaches the subject is that it is not simply theoreti­cal. Like any good doctor, it must produce more than a diagnosis. Some cure needs to be prescribed. While there are countless methods that are said to assist on the road to enlightenment, the only one that seems to guarantee a safe journey is an awareness and elevation of motive. 

In The Voice of the Silence the all-important first step is "to live to benefit mankind." Mahayana Buddhism maintains a similar focus on bodhicitta, the wisdom mind, which is the motivation to attain enlightenment in order to benefit all sentient beings. Like many profound statements we encounter, it is simple. The difficulty for many of us comes because we mistake simple for easy. The discovery of the countless "how to's" involved in living to benefit mankind is a life's work, but this part is secondary. Once the course is set, though we stum­ble and make a thousand mistakes along the way, ulti­mately the end is assured. Motive is everything.


Presidents Diary

Printed in the Summer 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Boyd, Tim,
"Presidents Diary" Quest  101. 3 (Summer 2013): pg.114 -115.

Theosophical Society - Tim Boyd was elected the president of the Theosophical Society Adyar in 2014. He succeeded Radha Burnier.At the end of January, after I had returned from  travels to Adyar and New York, it was off to Krotona for the annual Partners in Theosophy program. Each year I find myself refreshing our read­ers' memory about this exceptional ongoing program. It started back in 2009 "to interest, support, and guide both new and seasoned Theosophists who wish to develop or strengthen skills that will enhance the pre­sentation of Theosophy." Every year since, the partners (members from around the country who are paired with one or two mentors) have met at Krotona for one week in January. The week's events involve a program by some of our prominent longtime members. Past years have been presented by Nelda Samarel, Joy Mills, Robert Ellwood, Maria Parisen, and Vic Hao Chin from the Philippines. Partners also present the various projects they are engaged in.

For the second year in a row we were fortunate to have Vic Hao Chin do the week-long program. Last year the focus was "Mainstreaming Theosophy." This year was quite special. For some time now a number of us here in the U.S. have been prevailing on Vic not only to present his highly successful Self-Transformation Semi­nar (STS) but also to train some of our members to be STS facilitators. The STS was developed over a number of years by Vic and his coworkers in the Philippines. It began as an effort to address the gap between the lofty ideals of Theosophy and the way we actually live our lives. There was a sense that in order to make the deep teachings real for us, there needed to be a means of addressing the common experiences of anxiety, fear, anger, frustration, resentment, relationship issues, and the host of other personal "push buttons" that form the greatest obstacles to a genuine spiritual life. A pam­phlet about the seminar describes it this way: "The Self-Transformation Process is a self-learning process of character-building and spiritual growth. It has been designed to empower the individual to gain mastery over the factors that contribute to human fulfillment and happiness. These are essential for effectiveness in our personal life, family and whatever profession that we engage in . . . The seminar uses experiential meth­ods and processes that allow the participant to learn by doing."

Since its early days, the STS has grown into a highly successful training process that thousands of individu­als and numerous organizations have gone through. Examples of organizations in the Philippines that have sought out and come to value the program are vari­ous police departments, national military and politi­cal organizations, youth groups, and Catholic schools and universities. It was the program's success with young people that inspired the founding of the Golden Link School (now Golden Link College) by Vic and his coworkers.

The facilitators' training lasted five days after the end of the Partners program. This winter we will be doing a weekend program at Olcott to train people in using the STS tools. We will also be presenting the seminar in other places around the country Keep an eye out for it. I feel it is an extremely valuable tool that would enable anyone to live a more fulfilling life.

While at Krotona, I had been invited to speak at the TS Ojai Valley branch, which meets at the Krotona School of Theosophy. It was (for me at least) a thor­oughly enjoyable evening talking to a packed house of old friends, family who came up from Los Angeles, and a complement of folks I was meeting for the first time.

During my absence from our national center, we hosted an artist's reception for Joma Sipe, whose work is featured in a recent Quest Books release Soul of Light. It was a fine affair, on a level with those of the excellent art galleries in neighboring Chicago. There was music by our "house band," Into the Real, featuring our staff members, the talented and beautiful Juliana Cesano, and the equally talented, slightly less beautiful Dan Smolla. There were hors d'oeuvres, an interview with the artist, a raffle, all in the midst of the wonderful artwork in our Olcott Gallery.

During February, we normally have one of our two annual meetings of the national board of direc­tors. This year was no exception. For three and a half days our directors gathered from around the country, along with John Kern, adviser to The Kern Founda­tion, and national treasurer Floyd Kettering. One task of this meeting was to replace one of our Central Dis­trict directors. Doris Swalec, from the Detroit area, has served on the board for two years. Recently she and her husband have moved to Tucson, Arizona. The way our bylaws work, directors are required to live in the district from which they are elected. The board selected Jo Schneider of Covington, Louisiana, to replace Doris for the remainder of her term. Jo has been a member of the TSA for fourteen years, and has been active in lodge work and in the Theosophical Order of Service (TOS). Doris will be missed, but I feel fortunate that the TSA has such capable members as Jo waiting in the wings.

In March I was invited to participate on a panel at a local chapter of the Institute of Noetic Sciences (IONS). There were six of us, a fascinating and inspiring group drawn from a number of traditions. There was a rep­resentative from the Ethical Humanist Society, a rabbi, a minister from a very active Chicago New Thought church, a Catholic layperson, a Buddhist psychothera­pist from the Shambhala tradition, and me represent­ing Theosophy. We had been asked to speak to the question, "What does 'waking up' mean in your tra­dition?" Around forty people attended. I first became acquainted with the organizer of the event, Ruthie Lan­dis, when I had spoken at a large event in Chicago this past November.

Later in the month the teachers and kids from the Prairie School of DuPage came into my office for a visit. They had scheduled an appointment the week before, saying that the kids had something they wanted to ask me. Just to remind you, the Prairie School has been oper­ating on our campus since January 2012. Their stated mission is "to educate and inspire the whole child, and to prepare each student for a life of discovery by culti­vating a strong sense of self, compassion and respect for others, and a deep connection with the natural world." A great deal of the school's focus is on understanding and connecting with nature. Every day the kids are out playing, exploring, and examining the flora and fauna of our forty-two-acre estate. There is a surprising num­ber of animal species living in and around our suburban campus. It has gotten to the point that any time I need to know something about the coyotes, skunks, deer, rac­coons, hawks, owls, and other creatures that share our space, I ask one of the kids. Invariably they can tell me its name, habits, where I can look to see it, where they last saw it, etc.

When the time for the appointment arrived, the kids and two of the teachers came to the outer office and checked in with Elvira, my secretary, who was expect­ing them. She announced them and ushered them into my office. We were making every effort to make a big deal out of their visit. I was sifting behind my desk. The kids, age six to eleven, lined up in front of me. They had organized their presentation so that it was presented n waves of two. The first two students told me why they were there. They wanted to ask if I would allow them to plant a bird and butterfly garden just outside of the main door (technically the back door) to our build­ing, which is also adjacent to the entrance to the school. Each group had props—calendars, photos, cards. They explained what they would plant, the type of "bubbler" bird bath they would install, and how families at the school had already been scheduled to tend the garden each week when the school was closed during the sum­mer. They talked about the cost and how they planned to raise the funds. When they had finished their thor­ough and confident presentation, I asked them if I could think about it for a minute. I put my hand to my chin and looked up at the ceiling in mock contemplation. The kids' tension was building. Would I say no? After several seconds of this sham, I looked at them and said yes. The room exploded. The kids were jumping and shouting for joy. Of course, both the kids and I knew from the beginning what the answer would be. As they said in the movie Jerry Maguire, "You had me at hello."

A final event during the month was the visit of facilitator Carrie Cameron from the Institute of Heart-Math. After our experience with HeartMath's direc­tor of research, Rollin McCraty, at our last Summer National Convention, we had been looking forward to further exposure to the institute's practical meth­ods. We had scheduled Carrie to do a Thursday public talk and a Saturday workshop. In between those dates we arranged for a full afternoon staff training. All of our staff attended, along with a number of our regular volunteers.


Letters to the Editor

Printed in the Summer 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard 
 "Letters to the Editor" Quest  101. 3 (Summer 2013): pg. 82. 

Theosophical Society - Richard Smoley is editor of Quest: Journal of the Theosophical Society in America and a frequent lecturer for the Theosophical SocietyMy good friend, the British Kabbalist Warren Kenton, who writes under the name Z'ev ben Shimon Halevi, recently sent me a copy of his latest book. It's entitled A Kabbalistic View of History. It portrays the ups and downs of history, as well as the rise and fall of civilizations, in light of the evolution of humanity.

While there are many fascinating themes in War­ren's book, one in particular stands out. It has to do with the role played at crucial moments in history by small groups of people who were working from a higher plane of consciousness. Groups of this kind included the Pythagorean school in ancient Greece; the school of Chartres in medieval times, which built the great cathedral; the Brethren of the Common Life, who revi­talized Christian devotion in the late Middle Ages; and the Rosicrucian brotherhood, whose famous manifes­toes, published around 1615, proclaimed a coming age of political liberty and scientific inquiry. And of course there is Theosophy, which began in the nineteenth cen­tury by setting forth esotericism as a third way between a rigid Christian dogmatism and an equally rigid scien­tific materialism.

While there are many lessons we could learn from each of these cases, there are a couple that stand out for me. The first has to do with timing. While a small and subtle impetus can push human history and civi­lization in a given direction, this impetus has to wait for the right moment. It is as if a rock is teetering over a precipice; one small push could make it go in either direction. But one might have to wait a long time before the rock comes into that position. Furthermore—since we are not dealing with rocks but with large currents in human life—it requires a great deal of discernment to see when that moment is at hand.

I would suggest that it is only from a higher perspec­tive that one can accurately see the moment at hand. It does not require the power of prophecy—indeed the record of prophets through the ages, from the Bible to Nostradamus to the tangle of pronouncements sur­rounding the year 2012, suggests that we have no rea­son whatsoever to believe in prophecies of any kind. But it does require a transcendent capacity to see the potentialities in the present—and to know how to make use of them. We could call this kind of knowledge and power an "esoteric impulse." 

The second thing that strikes me is that these eso­teric impulses run down after a time. The school of Pythagoras died out not long after his lifetime in the sixth century B.C. The schools that built the great cathe­drals left buildings as monuments to their legacy; they did not perpetuate themselves as schools. The Brethren of the Common Life vanished from history around the time of the Reformation.

What happens when an esoteric impulse withers away? Or, to put it in familiar language: "Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost its savor, wherewith shall it be salted?" (Matt. 5:13). 

To begin with, the founding figures pass from the scene, replaced by followers in whose minds the origi­nal  ideas take up a comfortable slumber. Practices become rote and mechanical, and the purpose behind them is forgotten. There is a curious story about a spiritual teacher who had a cat that misbehaved. To keep it from causing trouble, the teacher told one of his students to catch the cat before meetings and tie it up. The years passed; the cat died; the master died. But the school went on. Hundreds of years later, before each meeting, the followers still had to find a cat to tie up.

In the end, the energy fueling organizations of this kind is provided mostly by inertia. Sooner or later even this runs out, and the movement dwindles away. This does not always happen overnight. Much has been made of the Christians closing down the pagan temples in late antiquity, but people often forget that the energy of paganism had been dying for centuries. Around A.D. 100 the Greek author Plutarch wrote a treatise called On the Failure of the Oracles, lamenting that of the great oracles that had once been so admired in the classical world, "silence has come upon some and utter desola­tion upon others." Plutarch was in a position to know, since he served for many years as a priest at the cel­ebrated oracle of Delphi. The job apparently left him plenty of time for writing. 

What happens after the temples have closed? Some­times the impulse survives in a new and unrecogniz­able form, as Christianity in many ways carried on the traditions of the old mystery religions. Sometimes it goes underground for centuries, passed on only in tiny groups or even in one-on-one transmissions, as seems to have been the case with much of the "old religion" of pre-Christian Europe. In still other cases it may vanish entirely. Then, when the oracles are most silent and the rituals most mechanical, a new impulse arises—per­haps from the esoteric orders on the inner planes that are said to watch over human evolution—and the cycle starts all over again.

Richard Smoley


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