Quest Magazine

Printed in the  Summer 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Keene, Douglas, "Aging: A Time-Honored Process"   Quest 113:3, pg 12-3

By Douglas Keene
National President

Everything in the physical universe has a beginning and end. It is born and someday it will die. From the mayfly, the shortest-lived animal, which lives one day on average (females live about five minutes) to the stellar universe, where the average medium-size star “lives” 50 million to 20 billion years. Life is a terminal condition. Yet without endings, our world would cease to exist.

Humans are generally aware of the aging process. In our younger years it can bring great joy: as we develop physically, emotionally, and mentally, we are more and more capable of participating in various activities. But as the years progress, we are aware of something else: we may begin to lose capacities, particularly physically, that we valued at earlier stages. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, the French Jesuit priest and philosopher, wrote sardonically, “Growing old is like being increasingly penalized for a crime you haven’t committed.” Yet growing older can be a gift, which, although perhaps unrecognized and dismissed by the young, yields treasures of its own.

Unless it is cut short by illness or accident, a human life generally has many stages, which are addressed by various cultures. Hindu tradition divides a human life into four ashramas (stages), with different goals attributed to each stage. They are sometimes associated with particular age ranges.

Brahmacharya (or student) is typically the first stage of life, which correlates to preparatory learning, maturing, growth, and development for the adult life ahead. This usually runs to the age of twenty or twenty-five, followed by the stage of grihastha, or householder. This part of life contains the activity of the mature adult, such as earning a living, developing a career, starting a family, maintaining a home, and helping one’s children establish themselves in the world. This stage is usually to considered to last up to the age of fifty years, but there can be great variability.

The third stage is vanaprashta (or forest walker/hermit), which begins after the householder’s responsibilities have diminished. Vanaprashta corresponds with a life focused primarily on returning to nature and having years of reflection and service. The age range usually given is fifty-one to seventy-five years.

The fourth stage, at advanced old age, is sannyasa (or renunciate/recluse) and is directed toward spiritual growth, returning to a very simple lifestyle, having a minimum of material possessions, and contemplating the end of life.                                                

We can see in this example—as in life generally—a pattern of shifting priorities. As we age, we gain experience and have the option to learn from those experiences. Often we have fewer distractions and more time for reflection. Most people experience loss of loved ones, perhaps also of health and even of identity, as our careers come to a close. As the physical body deteriorates, frequently our world gets smaller, and our choices fewer.

Many elderly people become lonely and less engaged, but this is not inevitable. If we remain curious, there are many ways to explore new paradigms and gain fresh insights. Annie Besant wrote, “The old person who ‘late in life,’ as we say, begins to learn the truths of the Ancient Wisdom, instead of lamenting over his age and saying ‘How little can I do in the short time that remains to me,’ should say, ‘How good a foundation I can lay for my next incarnation, thanks to learning the truth.’”

As students of Theosophy, we recognize we are on a much longer path than one mere physical incarnation. Our consciousness may survive death and may even expand as we enter the various stages of postmortem existence. Through each life, we gain lessons, and from these lessons we can choose to learn. With the unfolding of evolution, we develop our inner being, progressing in certain abilities.

Aging is a time for memories and reflection. We may have regrets about choices that have been made or feel a certain satisfaction for goals accomplished or character traits advanced. We may cherish the moments we’ve had with family and friends or lament the inevitable separations. Our core beliefs about religion and metaphysics are necessarily challenged. We are called upon to consider purpose, past and present, and what this will lead to in our remaining years and beyond. The mask of pretense will be stripped away, revealing our true nature. We will need to face our fears of potential judgment in the afterlife, realizing that our life cannot be lived over again and we carry responsibility for our actions. We may seek peace after the storm of life but struggle to know how to summon this peace, particularly when we are infirm. We stand on the brink of a great mystery that the conscious mind has not known. However, there is comfort in surrender, particularly to a higher (hopefully beneficent) force.

In Socrates’ Apology, he states, “To fear death . . . is no other than to think oneself wise when one is not, to think one knows what one does not know. No one knows whether death may not be the greatest of all blessings for a man, yet men fear it as if they knew that it is the greatest of evils.”

For many, it is not so much physical death that is frightening, but the process of dying. Moreover, despite some religious reassurances, we may fear the unknown. We wonder what we will experience—what is in store for us—on the far side of death. We may also wonder how our passing will affect our loved ones. As most of us live in the personality, it’s difficult to imagine the world without ourselves in it, because to that consciousness, we have always been here, no matter how small or large our role in society.

But if we shift our identity from the personality to the higher Self, death will lose its power over us. We will know that we are eternal, striving (with flaws perhaps) to serve humanity and ultimately to work to a larger extent and contribute to the unfoldment of evolution. In such a setting, it matters little what the avenue for that effort would be.

In The Voice of the Silence, H.P. Blavatsky notes that the pilgrim passing through the seven portals “standeth now like a white pillar to the west, upon whose face the rising sun of thought eternal poureth forth its first most glorious waves. His mind, like a becalmed and boundless ocean, spreadeth out in shoreless space. He holdeth life and death in his strong hand” (Voice of the Silence, §282).

Every stage of life is precious, and advanced age is no different. Love still lives, but may be transmuted into new forms. We are still able to relate to our fellow humans and savor that connection. We breathe the air of life and know that we are part of a greater network. We exist in a specific time and place, yet we know we are not chained to this physical form. We are much more than we seem, much more than we know. We begin to touch this greater knowledge, this expanded awareness. We sense we are immortal. We see purpose in the universe. We long to be part of the whole.

Printed in the  Summer 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Heubel, Peggy, "The Voice of the Silence as Yogic Discipline"   Quest 113:3, pg 38-9

By Peggy Heubel

H.P. Blavatsky’s Voice of the Silence (VOS), a Theosophical classic first published in 1889, is a deeply mystical text that weaves together elements of raja yoga, Mahayana Buddhism, and Theosophical thought into a coherent spiritual discipline. More than just a book, the VOS presents a path—one that requires intense self-discipline, inner transformation, and an altruistic commitment to the enlightenment of all beings.

While the mental discipline of classical raja yoga, as outlined in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, emphasizes mental purification and meditative absorption (samadhi) as a means of personal liberation, the VOS takes this foundation and expands it into a perspective spanning many lives, wherein the aspirant moves through successive incarnations in service to the world.

This vision of yoga, while rooted in raja yoga, is not confined to it. Instead, it modifies and extends the yogic ideal by incorporating the bodhisattva vow, a Mahayana Buddhist concept that prioritizes compassionate return to incarnation over final liberation. This vision also resonates with karma yoga, the yoga of selfless action, in insisting that true spiritual attainment does not consist of withdrawing from the world but transforming it through enlightened service.

To understand the VOS as a spiritual discipline, it is necessary to examine its relationship to these different yogic paths, determining how they align with and diverge from HPB’s unique vision. 

In many ways, The Voice of the Silence functions as a manual of raja yoga, the “royal path” of meditation and self-mastery. Raja yoga’s ultimate aim is to still the “fluctuating mind” (citta-vṛtti-nirodha), bringing the practitioner into direct communion with higher consciousness. The rigorous control of thoughts, emotions, and sensory perceptions is central to this process, allowing the aspirant to move beyond mental distraction into deep states of meditative absorption (dhyana) and eventually spiritual liberation (samadhi).

Blavatsky’s text mirrors this trajectory but with a crucial distinction: the goal is not merely individual enlightenment but the attainment of wisdom in order to serve others. The three stages described in the VOS—the Hall of Ignorance, the Hall of Learning, and the Hall of Wisdom—are reminiscent of raja yoga’s progressive journey through mental purification, meditative absorption, and spiritual realization. Yet unlike with the kaivalya (absolute liberation) sought in classical raja yoga, Blavatsky’s aspirant does not dissolve into formless bliss but instead returns life after life to assist all beings on the path to enlightenment.

Moreover, the VOS aligns with raja yoga in its strict ethical discipline. As a manual of instructions, the text demands intense inner purification, which corresponds to the yamas (ethical restraints) and niyamas (spiritual observances) of Patanjali’s system. The aspirant must cultivate virtues such as truthfulness, self-restraint, and nonattachment, all of which are mandatory for deeper spiritual insight. However, Blavatsky’s inclusion of the paramitas (perfections) from Mahayana Buddhism expands this ethical framework beyond the self-focused morality of classical yoga, emphasizing altruism and self-sacrifice as fundamental components of spiritual progress.

In essence, The Voice of the Silence is a transformed raja yoga—one that does not end in isolated liberation but in many lifetimes of compassionate service. Meditation and self-mastery are still paramount, but they are placed within a larger spiritual mission, requiring the yogi to return to the world rather than escape from it.

While the VOS is grounded in raja yoga’s inner discipline, it is equally aligned with karma yoga, the yoga of action and selfless service. In Hindu philosophy, karma yoga is the path by which the practitioner performs all actions without attachment to personal reward, dedicating them instead to the divine or to the greater good. This selfless engagement with the world is precisely what the VOS demands of its aspirant.

The bodhisattva ideal in the VOS is, in many ways, the highest expression of karma yoga. Rather than seeking nirvana (final liberation) for oneself, the bodhisattva renounces it until all beings are free from suffering. Blavatsky’s text is unequivocal in rejecting the aim of the pratyeka-buddha—one who attains enlightenment but does not return to aid others. This, she suggests, is a lesser path, one rooted in a kind of spiritual selfishness rather than true wisdom. Instead, the ideal is the bodhisattva, who embodies both the detachment of a yogi and the active compassion of a servant-leader.

Here the VOS diverges significantly from the traditional goals of jnana yoga, which seeks absolute knowledge and final liberation from the cycle of rebirth (samsara). Classical jnana yoga often sees the world as illusory (maya). The highest realization comes in the form of transcending all identification with the body, mind, and personal existence.

The VOS, however, insists that the world—while impermanent—is not to be abandoned but transformed through wisdom and selfless, altruistic service. The true adept does not flee to the absolute but returns to guide others through the illusion, much like Avalokiteshvara, the compassionate bodhisattva of Mahayana Buddhism.

Therefore, while raja yoga provides the internal discipline, karma yoga provides the external expression. In the VOS, the true adept is both a master of meditation and a selfless servant of humanity.

Blavatsky’s Voice of the Silence offers a unique synthesis of raja yoga and karma yoga, reinterpreted through the many-lives framework of Theosophy and Mahayana Buddhism. While it retains the self-mastery and meditative depth of classical raja yoga, it transforms the end goal from personal liberation to compassionate return. Rather than seeking an escape from the cycle of birth and death, the true adept in the VOS embraces innumerable lifetimes of service, working tirelessly until all beings are free from suffering.

In this way, The Voice of the Silence can be seen as a new paradigm of yoga—one where enlightenment is not the end, but the beginning of a greater mission.

Peggy Heubel is secretary of the Theosophical Society in Oakland, California, and a member of the board of directors of the TSA.

Glossary of Yogic Terms

Bodhisattva (compassionate enlightened being). One who renounces personal nirvana to assist all sentient beings.

Buddhi-manas (higher mind and intuitive wisdom). The purified aspect of intellect that perceives truth beyond material knowledge.

Dhyana (meditative absorption). A state of deep concentration leading to higher awareness.

Kaivalya (detachment; separation). Spiritual liberation conceived as absolute isolation.

Niyamas (spiritual observances). Personal disciplines such as purity, contentment, self-study, spiritual effort, and surrender to the divine. 

Paramitas (perfections). The virtues, such as generosity, discipline, patience, energy, meditation, and wisdom, that are central to Mahayana Buddhist practice.

Pratyahara (withdrawal of the senses). Turning inward to detach from external distractions and deepen meditative focus.

Pratyeka-buddha (“self-enlightened one”). A being who attains liberation but does not return to help others; criticized in The Voice of the Silence. 

Samadhi (spiritual absorption or enlightenment). The culmination of meditation wherein the practitioner experiences union with the higher self or divine consciousness. 

Yamas (ethical restraints). Principles of self-discipline, including nonviolence, truthfulness, nonstealing, moderation, celibacy, and nonpossessiveness. 

Printed in the  Summer 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Gay Levine, Arlene, "A Meditation on Impatience"   Quest 113:3, pg 38-9

By Arlene Gay Levine

Time for me, time for you
Time for everything we do
Hurry and rush are such a waste
The magician is one who has never known haste.

Over many years, it gradually became clear to me that suffering served as a device to open my heart to love. Calling out in physical, mental, or emotional distress strengthened my faith muscle. When the moment was right, if I waited without expectation, more often than not my prayers would be answered. Perhaps not always in the time frame or the way I hoped, but occasionally even better than I imagined.

When I was younger, before that could happen, I remember deciding to give up something that I believed hindered my soul’s development. What would I actually fast from? A tsunami of thoughts flooding my mind prompted the creation of a complete list of issues that held me back from honoring the Beloved within. For what felt like hours (but was barely minutes), the task tortured me. Then an aha! moment crashed into my consciousness with an important insight: the impatience that plagued me since childhood would have to get the boot.

The saying “love is patient, love is kind” appears in the Bible in 1 Corinthians 13:4. The passage continues to list other characteristics of love: it does not envy, boast, or pride itself; it does not dishonor others; it is not self-seeking or easily angered; it does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth; and it always protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres.

How, I wondered, could one possibly attain all these virtues quickly? Impatience is a fertile little minx; it spawns so many vices.

To be fair, I did have glimmers that these frequent refusals to complete one job before dashing off to the next was not serving me or anyone else around me. There were times when a frantic impulse caused me to give up on a task, bang into objects, get snappish, or burn the meal. It often alienated people I cared about, prevented living in the now, and kept me from honoring the desire to create a meaningful life. A compulsion to rush generated mayhem, while the angels watched in dismay.

One day, searching my mind for clues to solve this dilemma, a sudden urge to declutter arose. Most of my unwanted things were sequestered in the basement. “Yes,” I thought, “let me start there.” The first carton I looked in was loaded with very old books. My hand grasped a slim volume and opened to a poem by Eve Merriam, who had been one of America’s most respected poets for adults and children. Instantly changing gears from cleaning up, I began to read:

A Lazy Thought

There go the grownups
To the office,
To the store.
Subway rush,
Traffic crush;
Hurry, scurry,
Worry, flurry.

No wonder
Grown-ups
Don’t grow up
Any more.
It takes a lot
Of slow
To grow.

There in the basement (or, as I realized later, my unconscious), an epiphany occurred: “It takes a lot of slow to grow.” If this Jungian moment was a teacher, what was it asking me to do? The answer seemed obvious. I would go up to my study, turn on the computer, and begin researching impatience and patience, the yin and yang of time management. The torment of hastiness had resulted in unresolved stress, anxiety, and anger from childhood.

I sat on my favorite chair and decided to probe deeper. After taking some full breaths, slowly letting go into the peace and quiet of the moment, I felt ready to ask myself to recall memories from childhood that aroused the urge to hurry.

Most of my recollections centered around my mother, a basically kind woman who did not know the meaning of “one task at a time.” Impatiently rushing me to do one thing or another, she trained me to be just like her. This memory made me recall how stressed, anxious, and angry I always felt when I was around her. No wonder I eagerly looked forward to going to school, getting outside to be alone in nature, or hiding in the bedroom with my head in a book. These enjoyable activities were life preservers in the choppy seas of childhood.

When I became an adult, it became essential for me to forgive myself and my mother. On my new path, I would stop encouraging a negative mindset implanted years ago lest it take over my life in the present. In this case, the solution was clear: I became an acolyte of patience. A simple technique that worked wonders was meditating on statements, often quotes I collected over time, to energize positive qualities I wished to manifest in my life.  A particular favorite on the dichotomy between the vice of impatience and the virtue of patience is these wise thoughts from the painter Georgia O’Keeffe: “Nobody sees a flower—really—it is so small it takes time—we haven’t time—and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.”

Arlene Gay Levine is the author of 39 Ways to Open Your Heart: An Illuminated Meditation (Conari Press) and Movie Life (Finishing Line Press). Her prose and poetry have found a home in The New York Times, an off-Broadway show, anthologies, journals, radio programs, and online. Most recently her poems have appeared in Valley View Review, Bronze Bird Review, and Poets for Human Rights. The epigraph to this article is taken from her poem “Father Time’s Birthday Party,” Quest, winter 2010. http://www.arlenegaylevine.com/

Looking at Stars

Looking at stars through dark glasses
kills the view; it doesn’t mean
the stars aren’t sparkling in that pretty way
they have of winking you out from a crowd of billions
They know who you are even if you don’t yet
Impatience is sabotage, the weapon
you bludgeon yourself with so
you can’t escape the chains
only you can remove; hurrying to heal,
you won’t
Looking at stars
helps cure the inverted view
Quiet endurance over millenniums
speaks of the Spirit
steeping deep in the dark
as stars, implacable,
shine faith
into your wounded
eyes

Arlene Gay Levine

Printed in the  Summer 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Sugg, Judith, "Open to the Unknown: The Teachings of Jean Klein"   Quest 113:3, pg 33-36

By Judith Sugg

While in a bookstore thirty years ago, I purchased a pamphlet containing Jean Klein’s 1989 lectures. I must have been intrigued enough to buy it then, but the booklet languished on a shelf for decades. I picked it up again only a couple of years ago, and it became my morning reading.

There are many beautiful and inspiring books, yet rarely have I had the experience of reading a work that bypassed my thinking mind and landed somewhere more arcane. Later, I read Klein’s advice not to try to hold on to the words but instead let the writing dissolve inside.

As a psychologist, I have pondered the meaning of personality and ego. Psychologically, our patterns of thought and behavior, often established very early in life, build on themselves over time. Humans are creatures of habits, predictable and stubborn, and these habits extend to interactions with others and patterns of thought and feeling. Our personality requires energy to maintain and even more to change. Our ego is a defense of who we view ourselves to be in the world, helping us navigate the stresses of life and buffering our self-image. What we call a strong ego shows up in a person’s resilience and confidence in their conviction of right and good.

Yet many spiritual texts abjure the primacy of the ego and personality. The ego obscures our understanding of our true nature and directs us toward the survival of the body and personality. In the language of yoga, the ego creates avidya: confusion about who we really are. We are deluded and trapped into thinking we are this creature of habits that needs protection, cultivation, and stroking. Spiritual teacher Eckhart Tolle said it well: “All the misery on the planet arises due to a personalized sense of me or us. That covers up the essence of who you are. When you are unaware of that inner essence, in the end you always create misery. It’s as simple as that” (Tolle, 52).

If we see truth in this characterization, how do we unlock this trap? It is impossible to think our way through the confusion, since thinking itself is the core of the problem. Klein’s dialogues slice through this dilemma. Personality habits are body-mind contractions—a “defense against being nobody” (Klein, Transmission, xxvi).

The influence of Advaita Vedanta flows through Klein’s work, and many fundamental truths of Advaita have found a home in Theosophy. This article highlights some of his teachings using his phrases and themes, including Presence, thought, subject-object orientation, and integration through bodywork. 

Jean Klein

Klein’s personal biography is sparse. A European medical doctor born around 1912, he had a lively intellect, spoke at least four languages, and played the violin throughout his life. He read René Guénon, Krishnamurti, and Sri Aurobindo and was introduced to Theosophy early on. His spiritual search led him to India in the 1950s, where a teacher guided him in understanding Advaita Vedanta, the nondual tradition of Sri Ramana Maharshi. He died in 1998.

According to Klein, Advaita is neither religion nor philosophy, but simply the truth. After leaving India, he began teaching the direct approach to Realization, focusing on self-inquiry and immediate experience, in both Europe and America.  

The books attributed to him are transcripts of his teaching. Klein resolutely avoided taking on the mantle or attributes of a guru. What is teachable, he said, belongs to the personality, the mind. He had no technique to sell or approach for others to master.

Klein did not necessarily intend to have listeners remember his words but rather would receive their taste or flavor and note how they stimulated wakefulness. He spoke directly from his experience and rarely used religious or philosophical terminology. Students described a joyful, loving, peaceful Presence without expectations or agenda, living in the moment and unbound by personality.

Presence

Klein uses the word “Presence” to express the ultimate reality. We may access Presence through self-inquiry, but we can never know it through our everyday minds. We know ourselves as Presence by identifying what we are not, much like a sculptor removing the excess marble that hides the artistic creation. Under inquiry, the mind will eventually halt, igniting transformation. Liberation is freedom from personality and self-image. “It’s quite an explosion to see that you are nothing, and then to live completely attuned to this nothingness” (in Bodian, 7). Many of us have had a foretaste of this experience that orients us and inspires us to continue. 

When the personality/ego dissolves, one is entirely in Presence, in silence. A mind tuned to truth is alert, aware, and subtle. Thought and action happen, but they are tools to be used and put away when done. This is Klein’s definition of right action: clear action and functional knowledge arising from the silence of Presence, creating no thought or memory. A person retains functional knowledge and skill, but personal memory is disengaged. We act according to the circumstance; there is no continuing internal dialogue. In other words, life is viewed without the personality’s projection. Actions are clean and natural.

It can be helpful to consider the opposite: When we are self-conscious—meaning there are layers of self-talk about our safety, status, and image—we incessantly judge our own actions. This endless self-judgment generates fear, anxiety, and more cycles of mental activity. Future action is either heavy with criticism or impulsive, to avoid the criticism. Actions remain enmeshed with the mind.

Each breath offers the opportunity to approach Presence. If we wait, there is a pause at the end of the exhalation before the inhale begins naturally. During this pause, if we pay attention, the mechanics of the mind are quieter. Yoga teachers sometimes call this pause a look into eternity.

Subject-Object Orientation

In our personality and psychology, we are subjects perceiving objects—people, things, thoughts, aspirations, goals, memories. We are fascinated by desire, yet when we attain our goal, the relief and joy are brief. We may wish to be admired, so we focus our desire on a fancy car, an award, or some other indication of status. In doing so, we become bound to this object. We might even desire a state of peace or tranquility, but these states are still temporary and still objects of desire. In response, Klein poses the question: don’t we really want to be without longing or striving—to exist in desirelessness?

 Achieving our desire, be it a new car or a calm state, brings a moment of respite. It is a moment of relaxation and satiation mirroring openness and Presence. However, it doesn’t last; something else glitters and attracts our attention. Klein suggests that we make note of these brief respites as a way of witnessing our patterns.

The opposite of the ego cycle is nondirectional openness, where the mind and body are profoundly relaxed and free of grasping. This comes through understanding the cycle of desire, which stops the mind from its looping. Energy is dispersed, no longer focused on the desired object, and we find ourselves in openness and spaciousness.

Is this attention the same as mindfulness? No, since mindfulness is mindful of an object or environment. Pure consciousness has no object and is free from intention. Attention is free from direction and location; it is open and welcoming.

Thought

In its proper place, thought is a tool to be used and put away when done. Our essence is Silence, and what arises from Silence is real. Whatever surfaces from everyday thought is ego-based. This stream of words and images combines comparison, judgment, habitual reactions, and memory. It is defensive, defending the ego, and aggressive. “The mind is incessantly looking not only for food for thought; it is looking for food for its identity, its sense of self” (Tolle, 27).

Thought arises from memory, and memory creates our understanding of time. Yet in actuality, a memory is not in the past. The memory is happening now as we think or experience it. Reactions are automatic, based on similarities from the past. We are built from habits; thus we rarely experience present time.

One theory of aging says that we stop truly experiencing the moment and only recall our conclusions or judgments of a similar time or experience. For example, we mindlessly eat a food we “know” we like without really tasting it. Our thoughts are rarely grounded in current perception—they’re grounded in habit.

Thought is mainly about judgment, what Klein calls qualification. It begins with naming and instantaneously moves to evaluation. We like or don’t like. We criticize or praise. We compare and compete. What is left without analysis, judgment, ego-boosting comparisons, or criticism? William James, the early American psychologist and philosopher, coined the term “stream of consciousness” to describe how we link our behavior patterns to form our sense of self. Removing judgment, comparisons, competition, and criticism leaves little in the stream! “When you are free from thinking, you find the seed of love” (Klein, Book of Listening, 251).

Klein avoids techniques. Instead, he speaks of self-inquiry and understandings or insights that cause the mind to halt its production. As we observe our reactions, we see how the mind jumps from sensation to naming, then to judgments, comparisons, and criticisms. Evaluations are frequent and often consistent – I like this, I don’t like this; that’s better or worse; that is right or wrong; they should have or not have. Some of these thoughts are overt, but many are subtle, especially those about one’s own behavior. In observing what we are not—the thinking, the contractions, and the judgment—we remove the false coverings of the mind.

The witness is an intermediary that assists in dissolving habits. I have found that when I observe the mind in its judgment, I can say, “Not this.” If I start to judge myself for judging, it is “not this.” If I begin to resist because the appeal for judging is strong, it is “not this.” The mind eventually fatigues, and attention becomes more spacious.

Many meditation techniques aim to quiet the mind through focus or concentration. For Klein, this is neither meditation nor enlightenment. Meditation is being in Presence or silence, not practicing and creating an object of meditation states. In one conversation, he explains that “when we find out that the meditator, the one who looks for God, for beauty, for peace, is only a product of the brain that there is nothing to find, there is a giving up. What remains is a current of silence. You can never come to this silence through practice, through achievement. Enlightenment—being understanding—is instantaneous” (Bodian, 4).

The Yoga Sutras tell us that the purpose of yoga is the stilling of the fluctuations of the mind. Is this the same as stopping the mind? I think not. Klein might note that we are already back in the ego when we set a goal to stop the thought stream. The direct approach is not progressive; there is no hierarchy or ladder to climb. When we are in silence, the mind-body structure will think and then return to silence. When we are in ego, stopping the mind is like building a dam; when meditation stops, the thoughts come rushing back. Haven’t most of us had the experience of a deep meditation where the experience of peace fades five minutes after the bell rings?

Psychology has several techniques for effectively clearing intrusive thoughts, and these bring a modicum of peace. Yet the mind is always looking for the next shiny object, and if we are still patterned in thought and action, the silence is momentary. I have found that, psychologically, letting go is positive and valuable but insufficient.

Thoughts impact the body. When we think, there is some subtle reaction or contraction in the body. Deep relaxation assists in dissolving automatic responses. Klein suggests that we can even learn to relax the brain. Thinking primarily stems from the front of the brain, the frontal lobes. Moving thoughts to the back of the head changes and drastically reduces their production. What happens when you experiment with relaxing the face, scalp, and head and allow thoughts to move to the back of the mind?

Bodywork

Klein taught a subtle bodywork process based on Kashmiri yoga, emphasizing the sensations and feelings in the body without naming or evaluating them. The awakening of subtle energies purifies the body. This process reveals the tensions and holdings— the mind-body structure of personality.  

The contractions and patterns of our body-mind complex give us little access to the pure sensations of the body. In subtle ways, our body memory reminds us of our lacks, hurts, and wants. As a yoga teacher, I find that beginning students often have simple scales of sensation: this is bad, this feels good. Discovering the connections and patterns and learning to release these energies can result in subtle exploration, deep relaxation, and insight.

The body is a warehouse of memories, tensions, and contractions. If you relax your body and then think of a minor negative interaction, do you feel a contraction somewhere in your body? Klein says that we have to know the body—understand these contractions—before we can understand who we are not. “One could say that the I-image is a contraction of the body. Feeling the expansion of your body in space eliminates the hold of the I” (Klein, Invitation to Silence, 5).

Try this experiment: Notice a part of you that hurts or aches. Notice a part that feels good or neutral. Focus on that sensation—the feeling of health or neutrality—and transfer that sensation to the part of you that hurts. I recently broke my wrist, and when I read this suggestion, I immediately transferred the sensation of the left arm (neutral, alive) to the sensation of the right (achy and stiff). Try your own version!

Endgaming

Endgaming encompasses mental movements toward a goal or desire. Psychologically, this might include overt goals such as “I want a new job,” yet even something as complex as a new job can have layers of desire. I want a new job to feed my family, gain status, or avoid a bad boss. The layers of what we want or don’t want, and our approaches to quenching the desire, result in a labyrinth of thoughts and behaviors. I may want a new car, but that car is often more than transportation. It involves how I feel about my worth, safety, and self-worth. “Searching and wanting to achieve something are the fuel for the entity you believe yourself to be” (Klein, Invitation to Silence, 14).

Endgaming takes up much of our mental activity. When I think about what I wear, I hope (endgame) for a particular response from others. In a way, I’m trying to influence other people’s reactions or responses, build self-image, or avoid negative judgment—all of that in just picking the shirt to wear! We endgame in relationships, direct or manipulate conversation, and position ourselves to be noticed or avoided—the list is endless.

Psychologically, these convoluted and unconscious paths of thought and behavior are old patterns and habits. We long for attention, safety, and love and have found strategies to help us achieve those goals. Klein often asks, “Who wants this? Who is bored? Who is scared?”

Spiritual search itself can be a form of endgaming. We believe if we do enough, learn enough, and achieve enough, we will earn our freedom. This strikes me as one of my own deeply embedded beliefs. Yet it is still all about ego and mind, and is still psychology, not freedom.

Personal Impact

Things have changed over the two years of reading Klein’s work daily. I have sensed peace and openness in my daily life, and I’m amused by my own reactivity. Really, who is that person who just said or did that? As a planner by inclination, I have observed the layers of endgaming that accompany even small actions. In noticing, it is easier to detach, and I find a sense of spaciousness and love. There is more just being here.

Sources

Bodian, Stephan. “Be Who You Are: An Interview with Jean Klein”: www.stephanbodian.org, 2020.

Klein, Jean. The Book of Listening. Salisbury, U.K.: Non-Duality Press, 2008.

———. Invitation to Silence. Salisbury, U.K.: New Sarum Press, 2023.

———. Living Truth. Oakland, Calif.: Non-Duality Press, 1995.

———. Open to the Unknown: Dialogues in Delphi. Salisbury, U.K.: New Sarum Press, 2020.

———. Transmission of the Flame. Salisbury, U.K.: New Sarum Press, 1990.

———. Who Am I? The Sacred Quest. Longmead, U.K.: Element, 1988.

Tolle, Eckhart. Stillness Speaks. Mumbai, India: Yogi Impressions, 2003.

Judith Sugg, PhD, is a counselor, psychology instructor, and yoga teacher. Her graduate work was in the psychology of yoga and the Samkhya, and she wrote the Study Guide for the Yoga Sutras for the Theosophical Society.