Quest Magazine

Printed in the  Summer 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 

Composting Our Karma: Turning Confusion into Lessons for Awakening Our Innate Wisdom
Barbara Rhodes
Edited By Elizabeth S.R. Goldstein
Boulder, Colo.: Shambhala, 2024. 163 pp., paper, $19.95.

Barbara Rhodes (Zen master Soeng Hyang, fondly known as Bobby) offers the Korean Zen teaching of “Don’t-Know mind” as a medicine for what her teacher, Zen master Seung Sahn, used to call “thinking sickness.”

Seung Sahn was Bobby’s first and only Zen teacher, and Bobby’s book illuminates his teachings throughout. When I first met Seung Sahn (also known as Soen-Sa-Nim), Bobby was sitting next to him, so we go back more than forty years. This book is my wish coming true: capturing Dharma as taught by Bobby.

Bobby urges her students to ask the great question: What am I? Is there an answer to that? It is not a question one needs to answer but rather one that dissolves the questioner, who then merges into a state of not knowing or “don’t know.” Bobby calls this process as hitting the “reset button” to truly look at what appears moment to moment (also called the “primary point”). It is like a weighing scale that must return to zero when we step off. If it doesn’t, it means we must practice harder. We have work to do.

I love the title’s metaphor of composting. Different Zen masters have used it in their own unique way. Suzuki Roshi talked about cutting weeds and using them as mulch. Bobby gives a wonderful explanation of composting: “Composting your karma means to take the residual, undigested events and habits and digest them. Just as a compost pile needs tending, so does our karma. Rather than feeling hindered by our karma, we can attend to it. The product in our healthy garden compost is humus, the living part of the soil. The product of our composted, digested karma is learned lessons.” If we truly understand this, we will develop a new relationship with our karma rather than holding it or even adding new layers to it.

There is a Zen saying: “Why do you go around pulling that corpse?” Bobby explains: “The corpse we are carrying around in that Zen saying is the unfinished process of the compost pile. It is lumpy, multicolored, smelly, and not yet so helpful. Our [Zen] practice can help us to let go of the egoistic corpse.”

What starts this composting? Don’t-Know mind. We wipe the dust of the mirror before we look to find our true selves. There are three parts in the book: “What Is Don’t-Know Mind?” “Cultivating the Use of Don’t-Know Mind” and “Applying Don’t-Know [AU: Should this be “Don’t-Know Mind” to Life’s Vital Challenges.”

Bobby teaches a practice that uses kong-ans (aka koans), which are questions that make us confront the logical mind. One is “What am I?” Another is “What is this?” In Buddhist teachings, these are called “great questions.” We ask them with an open mind and receive with open arms.

In part 2, “Cultivating the Use of Don’t-Know Mind,” Bobby shares her experiences in her various solitary retreats and the importance of giving 100 percent effort. Those of us who have done solitary retreats can relate to this part.

Bobby is candid with her failings and struggles. She says, “I’ve often felt frustrated with my own practice, questioning how much I’m able to affect others’ lives or the quality of my own. It’s easy to start looking at what’s happening with practice and its relationship with our friends, family, and the world. Just as tuning a guitar string too tight and it will snap, too loose and it will be off tune. We need to inspire ourselves and support each other.”

In part 3, Bobby talks about applying Don’t-Know mind in day-to-day life. In her work as a nurse, she worked with many sick and dying people. What greater teacher is there than death? Bobby’s book is filled with her own personal experiences, which she generously shares. Her compassion in her life as a hospice nurse shines throughout the book.

Buddha said, “Life is suffering.” Our practice not only makes us understand that but also invokes Great Love, Great Sadness, and Great Compassion. A Zen master who was about to take his last breath suddenly smiled and asked, “What was all the fuss?” When we are grounded in understanding, there is no fuss.

Bobby ends with her favorite poem, written by Zen Master Wu Men:

Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn
A cool breeze in summer, snow in winter
If your mind isn’t clouded by unnecessary things,
This is the best season of your life.

I have read that a litmus test for a great work is that the person who takes up reading it and the person who finishes reading it are two different people. Why? Because reading the work has changed him! Bobby’s book aces that test.

Dhananjay Joshi

Dhananjay Joshi is a professor of statistics and has studied Hindu, Zen, and vipassana meditation for forty years. His book No Effort Required; No! Effort Required contains anecdotes from his years of spiritual study.

Printed in the  Summer 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 

Age like a Yogi: A Heavenly Path to a Dazzling Third Act
Victoria Moran
Rhinebeck, N.Y.: Monkfish, 2024. 206 pp., paper, $19.99.

We all face the challenges of aging and coping with local and world problems. Victoria Moran’s book is an inspiration and guidebook, almost a textbook, to assist with these challenges, not only for those who are older, but for those of any age.

Nevertheless, Moran focuses on guidance for the elder years. Her book is written for maintenance of health and prevention of many health challenges in later life. She states, “The first step is to appreciate your body as it is this minute and trust in the God-given ability to add more fitness, grace, and elegance at any age.” She goes on to say that the body is a gift to care for, and it was engineered to move. Yoga builds strength and supports the health of every part of the body. It can also heal the emotions and the spirit.

The foreword by Sharon Gannon defines the Sanskrit word bhava—a yogic term—as the ultimate good mood: a state of mind free of anxiety and other negative emotions. Chapter by chapter, Moran maps out the ways to achieve this state of mind. She begins by describing a time in her early twenties when she worked at the Theosophical Society of America in Wheaton. She was greatly impressed by Iris, a septuagenarian Theosophist who exuded positivity, a joyful glow, and much more that would reflect the state of bhava. Moran describes this time as instrumental in leading her to yoga, which became her foundational practice for life. In this book, she shares the wisdom she gained throughout the years as her practice of yoga unfolded.

Moran interweaves threads of ayurvedic healing practices with the healing ways of yoga. Chapter 11 explains the physical, emotional, and spiritual benefits of the ayurvedic use of spices and herbs. An example is the three C’s: cardamom, coriander, and cumin, along with saffron, which are taken to help one’s memory.

Chapters 8‒10 map out the benefits of eating foods that nourishes one’s dosha. That leads to an excellent discussion of the three fundamental bodily types, called doshas, and why it is important to learn about them.  Moran describes the qualities of the doshas—kapha, pitta, and vata—encouraging each individual to explore which qualities fit them. She notes the importance of staying close to our original dosha makeup as possible.

Moran describes yogic practices that support the journey to spiritual enlightenment. She notes that each life phase can bring the ability to find one’s inner light, even God, through yoga practices. Her description of the four stages of life—called ashramas—in Hindu culture is in a language understandable to the layperson.

Chapters 16 and 17 are two of my favorites, discussing ojas, which refers to vigor, the fluid of life, the vital sap: “Signs of ojas include clear, sparkling eyes, a radiant complexion, disease resistance, a pleasant body smell, and bound-out-of-bed energy in the morning.” (Moran remembers Iris as having this glow factor.) It is about living well, feeling confident, and radiating contentment that others can discern. She goes on to say that ojas is necessary for strong immunity, good humor, even spiritual fortitude. To nourish one’s ojas, Moran encourages eating “all-star fresh fruits” such as ripe bananas, figs, mangos, and citrus, plus sweet potatoes.

Ojas also embraces happy thoughts. Noting that we witness images of suffering around the globe every day, Moran urges, “We must set protective boundaries for ourselves and safeguard our mental health while at the same time acknowledging that there is a level at which other’s suffering is ours too, because we are connected.” Her instructions include living a clear life, calming the fluctuations of the mind as the goal of yoga.

In addition, Moran encourages smiling because it involves muscles that lift the lower face, making one look younger. What is more important, according to her, is that smiling releases a slew of feel-good hormones that bolster both mood and immunity.

Moran also gives a view of the gunas, the three fundamental elements according to the Hindu Samkhya philosophy (not to be confused with the doshas). Each of them is necessary for life on earth, but healing and spiritual growth are described as sattvic: “Art, music, poetry, drama—creativity of all kinds, as well as the appreciation of other’s creativity—are divine in origin and sattvic in nature. So are kindness and charity, the way we bring heaven to earth.”

One way to increase the sattvic element in your body is to eat sattvic foods: those that are fresh, come from a nonviolent source, and are prepared with kindness.

Moran would like to see the end of ageism, stressing that no matter how old we get, we will always be ourselves. This means we’ll always be whole, valid, and worthy of respect.

Moran also encourages individuals to elevate themselves in order to change the world: “Smile and mean it. Make tea. Make conversation, Sweep up. Open a window. Play some music. Listen to someone. Scratch the cat’s ears. Rub the dog’s tummy. Want to change the world? You just did!”

Marilyn Johnston-Svoboda

Marilyn Johnston-Svoboda is a retired professor of nursing and Qualified Therapeutic Touch Teacher.

Printed in the  Summer 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard, "From the Editors Desk"   Quest 113:3, pg 2

These are times of great anxiety—“men’s hearts failing them for fear.” Even the slightest glimpse at the international press will show that these fears are by no means limited to the United States.

Those with some Theosophical training may wonder how to respond to the general malaise.

Everyone knows what the problem is. It’s them. They’re no good. They make this world lousy. The earth would be a wonderful place if not for them. Everybody agrees on these points, although there is some controversy about just exactly who constitutes this them.

This attitude, so far from solving anything, may be the ultimate source of the present difficulties.

We can look to the esoteric tradition to free ourselves from this impasse. For me, the most useful ideas in this context come from the classic Kybalion.

The Kybalion is a mysterious book. First published in 1908, it has remained popular ever since. The authors claim to be “Three Adepts,” although it was certainly written by the American esotericist William Walker Atkinson (1862‒1932; for more on this issue, see The Kybalion: The Centenary Edition, with my introduction).

By its own testimony, the present book is not really The Kybalion, which we are told, is “a compilation of certain Basic Hermetic Doctrines, passed from teacher to students.” It is “a collection of maxims, axioms, and precepts, which were non-understandable to outsiders.” The book we know as The Kybalion merely quotes and explicates some of these maxims.

The ideas most relevant here are, first, “the Principle of Polarity,” which “embodies the truth that all manifested things have ‘two sides’; ‘two aspects’; ‘two poles.’” The most obvious example is the magnet, with its north-south polarity.

There is also “the Principle of Rhythm,” which “embodies the truth that in everything there is manifested a measured emotion; a to-and-from movement; a flow and inflow; a swing forward and backward; a pendulum-like movement; an ebb and flow . . . Rhythm manifests between the two poles established by the Principle of Polarity.”

History shows countless examples of this polarity. Take Russia. At the beginning of the twentieth century, the tsarist state was the cruelest and most repressive in all of Europe. The debacle of the First World War led to the overthrow of the tsar, followed by a period of anarchy and civil war. Out of this emerged the Soviet revolutionary superstate, which was even more repressive than the tsars.

Seventy years after its establishment, the Soviet order crumbled as a result of its own inner contradictions, to be replaced by a republic accompanied by a decade of social and economic disorder.

Out of this melee emerged Vladimir Putin as autocrat, who to all appearances is trying to recreate the old tsarist-Soviet empire with his invasion of Ukraine. Russian history is a back-and-forth between tyranny and anarchy.

I could draw a picture of similar polarities and reversals in the history of the United States, right up to the present. But I suspect it would be too inflammatory to discuss current events here.

The temptation to leap onto this seesaw at one end or the other is almost irresistible, no matter which end you jump on.

The Kybalion addresses this problem. It says that there are “two general planes of Consciousness, the Lower and the Higher.” Understanding this fact, we are told, enabled the old adepts “to rise to the higher plane and thus escape the swing of the Rhythmic pendulum which manifested on the lower plane.”

The book calls this process “the Law of Neutralization. Its operations consist in the raising of the Ego above the vibrations of of the Unconscious Place of mental activity, so that the negative-swing of the pendulum is not manifested in consciousness . . . It is akin to rising above a thing and letting it pass beneath you.” (The term “Ego” is used here in the old sense of the higher Self.)

This can look like mere escapism: after all, one feels the need to do something. But it is extremely difficult to act in such situations without jumping on one end of the pendulum, in which case you become part of the problem. Action may well be warranted, but if it is not illumined and motivated by a higher perspective, it has every chance of ending up as futile or harmful.

In this issue’s interview, Carol Orsborn says, “I think you need to know where you stand. You need to know what your values are, and you need to know when you’re up against values that you find abhorrent . . . Now that said, I believe very much in people listening to their own heart in terms of their callings. Are you called to be a protester? Are you called to write books? Are you called to go to jail for your principles?”

I agree—with one difference. Orsborn says you need to listen to your heart, but I would add that it is also necessary to listen to your head and your gut. All three are essential components of human intelligence, and all of them must be consulted in any matter of importance.

That’s the trick. The only aspect of yourself that is connected to all three of these entities is your higher Self. If it can listen to—and integrate—the insights of heart, head, and guts, it may lead to insights about the action (or inaction) that is right for you. This process also strengthens the connection of the conscious self with the higher Self.

These may be the times we have been training for.

Richard Smoley

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.