Quest Magazine

Printed in the Spring 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard. "From the Editor's Desk" Quest  101. 2 (Spring 2013): pg. 42.

In many areas of human endeavor, our range of knowl­edge is immensely greater than it was a century ago. In one area, however, the only thing we have really learned is the depth of our ignorance.

I'm referring to homosexuality, both male and female (and its close relatives, bisexuality and transgen­derism). For most of Western history, educated opinion knew, or thought it knew, what these were: they were vices pure and simple. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the newborn discipline of psychol­ogy came to see homosexuality less as a vice and more as a mental disorder (caused by a smothering mother, a distant or absent father, or some such influence). But in the late twentieth century, psychologists and psychia­trists acknowledged that homosexuality was not a dis­order, but a natural variation that appears in humans and many animals. It is caused, we are told, by some combination of genetic, hormonal, and environmental factors—which is to say that the experts have no idea of why it exists at all.

If homosexuality is unnatural, then why has it per­sisted so long, often in the face of vicious persecution? But if it is natural, what purpose does it serve in nature? On the face of it, the very existence of homosexuality presents a serious challenge to the Darwinian theory of sexual selection, which, Darwin wrote, "depends, not on a struggle for existence, but on a struggle between the males for possession of the females; the result is not death to the unsuccessful competitor, but few or no offspring." What could possibly be more disadvanta­geous to reproductive survival than desire for the same sex? And yet homosexuality, permitted or persecuted, admired or denigrated, has always endured.

For the most part the esoteric traditions have regarded homosexuality as an aberration, as exempli­fied by the twentieth-century spiritual teacher G.I. Gurdjieff, who once said, "Only a person who is com­pletely normal as regards sex has any chance in the [esoteric] work. Any kind of 'originality,' strange tastes, strange desires . . . must be destroyed from the very beginning." And yet Gurdjieff spent much of the 1930s working with a group of women, nicknamed "The Rope," that consisted mostly of lesbians. For all the condemnation, explicit and implicit, it's safe to say that homosexuality has always been present among esoteri­cists, just as it has been in mainstream society.

I won't devote this page to arguing for acceptance of LGBTs. (This is the common acronym used to desig­nate lesbians, gays, bisexuals, and transgendered peo­ple.) That has been done eloquently and movingly by the articles by Jimmy Creech and David Christensen in this issue. But I think it's worth devoting a bit of attention to a possible esoteric explanation for this mysteri­ous phenomenon.

The classic Theosophical literature has few if any references to homosexuality or its kin; rather it tends to extol brahmacharya or celibacy as the royal road to spiritual adepthood. Thus we have to go further afield for some esoteric explanation for homosexuality.

There would seem to be no fact more obvious than that in humans there are two sexes. And yet esoteric thought in its many forms teaches that there are three primordial forces that give rise to existence. They have been given various names. The Christians speak of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The Kabbalists of Judaism speak of the three letters present in the Tetra­grammaton—yod, heh, and waw. The Chinese sacred ternary is heaven, earth, and man. And in Hindu phi­losophy there are the three guns or principles—rajas, tames, and sattva. Gurdjieff's terms for them are prob­ably the most transparent: "Holy Affirming" "Holy Denying," and "Holy Reconciling."

As above, so below'—this is probably the most commonly quoted dictum in esotericism. And yet here we seem to have a very palpable discrepancy between what is above—in the world of primordial forces—and what is below, as manifested in human biology. It leads me to ask, could the presence of a number of people who do not fit into the standard roles of masculine and feminine embody this missing third, "reconciling" prin­ciple in humanity?

To return to Gurdjieff yet again, in his convoluted allegory Beelzebub's Tales to His Grandson he tells of a planet somewhere in the universe where beings repro­duce by way of three sexes, and whose offspring are, as he puts it, "ideal in our Megalocosmos." While his explanations of this process are far too intricate to describe here, they do hint that some embodiment of the third force is possible and perhaps even desirable in the sexes of living beings.

All of what I have been saying here is, of course, wildly speculative. But we are left with one inelucta­ble truth. Sex has to do with far more than reproduc­tion. It may even have to do with more than expressing love—however noble and beautiful that may be in its own right. The varieties of human sexual expres­sion are virtually infinite, and I think we should not be too quick to judge them. What to one person seems degraded or revolting is to another a source of ecstasy. In the end we do not really know why. This all suggests that the subject of sex, and its relation to love, should be approached with humility, open-mindedness, and an intense reluctance to condemn.

Richard Smoley

Printed in the Spring 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Boyd, Tim. "Less is More" Quest  101. 2 (Spring 2013): pg. 48 - 49.

By Tim Boyd
National President

The other day, while visiting with my mother in New York City, I found myself following one of my habits. When traveling, if I have some spare time, I invariably end up at some comfortable coffee shop. When weather permits, I will sit outside, but if not, I sit by the window, people-watching. So many stories pass by written in the walk, or the set of the jaw, or the eyes of the people passing by. On most occasions, even in bustling New York, I will end up engaged in conver­sation with some stranger. On this particular afternoon I was noticing the flow of people walking by in gym shoes and loose-fitting casual clothing and carrying yoga mats under their arms or slung across their backs. They were mostly women in their late twenties to mid-thirties headed for a neighborhood yoga studio. I found myself musing on the explosive growth of "yoga" in the U.S. and the variety of things that word has come to mean.

Recently our yoga teacher here at Olcott was lamenting a new trend she had just heard about"competitive yoga." Like meditation, Tarot, vegetarianism, and other practices, yoga has become yet another form of exercise aimed at self-improvement—one more thing added to our bag of tricks of feel-good techniques. There is little point bemoaning the almost inevitable reduction to a lowest common denominator that has befallen these ancient practices. In our times people need help coping with stress, improving their health, and finding some sense of balance in a distinctly unbalanced world. So profound systems of thought find themselves reduced to what is of most immediate use. It is, however, a little sad that truly deep teachings, charged with genuine transformative potential, go unrecognized in favor of muscle relaxation and stress relief. 

At the very beginning of the classic Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, yoga is defined. In Sanskrit it is "yoga chitta vritti nirodha": "yoga is the cessation of the modifica­tions of the mind" or "the stilling of the movement of thought." Clearly there is something deep here, but how can we unlock it? One meditative approach that occurs to me is rooted in the yoga tradition itself. Though prominent in Indian spiritual practice, it is characteristic of any valid approach to the inner life. In Indian spirituality the concept is expressed as neti, neti, which means "not this, not this." This simple expres­sion describes a process and a tool we can use.

The idea behind it is this: from the moment of birth until the end of our lives we are engaged in a process of self-identification, of defining who we are. The greatest portion of this process takes place beneath the level of our conscious awareness. For example, all spiritual tra­ditions concur with our own deepest intuition that the essence of who we are does not come into being with birth and does not end after death. Some call it the soul, the Self, the I Am—whatever name appeals to us. It is that essential, abiding core of our being which at birth takes on a body and spends the rest of that life trying to make itself known to us.

The process goes something like this: at birth the soul, which has associated itself with a body, enters fully into this world. Prior to linking itself with this body it has no gender. It is neither a male or female soul. The first thing that happens at birth is that the doctor declares, "It's a boy (or girl)." From that moment on, the surrounding world regards this previously gender-free soul as male or female and requires the child to behave accordingly. The newborn gets a name, and before long responds to it when called. A host of other things are also impressed on this new arrival. It gets a family name, complete with traditions and expec­tations. It gets a nationality, a religion, culture, and so on. In a short time, having repeatedly heard, "You are American. Your name is . . . You are Christian/Muslim/ Hindu," we find ourselves saying, "I am American. My name is .. ." The process of identification is complete. 

We believe that these labels are who we are. More than that, we will fight not just to maintain them, but to enlarge our sense of self—continually trying to add new layers of identity It is not good enough to be just a man or woman with a variety of culturally imposed labels. Our efforts soon turn to becoming something more—famous, wealthy, important, well-liked, thin, good-looking, and on and on. The soul, which is at the core of this creation, becomes so encrusted, so covered over with layer after layer of self-generated identity, that its presence and influence in our lives become faint. It becomes the "still small voice" which is continually drowned out by the loud shoutings of the ego.

Fortunately, the subtle presence of the soul has its ways of making itself known to us. Either by crises for which the ego has no answers, or by a gnawing sense of discontent, or in moments of sudden illumination, or in countless other ways, we become aware that something is missing and we begin the search. This is where this whole idea of neti, neti comes in. What it involves is "reversing the flow" Up to this point the arithmetic of our lives has been addition—adding more things (pos­sessions, titles, relationships), more layers of identity. With the realization of the presence and value of the soul, the arithmetic of spirit switches to subtraction—the systematic peeling away of layer after layer of the false self we have labored so intensely to develop. At this point the tool of meditative self-examination is unequaled. At this crucial time the most valuable ques­tion for us is not only "Who am I?", but "Who or what am I not?" Am I an American? Not this. Am I a Chris­tian/Jew/Hindu/Muslim? Not this. Am I a male/female? Not this, and so on. Neti, neti is the response as we peel away one layer after another—often a distinctly uncom­fortable process.

In this connection I offer a simple meditative exer­cise that many have found of value. Though simple, it can be broadly elaborated. 

Beginning by relaxing the body and focusing on the breath, place your attention on the physical body. Become aware of the body, its sense of space, weight, shape. Considering the fact that it is possible for some­thing deeper within you to control and direct the body, say to yourself,

I am not this body.

After sitting with your attention on the body for a while, become aware of the variety of sensations felt in the body—the coolness of air on your skin, the pres­sure of the seat on your legs and back, the sounds in the room, the smells, the changing lights that you see even with eyes closed, the tastes in your mouth. This analysis of sensations can become quite subtle. You can pay attention to the energetic currents within the body, the pulsing of the blood, the subtle rhythms of the breath. Recognizing that all these sensations come under the observation of some deeper level of the self; you acknowledge:

I am not these sensations.

Moving on to the emotions and desires, become aware of their surging movement. Call some emotion­ally charged situation to mind and observe the power­ful coursing of emotions. See how their strong energies affect the body and the thoughts. Call to mind that at will you can quiet or enhance them. Then recognize:

I am not the emotions or the desires associated with them.

Now take a look at the contents of the mind—the thoughts. Watch as they arise, and, focusing on the breath, watch as they subside. As with the emotions and sensations, just watch. Don't resist them or strengthen them. Don't engage them at all. Just observe. When approached without attachment, the experience is like watching clouds go by in the sky: each one has an inter­esting shape and size, but it is just a cloud. More impor­tantly, with this exercise you begin to become aware of the spaces between thoughts. You become aware of the sky within which these clouds come and go—the mind. Say to yourself:

I am not these thoughts that come and go.

And finally, the mind itself, which is like a giant screen onto which the various levels of perception are projected. It is the medium which modifies itself to produce the varying perceptions of sensation, emotion, and thought. Watch it, seeing that though it contains all of these perceptions, it is not these things. And become aware that as with the others, because some deeper level of self can watch and observe it, it also is not you. Say:

I am not the mind.

All of this need not be done in one sitting. You could take a week and focus only on the sensations, or on any other aspect. Ultimately the whole business of declar­ing "I am not . . ." becomes unnecessary. Initially, how­ever, it is worthwhile because it helps to develop and stabilize a new awareness — the awareness of a deeper level of being which silently beholds the progressively superficial layers of "self." 

This meditation comes to mind because if it is given proper attention, we can see for ourselves what is meant by "the modifications of the mind" and how all-pervad­ing they are. It brings home a sense of the lofty heights to which the Yoga Sutras aspire, and also reminds us that the goal of yoga is attainable, here and now.

Printed in the Spring 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Boyd, Tim. "Presidents Diary" Quest  101. 2 (Spring 2013): pg. 74 -75.

It is always difficult when good people leave us at Olcott. At the end of September longtime volunteer and all-around good guy Bill Vollrath and his wife moved to Virginia. Bill is a man with a big voice who manned the information desk one day each week. I could always count on a lively conversation and some down-to-earth common sense. He is missed.

October was a travel month, this time to Mexico. A year ago the president of the Mexican section, Lissette Arroyo, had gotten in touch to see if I would be the presenter for their three-day Escuela de la Sabiduria ("School of the Wisdom"). In keeping with my habit, I said yes. This meeting is the equivalent of our Summer National Convention. Members from all around the country get together, they have a board of direc­tors meeting before the school starts—the whole nine yards. The location for the get-together was in the small city of Cholula in an archaeological district. Our hotel and meeting room were within walking distance of one of the largest pyramid structures in the world and were surrounded by no less than four volcanoes—one still active. The area, which is in the state of Puebla and adjoins the city of that same name, is known for more than archaeology. It is regarded as the most reli­gious state in Mexico. So all around us were Catholic churches, some of them exquisite. It is also famous for a particular style of ceramic—Talavera. Many of the church domes, interiors, and exteriors are ornamented in 400- and 500-year old tile. Because there are so many churches, each with its own patron saint, every day some local church was celebrating its patron. That part was OK. Unfortunately, however, one of the features of the celebration was that at random times through­out the day they would fire a cannon. The first time I became aware of it was at 4 a.m. on our first night. Talk about a rude awakening! 

The town of Cholua, Mexico. Popocatepeti volcano is in background.

The conference was flawless. The local members from the Puebla branch had made the arrangements along with Lissette. Two of the members were former citizens of Switzerland who had been living in Mexico for more than three decades. It turns out that the largest Volkswagen plant outside of Germany is in Cholula. One of the members, Maria Mengelt, worked there as a translator. She arranged for two translators to come to the meeting and do simultaneous translation for my sessions. It was wonderful. All of the participants were equipped with earphones. I did not have to have a break in my thinking or speaking. (As much as I had been looking forward to making the trip, the thought of speaking, then waiting for someone to repeat my words, then picking up the speech again seemed a little cumbersome.) One of the translators, Guillermo, regu­larly works with former vice-president Al Gore when he is in Mexico. So I could be confident that any politi­cal or ecological references would be precise. Actually, Guillermo commented on how much he enjoyed this particular translation work. It was new to him. On our last day he invited his wife, who participated in the closing talks and discussions.

There was a social dimension to the meeting. On Saturday night a number of us gathered in a private room next to the hotel lounge for Turtulia— an eve­ning of music, song, poetry, and dance. One of the local members and his wife brought his guitar, sound sys­tem, and a number of percussion instruments. We sang songs, told stories, played music, sang karaoke, and danced Cumbia into the night. It reminded me of the philosopher Nietzsche's remark, "We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once," and the equally profound words of James Brown, "Any problem in the world can be solved by dancing." The body holds great wisdom—and dancing is fun. 

The month closed out with our Halloween lunch. Each year I am more impressed with the creativity of staff, volunteers, and the kids at the Prairie School in thinking up new costumes. Everything from Harry Pot­ter's Hagrid to Roaring Twenties haute couture, from ghoulish vampires to cops and firemen, was on display.

November found me in New York. As an ex-New Yorker I try to return on Thanksgiving to be with my family there. Lyn Trotman, our Eastern district direc­tor and president of the New York branch, is aware of this. So this year she contacted me to arrange for me to speak at their place. Their location is quite special. Right in the heart of midtown, on East 53rd Street, the lodge with its extensive library and the Quest Book­shop occupy two townhouses side by side. Every day people on lunch break from the surrounding businesses stop in to browse and talk. The center was made pos­sible by the generosity of John and Emily Sellon and has been home to various Theosophical luminaries throughout the years including Emily Scion, Dora Kunz, Ed Abdill, Michael Gomes, and Anna Lemkow.

The talk was well attended, and we had some won­derful homemade confections afterward. For me it was a chance to meet new friends and spend time with peo­ple I have known for years. We decided to make it an annual event.

November festivities at Olcott included trimming the Christmas tree, which gathered staff and volunteers in the lobby to decorate our big tree. Some of the staff (including me) made some tasty cookies and snacks, the kids from the Prairie School came by and sang a couple of songs, and the whole feeling of Christmas filled the place.

Also in November we celebrated Deepawali (also known as Diwali), the Indian festival of lights. My wife, Lily, and a crew of helpers put together a multiple-course Indian meal complete with samosas, mango lassi, and a variety of sweets. They also decorated Nich­olson Hall with candles, flowers, and the customary images of Lakshmi. Everyone who had anything Indian banging in their closet wore it, including the kids. It was a fun and quite colorful day 

Later in the month Paula Finnegan, Juliana Cesano, my wife Lily, and I attended a remarkable event in Chicago. It was called "Envisioning a World Transformed" and was organized by a group called Greenheart. Greenheart is the brainchild of Emanuel Kuntzehnan, a visionary man who for years has been working to create a network of conscious individuals dedicated to quickening the planetary unfoldment of consciousness. (Emanuel contributed the article "Healing the Karmic Field" to the Fall 2012 issue of Quest.) The event was billed as "a day-long event featuring Chicago change-makers making a positive difference in their local com­munities. Listen throughout the day as presenters share their story of their 'tipping point,' when and how they decided to take the first steps in creating change, and inspire and motivate others to do the same." The range of speakers involved was impressive and included visionaries in a number of fields—education for global citizenship, social services, intuitive counseling, green architecture and business, and me representing a Theo­sophical worldview. More than 200 people attended. There were also vendors from a variety of ecofriendly and socially responsible movements. It was an excel­lent reminder of the growing movement of people who are waking up and taking responsibility for the future of the planet. It was also an opportunity to create links with kindred spirits.

The year ended with me going to our Adyar international headquarters in Chennai, India. I attended the annual TS international convention. Our president, Radha Burnier, had asked me to address the conven­tion, so on December 28 I spoke about "Theosophy and the Crowding World." The convention was attended by almost 1200 members, which is about the normal number for recent years. Radha was in good form. At the opening of the convention she announced that it is time to find a successor for her. She will be ninety this November and has served as president for thirty years, longer than any president in the TS's 138-year history.

Tim Boyd

Printed in the Spring 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Finseth, Robyn Lawrence. "The Look of Love: A Theosophist's Vision" Quest  101. 2 (Spring 2013): pg. 68 - 71

By Robyn Lawrence Finseth 

Love is a spontaneous feeling experienced not intellectually but emotionally. It can most eas­ily be felt when seeing a child or animal—a feeling that simply takes over the person who is observing. It is a moment when all feels right with the world. Time no longer seems to exist, and the world feels as if it is moving in slow motion. 

As Theosophists, we accept and understand the reality of the aura. I was born with the gift of clairvoy­ant sight in a Theosophical family. I was guided in my youth by the naturopath Harry van Gelder; his sister, Dora Kunz, past president of the Theosophical Society in America; and my Theosophical family at the Port­land Lodge. It is from this gift of sight that I address the concept of love as it is represented in the aura or subtle body.

According to Webster's dictionary, love is the "strong affection for . . . or attachment to . . . or devo­tion to a person or persons." Psychologists define love as the mutual attraction between two people. This often develops in three phases: initial attraction followed by attachment and commitment. Psychologists also point out that love stimulates the release of certain chemicals in the brain, such as dopamine, which arouses pleasure and motivation. Dopamine in turn stimulates emotional reactions, which are governed by the part of the brain known as the amygdala, and hence dictates the color of the aura.

The best book on auras was written by Dora Kunz and is entitled The Personal Aura. This book contains many illustrations depicting the subtle bodies of the aura, attempting to give the unsighted person the con­cept of exactly what a variety of emotions look like.

Let's look first at the representation of the aura of a pregnant woman. This plate shows the color of a delicate pink both above and below the green band at the woman's center. This rep­resents both the love of her family and the love of the unborn child. Although this plate shows a woman who is seven months pregnant, even at an earlier stage the vibrational energy between mother and unborn child is quite similar. When I am looking at an actual pregnant woman, there is a distinct look of the child, seen as a large, whirling presence, a difficult look to create in a two-dimensional form. The colors of both mother and child complement each other. 

In actuality, these colors are cloudlike, ever moving, while always keeping a shape that remains in approxi­mation to the body mass. The pink in this image has a quality of protection between mother and child, creating a slightly darker tint. It is sometimes hard to describe the exact look, as it is the feel of the aura that is really the most significant part. A woman who has carried a child understands completely what I have just described. It is an exquisite feeling that cannot be duplicated. For most of us, our lives begin swaddled in love, caressed in the womb, wishing to be born. We enter this life into the loving arms of parents, grand­parents, and significant adults who want nothing more than to share in the glory of life. It is from this early childhood experience by which most of us understand the concept of love.

Love is an interesting emotion, as it has the ability to be greater than its source; it spreads from the aura like a blanket. Not all emotions spread like love. All emo­tions have a color, a feel, and a sense, but very few have the ability to go past their surroundings.

Another plate worth noting shows a painter. Notice the mixture of green with pink; the pink looks like a "V" intersecting her heart and head. This shows the individual's love, and the sheerness of the pink indicates that this is a love she can easily experience.

Pure love isn't just pink; there is also a purple haze throughout it. The feeling is of unconditional accep­tance of the universe and of life. The 1907 edition of C.W. Leadbeater's Man Visible and Invisible contains a plate on its frontispiece portraying the color associ­ated with each emotion. (Later editions of the book may not include this illustration.) Two of the tint blocks, "Unselfish Affection" and "Love for Humanity," show the pink and the purple I am talking about. Remem­ber these colors are like a cloud, present and yet ever changing. It is the feel of the pink that allows you to understand the connection you have with another per­son and/or the universe.

The love of objects is really not love at all but pos­sessiveness. Its color is a sharp ugly red—nothing pretty to look at or feel. It is often laced with either a coarse dark brown or black if the individual's desire is more sinister. This can also be seen in an abusive rela­tionship between people who are caught in the trap of need versus want. One member of the relationship needs the other member to want him or her. This need is not love but rather ownership, isolation, and greed. The color of this is not pink or purple, but rather a brownish red. Again, the frontispiece in Man Visible and Invisible shows these colors in the tint blocks entitled "Selfishness," "Avarice," and "Selfish Affection." This can also appear as an ugly red spot­ted brown, as in "Jealousy." The interesting thing about these auras is that the colors seem to permeate the whole being; possession, need, desire, and lust seem all to go together.

Lust should not be mistaken for love. The color associated with lust is a bright ruby red (rather like the color of a geranium), often seen as a wide slash or band running diagonally through the middle of the aura. This band tends to flash as the desire increases. The color of lust is bright, often melding with the object of the attrac­tion, and completely obliterating any other thoughts or desires. The color of anger (a deep red marbled with black) tends to encompass the entire aura. There is a hint of orange with the red, again with brown or black marbling throughout.

Loving nature often has the combination of pink with a tint of bluish purple. The color represents the love and appreciation of scenery as a whole or of plants individually. The nature spirits respond to this attention and use the plants' beauty to attract attention to them. When you are outside working with plants, the nature spirits tend to be more excited and work with you to achieve what is necessary if you are enthusiastic about what you are doing. Your random thoughts are really not so random. The plant itself radiates a stronger aura just from loving ministrations; it is the silent language of intent that is expressed. When you are working with nature in this way and you feel inclined to trim a limb or move a plant, it is the nature spirit in charge of the area that helps you make the necessary decisions. If, however, you are working outside as a chore, the nature spirits are not quite so accessible. The color of your aura will probably not be pink or green (the colors often associated with loving a task) but brown-red or even black if you are really unhappy about the chores. If you feel this way, my suggestion is to leave your garden and either hire someone to do the work or come out another day.

I can always tell the yard that is done for the sake of beauty rather than of love. There are still some nature spirits around the garden done for the sake of beauty, but they are more detached and understand that they cannot communicate with the person who is garden­ing; they appear more indifferent. By contrast, the yard filled with love is often weedier, overgrown, and strag­gly. Often these yards are filled with nature spirits and abound both with ground spirits or gnomes and air spirits or fairies. 

Walking the beach and enjoying the surf, especially when the beach is mostly clear of pollutants, is a form of love. As you admire the beauty, the water sprites that are closest to the shore send a spicule (for lack of a bet­ter word) to connect with your loving thoughts, It is interesting to walk the Oregon coast, where the sprites are quite easy to contact. There is an exchange between the people who are truly enjoying the sound and feel of the surf and those who are just ignoring it. As I look out on to the surf and send out a loving appreciation of the beauty, the sprites in turn send me a spicule. It is this magnificent connection that you can feel in your heart and lasts for just a moment, but they, too, are receiv­ing the benefit of your loving thoughts. The color is a shimmery gold-white. It is hard to describe this "shot" of energy, but the feeling is one of a loving connection.

Love in meditation is pure pink with purple mar­bling throughout. It is often achieved more easily in a group meditation than singly. The purpose behind such a meditation is to open oneself to the universe, allowing the love of the humanity to flow in and out of self. The devas involved in this process are often associated with the surroundings. For instance, whenever I have partic­ipated in a love meditation at the Theosophical Camp Indralaya on Orcas Island, Washington, it is the camp deva to which we direct the energy, who in turn directs the same energy to the surrounding devas and then blankets the area with the loving connection between all kingdoms. I remember Dora suggesting many times that you use the camp in meditation when you are home again, as it helps feed the camp's beauty; you are also connecting on an ethereal basis with those who are joining you. She also suggested to a group to repeat the phrase, "I am the light." Whenever I say these words, I feel the love and light behind the intent.

In conclusion, the true color of love is a pink that shimmers as if there is a sun behind it. When you are experiencing a true love connection, the color not only floods your aura, it spreads to the surrounding com­munity. The attraction of love is magnetic and encom­passes those around us, transcending time and space.

Sources

Amen, Daniel G. Change Your Brain, Change Your Body. New York: Three Rivers, 2010.

Kunz, Dora van Gelder. The Personal Aura. Illustrations by Juanita Donahoo. Wheaton: Quest, 1991.

Leadbeater, C.W Man Visible and Invisible: Examples of Different Types of Men as Seen by Means of Trained Clairvoyance. 2d. ed., revised. London: Theosophical Publishing Society, 1907.

ROBYN LAWRENCE FINSETH, M.S., D.C., is a practicing chiropractic physician in Oregon. She has lectured and taught at Camp Indralaya and at the TS's national headquarters in Wheaton. Her life focus has always been connected to healing.