Авесалом Подводный “Kabbalistic Astrology” Part 1 SUBTLE BODIES
Introduction
Not in vain striving to convince the reader with proofs, but in the author’s steadfast inner aspiration to find and explicitly express the unity of the world, dimly felt by him, this treatise is written. Each era, each epoch has its own physical models, as well as ideas about human psychology and the nature of the Divine, and even a superficial historical glance at the past centuries shows that the leading physical, psychological, and theological paradigms are intimately connected.
Sometimes it seems that each era is given one revelation, of a rather general nature, which is grasped by people most advanced in various fields, after which they interpret it in relation to specific issues that interest them.
Newtonian mechanics and Laplace’s determinism based on it, that is, the fundamental possibility of precisely predicting the position of all bodies in the Universe at any given moment, are well combined, on the one hand, with atheistic materialism, and on the other—with concepts of human development based on the improvement of state forms, in which the social individual is considered passive and a material point in Newtonian mechanics, obediently moving with acceleration imparted by the force acting on it. Newtonian physics did not need God—for the simple reason that the physicist, gazing like an eagle at the Universe all at once and entirely, and present simultaneously in all its places, acted in His role; otherwise, there is no way to introduce absolute time and space and write the equations of motion. This view corresponds to both early utopian-socialist and tyrannical-unitary ideas of state structure regulating human life from birth to death, from its physiology to thoughts and ritual practices.
Another characteristic and very beloved feature of Newtonian physics by physicists is the possibility of the existence of closed, that is, isolated from the rest of the world, systems that can therefore be studied by their own means. It is tacitly assumed that a physicist can take any part of “empty” space, populate it with bodies and particles of his choice and see what happens; moreover, calculating some of the simplest closed systems and conducting appropriate experiments constitutes an important part of physical science.
In the socio-state paradigm, these ideas correspond to the notion of the possibility for authority—behind sufficiently strong bars—to create those laws and realities that they consider most desirable and just. One fence encloses the state border, another—the windows of prisons are boarded up, and finally, barbed wire marks out the remaining territory into squares. And, of course, in such systems, the secret police play the most important role, unerringly monitoring the fulfillment of the karmic duties of the population, expressed in its unconditional submission to the will of the state—in physical models, this corresponds to the figure of the observer, that is, the experimenter armed with the finest apparatus, who monitors.
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An alternative to the particle is the concept of a wave, vibration, or oscillation. A wave is not localized in space, and its main characteristics are not coordinates, as in a particle, but frequency (number of oscillations per second) and amplitude (height of the crest). The difference between the corpuscular (that is, based on the concept of a particle) and wave approaches is well illustrated by the example of the symptomatology of diseases of the human physical body. Some diseases are better described in the corpuscular paradigm, since they are narrowly localized, and the main problem is to find the defective place or organ.
“What hurts you?”
“My finger.”
“Where?”
“Right here.”
“Ah, it’s a splinter. We’ll take it out now.”
If instead of a splinter a cancerous tumor is found, we act similarly. However, the symptoms of many other, apparently pathological conditions cannot be localized.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m shaking, I feel bad.”
Lethargy, weakness, low vitality, as well as fever, chills, and many other non-localized symptoms in a specific limb or organ are much more naturally described in the wave paradigm—it is clearly felt that the person’s bodily rhythms have somehow gotten out of sync, and the body is operating in an unusual and not very natural way, for example. However, in modern Western medicine, which has gone so far along the so-called corpuscular path of development, the wave or vibrational way of thinking is almost undeveloped—it is to this that so-called psychics are now trying to come, but speaking of serious scientific developments and the creation of a wave language approaching the detail of traditional medicine is not yet possible.
Things are even worse in describing social processes, whose global and “wave-like” nature has long since become obvious, judging by common metaphors such as “authority is in a fever” or “a wave of popular uprisings.” However, the corpuscular view remains dominant in the theoretical understanding by sociologists and political scientists; practical politicians, however, are increasingly inclined toward the wave paradigm, using expressions such as “balance of power in the region,” “stabilization,” etc.; though, as far as the author knows, few of them (if any) directly follow the instructions of Lao Tzu, set forth in his incomparable Tao Te Ching.
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Obviously, the concept of oscillation (or rhythm) is as fundamental as the concept of a point (a specific place), and therefore it is difficult to give a decisive preference to one of the two approaches—wave or corpuscular—and both must exist in the sphere of cognition as ways of perceiving and methods of modeling the external world, as dense. However, on the path to synthesizing these approaches, very peculiar difficulties arise, which, in the author’s opinion, are fundamentally insurmountable. A hint of this situation in theoretical physics is embodied in the form of the uncertainty principle: having learned the particle’s coordinate with high accuracy, we cannot expect to determine its velocity with the same accuracy; the product of the measurement errors of these quantities always exceeds an absolute constant.
In the general theory of systems (if such is ever constructed), the uncertainty principle could look something like this: studying a system, at some point we are faced with an alternative: either to study what it actually is at the moment, delving into all sorts of details (analogous: corpuscular approach, determining its structure), or to try to determine its “velocity” (that is, the direction of its development). It is usually not possible to do both at the same time, not only because such a project lacks funds, but also because the rhythms of the small parts of the system most often do not give an idea of its main rhythm, and, in a sense, the deeper we delve into studying the structure and elements of the system, the further we move away from understanding it. Conversely, focusing on the main rhythm of the system or the direction of its development does not allow for concrete study of it—details, as it were, blur, and only some abstract whole remains, which performs a certain simplest movement.
Let us consider the difference between these approaches using the example of studying a pendulum. In the corpuscular view, we need to approach it as closely as possible, study the material from which it is made, the shape of the weight and rod, the suspension node, determine the coefficient of friction, etc. In doing so, the pendulum’s motion will greatly interfere with us, and we will try to stop it or move the measuring laboratory directly onto the pendulum. In the wave approach, we, on the contrary, move away from the pendulum so that only the oscillation of the weight from side to side is visible, and other details of its structure and motion do not distract our attention. This is exactly how a complex pendulum—a mechanical clock—is arranged: all internal rhythms—the rotation of many gears—are carefully hidden from the consumer by the case, and only the main rhythm remains on the dial: hours and minutes.
The wave approach differs from the corpuscular in one very important respect: it allows us in some way to reflect the unity of the world and the mutual connection of all its parts.
Newton’s model of absolute space-time has the opposite quality: in it, widely separated regions are independent, meaning that what happens in one place in space does not affect areas sufficiently distant from it; gravitational forces, and even more so electromagnetic ones, rapidly diminish with distance, leaving each province to its own devices. The concept of vibrations, however, implies a general movement of the system as a whole, and moreover, the crests of the wave visibly connect all points to one another; in addition, vibrations provide a link between times: “In spring, oats would sprout more amicably,” we say, and directly feel the breath of Eternity upon us.
By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the idea of the world as composed of a multitude of independent fragments had begun to wear itself out decisively. The greatest mystic of the 19th century, Sri Ramakrishna—whom many considered an Avatar, that is, a Divine incarnation—did not, however, bring a new religion with him; his mission was to realize God through existing confessions, see that He is One, and proclaim this to the world. Sigmund Freud linked together many seemingly independent psychic manifestations of man, interpreting them as consequences of a single cause hidden in the unconscious. Of course, Freud’s models were rather naive and, if one uses physical analogies, resembled hydraulic devices (though his concept of sublimation is already far from simple and undoubtedly appeals to alchemical sublimation), yet they possessed the merit of establishing the unity of psychic processes and mental activity not by mere juxtaposition but by revealing vertical connections with the unconscious.
At the same time, the greatest revolution in physics was taking place: Einstein abolished absolute space-time (special theory of relativity) and showed that bodies (gravitational masses) influence the properties of the “empty” space around them (warping it—general theory of relativity); thus, the world turned out to be far more complex than under Newton, yet slightly more interconnected, though still deterministic in the Laplacean sense. Western philosophy could not withstand the devastating impact of quantum mechanics, and in essenceHowever, she simply ignored it. After all, there was plenty to be surprised about: from now on, an elementary particle existed as a cloud smeared through space, promising to appear in any of its points, but its exact location could only be guessed with a certain probability. Thus, the absolute slave-like dependence of the particle on the experimenter ended—but this, impressive as it was in itself, was not the main point. From now on, space itself became connected: present in any region, the particle could also appear in any other, even one separated from the first by an insurmountable barrier in previous physics (the so-called “tunnel transition”). Speaking in political terms, the prisoner gained an important right to dig a tunnel and escape from prison. Interestingly, even in such a “dry” field as economics, in the 1930s of this century, Wassily Leontief’s inter-industry model gained popularity, the essence of which is as follows: the economy is based on balancing commodity and monetary flows between its various sectors, and a change in any one of them immediately affects all the others.
The development of science in the second half of the 20th century brought a completely unexpected expansion of the global paradigm, already assimilated in physics, into the physiology of higher nervous activity. Research by the renowned neurophysiologist Karl Pribram showed that different information is not stored in individual neurons or small areas of the cerebral cortex but is distributed throughout it. Parallel to this, the idea of holographic imaging was realized, which demonstrates the same effect: any piece of a holographic plate contains information about the entire object depicted.
At the philosophical level of understanding, an analogy with Vedanta naturally arises here: man as a microcosm is identical to the Universe as a macrocosm. It is worth noting that the hologram itself is directly related to the wave approach, as it is nothing more than a photograph of an interference pattern obtained by illuminating an object with light of precisely selected wave characteristics. In this process, each element (detail) of the object influences every fragment of the holographic plate, since, reflecting off it, the wave spreads further across the entire surface of the plate and interferes with other reflected waves. Here, the grandeur of the global paradigm is symbolically expressed: if we consider a separate detail of the object as a “particle,” then on the holographic plate it spreads across its entire surface—an analogy with quantum-mechanical concepts is evident here.
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The relationship between the corpuscular and wave approaches resembles the balance of Virgo and Pisces: Virgo delves deeply into details and finds meaning and purpose in them, while Pisces seeks to grasp and sense something mysterious and inexpressible hidden behind the obvious facade, yet constituting its inner essence. The difficulty, however, lies in the fact that it is not possible to immediately discern this meaning, or the main rhythm, or the fundamental direction of the system’s development: first, it must be studied within a particular corpuscular model, and only then is a wave approach possible; and here, the most crucial moment is knowing when to stop studying the details and attempt to transition to synthesis, i.e., begin to perceive the object of the subtle world that gave rise to this system; its symbol is the main rhythm of the system.
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Ancient Indian dialectics proposed three primary gunas (phases) in the development of any object or system: sattva (creation), tamas (formation), and rajas (destruction). Developing these ideas further, the author offers the following archetypal image of an object’s fate:
a) The Sattvic period – materialization of the subtle object. Initially, there is a certain object in the subtle world—a prototype of what is to be created. Then, the materialization program is activated, and the creation of the dense object begins in accordance with the prototype; this process is accompanied by reading information from the subtle prototype, but the dense object being created does not precisely match the subtle one: in the course of materialization, both coarsening and distortions always occur. The main energy flow goes from the subtle object to the dense one; however, a certain reverse flow also appears (see Fig. 1).
b) The Tamasic period – the actual life of the dense object. Here, characteristic bidirectional energy relations exist between the object and its prototype. Both develop, each according to the laws of their own world, which slightly diverge, necessitating alignment. This is achieved through two information-energy flows: from the subtle object to the dense one and back. Thus, the development of the dense object is influenced by two different factors: on the one hand, the laws of the surrounding dense world, and on the other, the influence of the prototype; the same applies to the subtle object, whose life is affected by the dense one it generated. If this is done poorly and their developmental paths diverge significantly, the influence of the dense object on the subtle one can be highly disharmonious and even destructive.
c) The Rajasic period – the destruction of the dense object. At this stage, the main energy flows from the dense object to the subtle one, and the latter transforms, meaning it also ends its existence in its former form and becomes qualitatively different.
Fig. 1.1. Phases of an object’s development.
Commenting on this dialectical model, several important points should be noted. First and foremost, the teleological nature (or rather, entelechy) is striking—that is, the presence of a completely defined higher meaning in the existence and development of the object, specifically the illumination of its subtle prototype. The reader may notice that living for the sake of a bright future, especially someone else’s, is not a particularly inspiring prospect. However, one should not be so straightforward: first, the breath of the higher principle is felt not only in the rajasic phase but also in the remaining phases of the object’s development (see Fig. 1.1: arrows pointing downward are present in all three diagrams), and second, the holographic paradigm (as well as theThe truth of Advaita Vedanta monism states that in reality there is no division into subtle and dense objects: both are one, divided only for the convenience of study. However, when entering the dense world, we can (to a certain extent successfully) consider the evolution of the dense object itself, without accounting for its interaction with the subtle; then the focus shifts to its interaction with the environment and behavior within the laws of its development. This aspect of study can be conditionally called materialistic. Conversely, one can focus (as much as possible) on the subtle object and its development, treating the dense as an insignificant and irrelevant detail—such a view deserves the name “idealistic.”
Given that the subtle object, as a rule (though not always), manifests itself globally in the dense, the “materialistic” approach in this sense is more often corpuscular, while the “idealistic” one is wave-like and tends toward the concept of an unclear unity that binds all “essential” details of the dense object. However, it is usually not obvious how to distinguish these “essential” details from others.
Any professional clearly understands that talent is necessary in their field: a physicist needs the ability to sense the “physical meaning,” a mathematician requires mathematical intuition, a historian—historical intuition, and so on. These intangible concepts—”talent,” “intuition”—precisely denote a person’s ability to perceive the subtle object and its evolution and influence on the dense.
However, mastery requires, in addition, the ability to work with the ascending flow (from the dense object to the subtle) and the subtle object directly.
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The creation of a dense object usually occurs for the simple reason that the subtle cannot resolve its developmental issues at its current level. Therefore, it creates in a denser plane its rough model, assigning it a specific task that the dense object perceives as externally imposed karma to be worked through. The origin of this karma is clear: it is nothing other than an unresolved task of the subtle object, transferred to a coarser plane and imposed on the dense object in the hope that it will resolve it.
Here, however, the outcome is ambiguous, as the dense object may fail to fulfill its assigned program, and by the end of its life, instead of resolving the karmic task of the subtle object for which it was created, it may complicate it significantly. A third possibility also exists: unable to resolve its evolutionary task at its level, the dense object may follow the same path by which it was created—forming a new, even coarser object and placing part of its karma upon it.
The reader may hear the ambiguous phrase “and so on,” but fortunately, the creation of objects and worlds is a difficult endeavor, carefully controlled by as-yet poorly understood natural laws. Nevertheless, every object bears responsibility for all denser ones it has generated, and until they all cease to exist, its illumination and transformation are impossible. Poorly calculated creation of coarse realities and objects to transfer one’s own karma is the primary source of world disharmony and evil.
A typical example is the inability to resolve a conflict peacefully, that is, through negotiation. Exhausting diplomatic resources, states create their dense models—armed forces—which then resolve contradictions by their inherent methods in a qualitatively different, much denser and coarser reality bearing the ominous name: war.
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After World War II, psychology began to please its wide circle of admirers and clients by turning (or, more precisely, beginning to turn) toward them: a direction emerged known as humanistic psychology (Carl Rogers, Viktor Frankl, Virginia Satir) and, further, sacred psychology. Now, the focus shifted from animal instincts or infantile experiences to what concerns a person in the present moment—when they come to a psychologist. The unique human personality, as it is, was declared a value. The humanistic approach is based on a non-local model of the psyche; for example,Rogers never sought to rigidly determine themes in his communication groups: it was believed that the group itself would find them, selecting from the most relevant for the participants. Thus, it was assumed that resolving any single problem, such as releasing a specific block, would positively affect the psyche as a whole. In other words, while Freud sought the roots of his clients’ problems in their childhood experiences, repressed into the subconscious, and strove to uncover and neutralize the true cause of the disorder—often ignoring the patient’s own perspective—Rogers, so to speak, resorted to symptomatic treatment, addressing precisely what presented itself. It might seem that Freud acted more professionally: any doctor should treat not the symptom but the disease. However, such a view is characteristic of a local paradigm, the essence of which can be formulated as follows: what happens in this isolated area of space (for example, the psyche) does not significantly influence other areas. In that case, indeed, by removing the symptom, we would, so to speak, cut off one leaf from a tree, while its roots and trunk remain untouched, and the illness persists. But if we adopt a global perspective—one in which there are no isolated areas and the psyche is a unified organism where all phenomena and programs are interconnected—then the root-leaf model proves untenable. After all, a leaf can be considered a root, and a root a leaf, and a harmful plant can be eliminated by starting from any point.
Another essential distinction of the humanistic school is its teleological emphasis, which Houston calls entelechy—a hidden (in her view, sacred) purpose and meaning inherent not only in the life of any individual but also in a group. This meaning, which sets the dynamic of development, gradually reveals itself and justifies the difficulties and adversities of existence. In Rogers, entelechy remains hidden, yet it was clearly felt in his own groups, though it vanished from the books dedicated to his methods—a point for which he faced criticism. Indeed, improving communication skills under the guidance of an experienced mentor, entirely detached from the participants’ ordinary reality, had little impact unless it extended to the group, imbuing communication with an additional higher meaning and thus producing a global therapeutic effect. If, however, the group leader lacks the necessary qualities of a spiritual guide, the results may prove entirely illusory. Still, Rogers avoided direct spiritual or religious framing of the issues (though his own personality clearly radiated spiritual strength); in contrast, Frankl and Houston explicitly addressed religious experiences as a vital part of the psychological process. This also signifies a shift from the local to the global paradigm: if there is a higher instance guiding a person through life, it connects all fragments of life and psyche. Naively put, God sees everything, and ethical transgressions in one area of life may be punished in another, seemingly unrelated, one. Similarly, through entelechy, all life and psychic manifestations are united: approaching a life goal introduces qualitatively different rhythms and energies across all spheres of a person’s external and internal life (just as moving away from it does). Yet we have not yet reached entelechy in physical models.
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With the rejection of the local paradigm—attractive for obvious reasons to any researcher (one can isolate a small section and study it in detail)—comes the abandonment of the linear paradigm, or the principle of superposition (overlapping). What is the principle of superposition? The simplest way to understand it is to imagine two ocean waves moving toward each other. If both are gentle, at the point of their meeting, a wave will form whose height equals the sum of the two, after which they will continue on as if nothing had happened. This is the triumph of linearity. If, however, the waves are steep or even cresting—such as when waves break in shallow water (see Fig. 1.2)—the collision will result in a splash, no single wave will form, and after the interaction, only chaotic ripples remain. Here, the principle of superposition no longer applies.
Fig. 1.2. Nonlinear effects: the meeting of two steep waves.
Another illustration of the principle of superposition is when a person falls ill with two ailments at once, say, a headache and a cut finger. In this case, they can quite treat each condition separately—take an analgesic for the headache and bandage the finger with iodine. Most likely, these actions will not cause side effects (the medical equivalent of “linearity” in physics). But if the iodine causes the headache to worsen, we consider that the principle of superposition has failed; treating different ailments separately is no longer possible. For severe illnesses, this is more the rule than the exception.
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When examining any object, one can distinguish between normal conditions under which it functions—conditions for which, so to speak, it was designed—and forced regimes, in which it behaves quite differently. While local, corpuscular, and linear approaches often suffice for normal regimes, forced regimes frequently compel us to adopt global and wave-based concepts and nonlinear models. Typical examples include phase transitions in physics and stress states in psychology. The similarity between the two is even reflected in language: a state of intense emotional excitement is described as “He is almost boiling over.” In forced and, in particular, destructive regimes, global properties of the object often emerge, including intensified energetic connections with its subtle prototype and even with the environment. This is well known in psychology: religious experience most often arises in extreme situations, either spontaneously or as a result of a person’s intense efforts to find a way out of a dead-end and exceedingly difficult situation. Here, linear models—whose philosophy is encapsulated in the principle “Where we went before, we will continue to go”—cease to satisfy the person, who (often unconsciously) shifts into a forced regime.
Perhaps forced regimes of any systems—non-living, living, or social—are studied far less than their behavior under normal conditions. On the other hand, their importance and influence on the overall evolutionary process are evident, not to mention the possibility of glimpsing mysteries shrouded in impenetrable darkness during ordinary life. The general aim of this treatise is to attempt a description of highly complex systems—such as a person, a family, a state, and others—from the perspective of an organism model consisting of seven bodies, as described in the author’s book “Reversed Occultism, or The Tale of the Thin Seven.” The approach to this description is primarily wave-based, with only the different bodies in the organism being distinguished; little to no differentiation of the bodies themselves is conducted. The author’s primary focus is on forced regimes and energetic exchanges between different bodies—this is the general information presented in the horoscope. However, due to the limited study of the main model, the author also attempts to describe the normal modes of the organism’s functioning.
The author will strive to present the material independently of “Reversed Occultism,” but familiarity with this book will undoubtedly facilitate the reader’s understanding of the text.
Part 1
The simplest definition, perhaps, is this: meditation is life. Thus, the author intends to act as a botanist, studying the growth, development, and relationships with the environment of a person’s subtle bodies (including the physical one), primarily using phytomorphism—that is, likening each body to a plant or, more often, to an entire flora of a certain region.The proposed descriptions in no way claim to be scientific; in general, the genre of the treatise could be described as literary-philosophical with elements of journalism and science—though, of course, the reader will be the best judge of this, especially if they read the text to the end, and the author promises not to hinder them further. Astrology, in any case, is a democratic science, at least in the sense that it agrees to interpret the natal chart of anything born in some sense of the word: a person, a family, a state, a plant, a rock band, even a building or an idea. Kabbalistic astrology, in its alleged form, does not claim such broad coverage; the author limits themselves to objects that have a distinct physical body, which at the moment of “birth” either appears in the world for the first time (a chick breaks the shell and emerges into the world), or is reassembled from existing material components—such as the birth of a family at the moment of marriage registration, or the official proclamation of a new state. The birth of an institution occurs at the moment a document (an order, etc.) is sealed, from which the hiring of employees can begin; the birth of a book occurs at the moment the author dates the first page of the manuscript. In all the above cases, “birth” is also accompanied by a certain “conception” and, accordingly, a period of “pregnancy.” In the case of a family, “conception” can be considered the moment the future spouses meet, while for a state, it might be the creation of a political party that becomes dominant in the new state; when forming a new institution, an order is issued appointing, say, an organizing director who must develop a general concept and carry out preparatory and coordinating work, the result of which will be the final order establishing the new institution with its staffing structure, charter, director, and so on. This is all considered, though, of course, the conception chart can reveal much about how the “pregnancy” will unfold. Nevertheless, the author believes the natal chart of the system to be decisive for its fate and will be the focus of further discussion.
The author does not accidentally insist on the moment of official or physical birth of the system or, to use legal terminology, the “subject of the horoscope.” The reason is that just as the creation of the world, so too the creation of any integral fragment of it proceeds from subtle bodies to denser ones, so that the formation of the physical body completes the involutionary process of the system’s creation and marks the beginning of its evolution in the manifested world as a complex object possessing (within the framework of the concept analyzed here) seven bodies: Atman, the etheric, and the physical. Occultists often consider only the first five to be subtle, deeming the etheric and physical dense; the author, however, will occasionally, for the sake of linguistic freedom, use the expression “seven subtle bodies,” as well as the “organism of the system,” understanding this to mean the aggregate of all seven bodies and all connections between them.
A human being is not reducible to their organism; in addition, they possess a higher “self,” Atman, or individual spirit, which participates both in the creation of all seven bodies and in their subsequent evolution. The finer the body, the more pronounced the influence of the spirit within it, though sometimes it manifests directly even in the physical. The stages of involution, that is, the creation of increasingly dense bodies in Kabbalah, are seen as steps in humanity’s separation from God, and this was His will. Evolution can be interpreted as the path to God through the gradual illumination of all the bodies of the organism. Even in its current, not yet fully enlightened state, the organism remains an extraordinarily perfect object that humanity must learn to use skillfully.
Similarly to the human organism, the subtle bodies of a state, a family, a book, and so on can be considered. As for their higher “self,” this is a complex question (the classic Zen koan: does a dog have the nature of Buddha?), and the author is not inclined to delve into its discussion, nor to clarify this concept in relation to the “crown of creation.” For the purposes of this treatise, it is sufficient to conceive of the higher “self” as a primordial creative principle that accompanies both the creation and the evolution of the system, though it always manifests subtly within the framework of the existing laws of its being and development.
In this section, the author attempts to provide a general description of the subtle bodies of various systems and their so-called horizontal information-energy exchanges: the discussion covers the life of the bodies themselves and the connections between homologous bodies of different objects, such as a citizen and a state, a book and its reader, and so on.
Genesis 1:2
The Atmanic body is the subtlest of all, representing for ordinary consciousness a subject too delicate, at least rationally comprehensible,This is a great work. It contains information that defines a person’s mission, that is, the main purpose of a person in their life, as well as the main features of their destiny, within which this mission will be carried out. As a rule, the atmanic body is hidden from a person’s consciousness or is felt by them extremely vaguely, but sometimes it, on the contrary, manifests itself extremely clearly, and then a person’s usual state of consciousness and perception changes and things become visible that they could not even suspect. However, having returned, a person usually forgets almost everything they saw, and they are left with only a general feeling of something unusual and bright that cannot be expressed in ordinary language. The author, however, does not set himself the goal of describing the atmanic body as such and the states of elevated consciousness when it is perceived directly, and limits himself to studying the signs of its influence on a person in ordinary consciousness. The energy of the atmanic body is the main of all energies that affect a person’s life. Atmanic vibrations, when they are registered by consciousness, are perceived by a person as an absolute authority that is not subject to doubt or correction. As an explanation of their actions, dictated by atmanic energies, they usually say: “I couldn’t do otherwise” and further commentary is cut off. Rational reasoning, duty, and conscience in their civil and social meanings retreat, and only one thing becomes essential: a person’s duty to themselves, their higher “I”, personal God, or abstract ethical principle, depending on the ethical and religious system in which the person was brought up. However, the spectrum of circumstances in which the influence of the atmanic body is clearly felt is much broader than the spheres of religious experiences and manifestations of higher duty. Often enough, the influences of the atmanic body are almost imperceptible to a person and are not perceived by them as something elevated; the shade by which one can suspect the direct inclusion of the atmanic body is the subjective absolute indisputability of what is happening, or its hidden, illogical, but obvious and indisputable importance for the person. Thus, one can distinguish strong inclusions of the atmanic body, such as the appearance of a spiritual teacher or Teaching, or an almost miraculous liberation from inevitable death, and background transmissions that accompany a person throughout their life and set spiritual accents on almost everything in their external and internal life. On the other hand, a mission is not a person’s entire life; more precisely, different circumstances and plots of life have different relationships to the mission: some are direct, others are only indirect. Accordingly, atmanic transmissions in the first case will be frequent and certain, and in the second, they will be much less, and a person may even feel some “freedom”, which in this case is nothing more than the opportunity to devote part of their life to chaotic forces. The mission is reflected in all subtle bodies, and in a person, according to it, a picture of the world and an ethical system are built (buddhic body), a series of specific events occurs (causal body), which are somehow meaningful (mental body) and experienced (astral, etheric, and physical bodies). However, the mission has a certain, in a certain sense even fundamental, significance in the atmanic body itself and consists in its certain transformation and evolution, as well as interaction with the atmanic bodies of other people and the atmanic plan of the subtle world in general. All these proper atmanic movements are reflected in more dense bodies, but it can be very difficult to correctly interpret the effects that come with this: a person, for example, often feels that the events that occur with them and around them have some important hidden meaning, but what exactly, they cannot guess. However, this is not usually required of them. A person is not intended for constant searches for the meaning of their life, and uninterrupted elevated-spiritual interpretation of everything that happens to them not only does not distract them from “lower” earthly spheres but also strongly deforms all their bodies without exception. The main law that regulates all spheres of a person’s life is a very subtle and complex balance of all bodies of the organism, constantly interacting with each other and with the environment. An attempt to describe the main energy flows that ensure this balance is a true treatise – but this is no more than the first steps on a very long path. However, in addition to studying the connections between different bodies, it is also extremely important to monitor their state and development in themselves, and this topic, which could be called subtle hygiene, or, more elevated, the culture of subtle bodies, is also currently developed very poorly. What should the atmanic body be in general and in this person in particular? What are the mechanisms for cleansing the buddhic and causal bodies? How to fight against etheric laziness? All these questions allow for meaningful answers, and without them, as it becomes obvious to many, one cannot expect decisive shifts either in medicine or in nuclear disarmament. Speaking about the culture of subtle bodies, it should be noted that a very peculiar situation has developed in public consciousness: society recognizes the need or, at least, the desirability of hygiene of the physical, mental, and buddhic bodies and pays almost no attention to the pollution of other bodies: in ordinary language, there are not even adequate words for this. So, we proceed to the consideration of the atmanic body and the problems of its life. Does a person, more precisely, their free will, affect the atmanic body? The question is delicate, since the concept of fate and destiny implies unpleasantness; let us not forget, however, that these words were filled with meaning in past centuries, when the evolution of humanity was going on in a completely different way than now: first, much slower, and second, with much less participation of consciousness: both individual and group. But even in ancient times, sages and spiritual leaders, along with the position that “everything is God’s will”, also asserted the possibility of a person’s influence on their destiny. How can one influence the atmanic body? The main principle of managing the organism says: what changes first is the part to which a person’s attention is directed. How exactly this part will change is another question, but, in any case, by purposefully engaging with one’s atmanic body, a person undoubtedly changes it. Obviously, some central link of the mission cannot be changed, but one can very greatly influence the nature of their purpose, change it according to local conditions, expand, correct it in the desired direction, and so on – all this is in the hands of the person themselves, although they often do not realize to what extent the state of the atmanic body depends on their will. Here, of course, much depends on the individual life rhythm.is determined by the birth horoscope. A person with strong Pisces or Jupiter will have constant nourishment of the atmic body from the lower subtle bodies, while a person with a strong Aries or Mars will often experience a direct influence of atmic energies on the entire organism. In both cases, the sensation of the activity of the atmic body and, indirectly, its general state will be clear to the person. However, if the Piscean and Arian flows are weak, direct perception of the atmic body will be a rare event for the person, and they will find it more difficult to engage with it directly.
Yet in any case, the possibilities for direct and indirect influence on the atmic body are quite significant for any person, though such influences often remain unnoticed. One of the main methods of refining the atmic body is forming an ideal that aligns with the person’s mission and dismantling ideals that do not belong to it. Generally speaking about ideals, it is necessary to distinguish the mental representations a person has of the ideal goals they strive for—this pertains to the mental-atmic body—from their actual ideals, which reside in the atmic body and are mostly unconscious. An ideal (unlike any mental construct) is imbued with atmic energy and evokes in the person a special higher enthusiasm that fills their existence with meaning and becomes the source of all other types of energy.
Thus, approaching an ideal manifests quite clearly—the person experiences no doubts about wanting to reach it, embracing it with their entire being without reservation. A future musician, for example, may be captivated by a violin melody heard for the first time, while a pastry chef might be drawn to the sight of a nut cake, sensing its taste from afar with absolute certainty.
Not always, however, is a life calling revealed with such force and so early. More often, the ideal must be sought for a long time, often with a sense of utter hopelessness, and many people believe they can live without it, suppressing all specific atmic issues into the subconscious. Of course, the atmic body does not disappear in such cases, but it deteriorates. The energy flows through it diminish and degrade, and various parasites take root: the person begins to feel a peculiar spiritual suffocation, melancholy, quiet pessimism, and hopelessness about their circumstances and themselves. If this condition is left unchecked, it gradually descends and affects all the subtle bodies, including the physical, making treatment extremely difficult.
Generally, the problems (and illnesses) of the atmic body can be highly varied, and societal subconsciousness, which trims the entire collective to a single template, imposes Procrustean norms here as elsewhere. These norms are perceived by the atmic body particularly painfully because the true depth lies precisely in individual missions. Nothing else is at play here but spiritual corruption. The atmic body can be strong or weak, loose or dense, amorphous or distinctly outlined, pure and well-maintained or, conversely, dirty and teeming with parasites. A person must occasionally reflect on these aspects, discerning their most pressing needs through indirect (and sometimes direct) signs.
Ideals need not be logical—they must be subjectively true, meaning they help the person fulfill their mission by providing energy and direction. However, finding one’s ideals can be difficult, given the constant aggression of the surrounding atmic environment, which a person may long remain unaware of. Even after an ideal is roughly identified, the person still faces a long journey of refining and protecting it from the same environment, which hinders them no less in clarifying the ideal than during the search.
Without ideals—whether unconscious or paradoxical—life is impossible, as they are the primary and irreplaceable source of energy for the organism. The challenge lies in the selective nature of the atmic body, for which the energy of ideals that do not align with one’s mission proves unacceptable. This is the source of life’s tragedies for all those whose mission is to generate new ideals not yet recognized by society: old ideals cannot sustain these future visionaries and thinkers, and creating new ones is not only difficult but dangerous (it can tear them apart across all bodies, beginning with the atmic—this is the essence of civic punishment).
If we liken the energy of ideals to water on the general terrain of the atmic plane, then with it, one can do what people do on the Earth’s surface: some seek a source, others have found one and drill a well, some plunder their wealthy neighbors, and some build a diversion channel from a public and long-known source. The latter path is taken by vast masses of believers who sincerely believe their most important divine duty is to care for themselves personally, yet are unwilling to serve Him at the expense of their ego.
Thus, four main phases of atmic body development can be distinguished. In the first phase, a person draws energy from publicly available ideals, however impure, and this does not hinder them. In the second phase, this energy no longer satisfies them, and the person begins what is narrowly understood as spiritual seeking—that is, they search for ideals and higher goals that will inspire them. In the third phase, these ideals are found, and the person joyfully begins to serve them. In all these phases, however, they remain a consumer of atmic energy from the external world, or more precisely, the atmic plane.
It is only in the fourth phase that they begin to work, forming new ideals within some atmic egregore, which others can later utilize. Eras of atmic activity sharply contrast with eras of atmic inertia, and corresponding generations struggle to understand one another.
Atmic energy is the highest of all energy types, and its action is symbolically described in the legend of the Pied Piper of Hamelin: upon hearing the sound of his flute, the rats followed him spellbound, and even the obvious prospect of death by drowning could not stop them. A person with a strong atmic body can become a religious leader—people follow them, dismantling their former lives and not regretting it, because they give them a sense of wholeness and higher consciousness of being, and in their presence, they are simply happy—without any apparent reason. Such atmic connections are marked by selflessness, absolute devotion, and the impossibility of rational-mental explanation.
However, in eras of weak atmic energy, purely atmic connections are rare, and people with strong atmic bodies often face a dim existence, as they cannot find followers capable of receiving their energy. A candle can ignite a dry forest, but even a strong fire gradually dies out in damp weather. When a prophet appears in the world, they drill a well and strike a new, powerful source of atmic energy in the atmic plane. Around them, followers emerge—people who immediately find themselves in the third phase of atmic body development, though many have made no effort toward it and are unprepared for the powerful flows unleashed upon them.
The state of direct energetic connection to an ideal is called faith, and the prophet’s call to “believe” is an invitation: anyone who approaches them immediately finds this very faith, that is, direct atmic involution. Yet time passes, the general atmic situation changes, the prophet and their charismatic followers die, and the artesian well of atmic grace dries up, turning into an underground source. Now, the call to “believe” loses its original meaning as an invitation and becomes an indication of the long journey a person must undertake before they touch the promised source of atmic energy—and even then, whether it satisfies them remains uncertain.The higher the evolutionary level of a person, the narrower the spectrum of atmic energies that satisfy him, and the search for ideals becomes impossible. Moreover, characteristic effects of the fourth stage of the atmic body development begin to manifest: it turns out that the ideal must not only be found but also refined and shaped, which requires much effort and inspiration of the finest kind, i.e., personal atmic energy of the individual. On the other hand, one must align one’s desires with the real possibilities of one’s atmic body, as well as with the atmic energy of the surrounding world.
In eras poor in atmic energy, one should not expect abundant streams; often, one must be content with small rivulets of atmic energy—what matters is that the water in them is subjectively pure, meaning the ideals found bring one closer to fulfilling one’s mission.
Hygiene of the Atmic Body
The first, though far from simple, act of hygiene is identification of the body, i.e., the process during which a person learns to distinguish atmic vibrations from the rest. In some people, moments when the higher meaning of their life is revealed occur as isolated events, while in others they happen several times a day. However, until a person learns to distinguish the higher from the lower not by formal signs but by direct sensation, their spiritual development can be considered to be in the preceding stage.
It should be noted here that, in general, the ability to distinguish one’s bodies and planes of the subtle world is well-developed in humans, and one does not need to be an “extra-sensible” to differentiate the atmic body from the astral. However, the overdeveloped mental body of the average person today tends to interfere in all their affairs, including meditation on the subtle bodies, and grossly distorts them. Therefore, attempts to mentally model one’s subtle experiences inevitably lead to deformation of the three higher bodies and, in particular, to distortion of religious experience and interaction with the ideal.
Faith is not a product of logical reasoning (mental body) or direct external life experience (causal body). Acquiring faith, i.e., finding one’s ideal or channel to the atmic egregore, is primarily the result of atmic meditation itself, which is comprehended with difficulty and only to a very small extent. A person feels that something very important is happening to them, that they are being drawn somewhere, but they cannot say what, why, or where. This is somewhat similar to the children’s game “hot and cold,” though not always as joyful.
The mental age has accustomed us to the idea that truth is what can be proven. However, such a judgment does not withstand criticism, if only because the very concept of “proof” pertains to the mental plane and does not apply to others. Not to mention that reasoning considered highly convincing in one era sounds in another, at best, like a parody of proof, and at worst—as outright nonsense.
In this case, the author takes the position that a person possesses a sufficiently healthy sense of truth, which allows them, at least, to eliminate gross self-deception, while more precise research in any field and plane is possible only with the appropriate calling and focus.
Regarding the atmic body, it can be said this way: an ideal is an ideal, and authority is authority. If doubts arise in a person about either, it means they have ceased to be objects of their atmic body, though they may well remain in the lower bodies, for example, the mental or astral. A man may think about a once-beloved woman and even feel emotional upon seeing her, yet the vision of ideal femininity he once glimpsed in her is no longer felt.
The main problem is not doubt but the instability of the channel to the egregore. As for the ideal itself, the initial challenge is to find it, followed by purification and refinement, with the latter being significantly more difficult than the former. The reason is that a false (for the person) ideal is easily recognized: it does not evoke any response in the atmic body, meaning the person does not feel elevated, enthusiastic, an unusual joy, or a desire to dedicate their life to the ideal or anything of the sort.
However, an ideal that seems genuine, i.e., one that evokes an atmic response in a person, must still undergo purification, refinement, and shaping, which can sometimes prove an extremely difficult task. This is primarily because ideals, like other details of the atmic and other bodies, are mostly unconscious to a person. Few people have the visible part of their ideal painted in black: officially, everyone recognizes ideals of love, goodness, justice, beauty, and the absence of evil. Yet the part of the ideal that remains in the subconscious often introduces significant corrections, and love is limited to its egocentric or family-centered manifestations, goodness is understood within narrow frameworks, justice is viewed from a very specific perspective, and beauty is appreciated solely for its utility.
Clarifying what a person’s true ideals are is one of the most important aspects of spiritual development, because very often their main emphasis, which actually determines the entire life of the person, is repressed into the subconscious, and extracting it into the light of day can be neither easy nor particularly pleasant (though modern civilization places less value on this than when attempting to become aware of the buddhic and especially the causal bodies).
From the egregorial perspective, an ideal is nothing other than a symbol of a channel to the atmic egregore; tuning into this symbol (for example, by repeating a prayer or the name of God) connects a person to this channel. Atmic egregores (like any others) can be light (synonymous: high) or dark (synonymous: harsh), and the differences in their ideals are well known. A reader who does not wish to study medieval sources can turn to the quite modern “Roza Mira” by Daniil Andreev and find the relevant descriptions.
In the lower layers of the atmic plane, the planetary demon Gagtungr reigns with his ideals of total world domination and subjugation of the free will of every particle of the world. In the higher atmic layers reside the light egregores of the Planetary Logos, whose ideals are peace, love, cooperation, evolution… though each era has its own light ideals, and the author invites the reader to continue this list themselves.
People who consciously carry dark missions are extremely rare. Far more often, the karmic egregore guiding a person through life is located somewhere in the middle atmic layers, giving them the opportunity to fulfill their main purpose somewhat higher or lower, yet still far removed from both holiness and the true abysses of fall. Therefore, for most people, the main life choice is not between good and evil, but between a more or less precise fulfillment of their mission; in other words, their choice lies in whether to carry it out as thoroughly as possible or, conversely, to do it shoddily.
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In general, the phenomenon of shoddiness deserves philosophical reflection, as it has become so widespread that the author cannot help but wonder whether the planetary demon has recently changed tactics, replacing the word “evil” on its most blatant banners with “shoddiness.” It is difficult to say when this reorientation of Gagtungr began. However, it is clear that when the integral medieval paradigm, which naturally and inevitably presupposed both the unity of man and the unity of the world, began to crack under the pressure of increasingly differentiated knowledge of the external world, and numerous sciences emerged instead of a single all-encompassing philosophy, the principle of shoddiness was embedded in the very understanding of the world: by studying any sphere in isolation from others, we quickly arrive at the necessity of ignoring all “side effects,” the causes of which lie in the connections of this sphere with others.
The methodological principle implicitly underlying this approach can be roughly formulated as follows: by studying all the individual pieces of the Universe in sufficient detail, one can eventually find the connections between them and thereby complete the construction of scientific knowledge about the world. The world, however, turned out to be arranged like a hologram, not a mosaic, and studying any of its pieces is no easier than studying the whole—yet it took several centuries to understand this.
And even today, the “mosaic” paradigm still triumphs, not only in science but also in the public consciousness and subconsciousness, being transmitted from there to every social individual. When Voltaire and his company solemnly abolished religion and then God, they failed to adequately address the needs of the atmic body. The ideals of education meant little to most of their not-so-learned contemporaries; and in general, as the great Indian wisdom of Jnana-yoga—the path of knowledge—teaches, it is a difficult fate reserved for the chosen, the most advanced human souls. The result (or rather, the cause) of mass atheization, in the absence of any suitable ideals to replace the abolished religious ones, was the general weakening of the atmic energy of society. If, for the medieval mind, the question of choosing the path of the soul—toward God or the devil—was quite concrete, then with the sharp decline of atmic energy, many things that seemed obvious and clear in the Middle Ages faded away and became blurred. Fish rot from the head, and man from the atmic body. Having completely eliminated it, humanity moved on, also abolishing the buddhic and simply failing to notice the causal, entrusting it to dark fortune-tellers. As a result, the mental remained the highest and supreme, officially declared the object of worship. Man—the crown of nature, because he is reason. And animals have none! No! No! And never will, you silly little kittens, dogs, and dolphins… Thus, leaving man with four of the seven bodies (in reality, three: mental, astral, and physical, since the etheric body—whether it exists or not—is still the subject of fierce battles between psychics on one side and physicists on the other, stretching from the dawn of time to the end of the Pisces era). Future generations will look upon the “naive” philosophy of the ancient Greeks with greater respect than on modern scientific views.
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The ideal of shoddy work, in a certain sense, is the opposite of the idea of fulfilling one’s mission and is closely tied to the concepts of equality and mass replication. A person with a strong atmic body and a clearly felt unique mission is not inclined toward the idea of equality nor the intention to slack off. Personal impressions are usually projected onto the world, and if I feel the uniqueness of my destiny, it is only natural that I extend this circumstance to others—not just people, but also, say, objects and social groups. The idea of equality simply does not fit in my mind: the fate of a peasant is one thing, the fate of a king is another. As for shoddy work, it is excluded by strong atmic vibrations that fully and directly govern all of a person’s bodies. The foundation of shoddy work (and bodily illness) lies in the discord between the bodies: I have one (the buddhic body), I do another (the causal body), I think about a third (the mental body), and I am consumed by a fourth (the astral body). With strong atmic energy and clear governance by the atmic body over the others, such a situation is impossible—but people fought for freedom without earning it through evolutionary development, and as a result, the connections between the bodies weakened and became unregulated, “freeing” them from one another. A typical modern magician performs feats unimaginable even for the mother of a witch from the 13th century: he simultaneously flies in the astral in one direction, in the mental in another, and in the causal in a third, and somehow manages to gather all the bodies together (though, according to the author’s observations, the causal sometimes takes the place of the etheric, which slightly impairs well-being and leads to strange events—but these are, after all, trifles).
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The ideal in the true sense of the word, that is, the symbol of a channel to the atmic egregore, is a rather dynamic thing and causes no small trouble for its master: the ideal not only inspires but also forces one to live up to it. In other words, the informational and energetic flow of the atmic egregore inspires a person not “in general” but toward specific action programs, and any attempt to evade or ignore the will of the egregore quickly meets with a response, sometimes bringing great trouble to the person. In other words, as long as you are far from God, you are relatively free from Him, but once you come to Him, whether you like it or not, you will obediently fulfill His will. Therefore, while a person is searching for their ideal, they may imagine anything—even a paradisiacal fruit garden—but once they find it, they soon realize that they have their own will and an unmistakable influence over their master. Most often, this influence does not suit the person in many ways, and they begin to seek ways of retreat, the most common of which is regression to the path well-trodden by centuries of pagan experience—that is, working in the lower and lowest atmic layers. With a “crude and material” rather than “refined and abstract” mindset, the pagan savage gathered his atmic energy by concentrating it on an idol symbolizing
Atmanic egregore — for example, the totem of a tribe. At the same time, the idol was perceived quite utilitarianly, and if it began to act up and worked poorly, say, did not provide the tribe with sufficient food, then after unambiguous warnings and threats it could be deprived of sacrifices, broken and replaced with another. With the emergence of monotheism, this simplest and psychologically adequate scheme of relations with the deity, that is, the principle of regulating atmanic meditations, was replaced by another, where the most important place was given to subjugating one’s will to the Divine. However, a true restructuring of consciousness and the atmanic body according to the scheme proposed in the Pentateuch of Moses (not to mention Christianity!) has not yet occurred, and the average person of the 20th century after the Nativity of Christ, in terms of the structure of the atmanic body, differs little from a wild person living in the 20th century BC, muttering: “How long will this people provoke Me?” God Yahweh tirelessly and unsuccessfully fought against pagan cults, depriving His chosen people of His patronage as punishment and constantly reminding them: “I am the Lord” — but, it seems, His successes were meager, and even the appearance of Christ did not significantly reduce humanity’s (and each person’s) desire.
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The struggle of monotheism with paganism symbolizes (at the level of public consciousness) the struggle between the higher and lower principles within a person. The One God is a symbol of the higher principle, while the idol, which fulfills specific human desires, symbolizes the lower “self,” or ego. As a result of the struggle between the higher and lower “selves” in the atmanic body, four types of ideals arise: luminous, intermediate, dark, and puppet-like, or sham ideals. Luminous ideals are symbols of channels to high atmanic egregores, dark ones to low ones (also atmanic); puppet-like ideals, however, are not ideals in the strict sense of the word, meaning they do not actually correspond to any channels to a particular atmanic egregore, yet they claim to and can be used by a person for practical purposes.
What, then, is the nature and origin of puppet-like ideals? The main “inconvenience” in a person’s interaction with any egregore (not just atmanic) is that it not only provides a certain energy and information but also demands something from the person. Regarding ideals, this means that, on the one hand, they give a person stability, strength, and inspiration, while on the other, they require that the person live up to them, that is, fulfill a certain egregorial program that may contradict the ego’s interests. As a result, the ideal turns out to be like a suitcase without a handle: it’s hard to carry, but it’s a shame to throw away. The subconscious begins subtle manipulation, replacing the ideal with a similar one that is less demanding of the person, more lenient, and accommodating. The egregore reacts instantly, disconnecting the person from the original pure channel and redirecting them to a lower type of service — one that implies less creative freedom and stricter subordination, which may simultaneously align more with the desires of the lower “self” or at least contradict them less.
If, however, the lowered ideal still seems too burdensome to the subconscious, it may resort to further profaning it, to which the egregore responds by further lowering the type of service — or disconnecting the person from itself altogether. In the latter case, the paradoxical (at first glance) situation of the formation of a puppet-like ideal arises, that is, a sham symbol of connection to an atmanic egregore: a key that opens nothing. From an occult perspective, however, there is nothing strange about this; the phenomenon of mimicry exists in the subtle world, and in this case, we are encountering one of its manifestations.
A true ideal (whether luminous, dark, or intermediate) is a symbol of a channel to an atmanic egregore, that is, a certain object in the atmanic plane that acts as a key opening a specific entrance to the egregore. However, it is the person who must turn this key: for example, by pronouncing key words that define the ideal as a sacred mantra, that is, using atmanic energy. Then the key turns in the lock, and a channel from the egregore descends upon the person; the primary atmanic energy expended in pronouncing the mantra is used to overcome the friction in the lock — an entrance to the egregore that is enchanted for others. Thus, a true ideal is a key to entering an atmanic egregore, while a puppet-like ideal differs in that it looks very similar externally but does not actually lead to any egregore. No matter how much personal atmanic energy is poured into it, it can only spin in the egregorial lock without ever opening it.
In eras of strong atmanic energy, the difference between true and puppet-like ideals is obvious, but when the atmanic plane is generally weakened or a person has a weak atmanic body, distinguishing between them may not be so simple. This is because a puppet-like ideal, that is, a sham key, like any object in the atmanic plane, possesses its own (naturally, atmanic) energy, and when fueled by a person’s personal energy, it begins to glow faintly. A person may mistake this glow for the energy of the egregore. It is on this effect that gray spiritual teachers base their work, offering their students puppet-like ideals — that is, trading in spiritual channels they do not actually own. As a result of such “teaching,” students lose their personal atmanic energy and become disillusioned not only with the ideal given by the teacher but also with all others: indeed, with an exhausted atmanic body, one does not want to seek new ideals and expend the remaining strength on activating them.
Thus, spiritual teachers can be divided into three main categories: white, black, and gray. The first connect their students to high atmanic egregores, forming and activating lofty ideals; the second, on the contrary, orient students downward, toward rigid atmanic egregores and satanic ideals; the third disconnect students from any atmanic egregores, absorbing the atmanic energy they possess. In eras of strong atmanic energy, black spiritual teachers are more common; in eras of weak atmanic energy, gray ones are, and in some respects, the latter are even more dangerous.
In general, the dangers and enemies of the atmanic body are diverse, but each person, depending on their body type, has their own specific tempters and parasites, the struggle against which constitutes an important part of spiritual development in the narrow sense of the word. Essential information about the properties of the body can be obtained from the horoscope, and this topic occupies a significant part of the treatise. However, many circumstances lie beyond the astrological chart, and here the researcher must rely on other methods, such as direct observation. One of these reasons is the relative level of energy in a person’s atmanic body. This can be compared, on the one hand, to the average level of atmanic energy of the people and the atmanic plane (say, of the Earth) as a whole, and on the other, to the energy of the denser bodies of the person themselves: the Buddhic, causal, and so on. Moving from the general to the particular, one should first classify eras by the relative strength of the subtle planes and only then proceed to individuals, but the author defers discussion of these topics to a later time and for now limits themselves to a few remarks.
In eras when atmanic energy is strong and ideals burn so brightly that they overshadow the reality of all planes except the atmanic, people with weak atmanic bodies fare poorly; their situation is described as: “a hangover after someone else’s feast.” Conversely, in eras of weak atmanic energy, when the Buddhic plane takes precedence in significance and concrete, albeit limited, action programs are valued over ideals, people with strong atmanic but weak Buddhic bodies fare poorly: what is happening around them seems to them grounded to the point of triviality.
However, if both atmic and buddhic energies weaken simultaneously, and the causal plane takes precedence, a situation arises that is sometimes called the twilight of the gods: the heavens seem to vanish entirely, leaving people with nothing but an ungovernable chaos of unrelated events, and the laws of karma become suspended for a time. It is clear that the fulfillment of a person’s mission depends significantly on the level of energy in their atmic body: when it rises, the mission becomes more visible and distinctly manifest. Nevertheless, the mission can be fulfilled even at a low level of atmic energy, especially if, in this incarnation, a person’s atmic energy is generally weak.
Subjectively, of course, it is more pleasant when the atmic body is strong, the mission is clearly visible, God is near, and one can consult with Him at any moment, ask for permission for frivolities, and feel fully protected by Him. However, true humility lies in accepting the distribution of energy across all subtle bodies as dictated by the mission, without forcing any one of them at the expense of the others unless there are specific instructions from the higher “I.” In other words, the mission may allow a person to live their entire life with very weak religiosity and the faintest glimmer of ideals, neither seeking God nor pursuing brighter and more effective ideals, but simply doing what life offers, exerting maximum effort to fulfill what appears to be a completely prosaic task—yet one that provides just enough spiritual light, typical of a strong causal body with weak buddhic and atmic energies. Naturally, such a person may sometimes look with envy at others who have found a bright ideal and radiate with the light of their atmic body—but this path is impossible for them, and attempts to force atmic energy instead of illuminating the mission will only obscure it.
Such a fate does not exclude a high mission—take Pushkin, for example, whose religiosity was highly questionable and whose life was filled to the brim with worldly vanity, yet he became one of Russia’s greatest figures (for more on his mission, see Daniil Andreev’s “The Rose of the World”).
Thus, it is not the atmic body alone that concerns the human spirit, but also the other bodies, each of which—each in its own way—participates in fulfilling the mission. In this context, the texts of prayers acquire great significance, even though believers often use them without considering that, in general, God knows better than a person what they truly need. A plea to “Lord, grant me this or that” is often perceived as beggary when it concerns the needs of the five lower bodies, from the physical to the causal, but is considered quite acceptable when it pertains to the two higher bodies, namely the buddhic and atmic—for example, a request to change one’s character (a buddhic request) or to strengthen faith (an atmic request, such as “deliver us from evil”).
Yet a plea to God is not beggary, no matter what a person asks of Him—after all, the Almighty differs in some way from a rice cooker. On the other hand, if one reasons strictly logically, it is rather odd to give instructions to the Omnipresent and Omniscient about what exactly He should do—whether to give me my daily bread today or not, as perhaps this is precisely the time for me to fast a little, and He sees it, while I, with my limited understanding, do not notice. As for temptations, it is obvious that they are sometimes necessary for me, and it is better for Him to know when and in what form to allow the tempter to approach me.
It is obvious that prayer has some other, additional meaning beyond its literal significance. This meaning lies, on the one hand, in connecting the atmic body to the egregore, and on the other, in redistributing energy within the atmic body. For example, when I pray to God to guide me onto the true path, I strengthen the energy of the atmic-atmic body, and when I fall at His feet asking for protection from an inevitable misfortune, I accentuate the atmic-buddhic connection. Of course, being infallible, He perceives and fulfills my requests far more precisely than I can even imagine; however, my direct will, even expressed in prayer, may clearly harm me by disrupting the natural balance of the bodies in my organism, which is inherent to my nature and mission.
Therefore, when working with the atmic body, one should always listen to its reactions and not insist on prayers that provoke rejection or protest. In ordinary terms, a prayer must be accepted; otherwise, it should be set aside for better times, doubting its relevance and legitimacy for me.
On the other hand, in cases of a sharp imbalance in the bodies and energy flows of the organism, a precisely chosen prayer or a sincere appeal to one’s higher “I” can produce an instantaneous healing effect or profound relief—but such an appeal is often not easy to find.
Returning to the topic of spiritual teachers—white, gray, and black—it should be noted that a person’s true teacher will be the one who helps them more accurately fulfill their mission. This assistance may be needed at any level of the subtle bodies—what matters is that it comes at the right time and is appropriate. However, traditionally, a spiritual teacher is understood as a person who works with atmic and partially buddhic energies, and the author will adhere to this definition.
Ideals can be compared to lighthouses that simultaneously serve as waypoints along the winding river of individual evolution. To see an ideal, some effort is required; yet approaching it is rewarded with a significant quantum of energy—until the next lighthouse appears, automatically rendering the old one obsolete and demanding a change of course from the person. Of course, ideals rarely shift to the opposite extreme, but they are often adjusted throughout life—sometimes quite substantially.
However, in addition to one’s own lighthouses, one can often see foreign—or piratical—signal fires that lure ships onto the rocks, as well as buoys that do not shine on their own but merely reflect light cast upon them, offering no guidance—such are puppet ideals.
