The False Prophetess

Beware of False Prophets!
By June Leavitt

My husband and I met Karine at the seashore where she was gathering stones. With long silver hair, radiant blue eyes and tawny young skin, she made a striking figure surrounded by her devotees. We asked her what she was doing. She replied that she was teaching them to have greater powers of concentration, to be more attuned to beauty. She asked if we wanted to take part in the workshop. We declined, but told her if she were to have another workshop, we might be interested. Two weeks later, we got a phone call. She was having another weekend seminar at the same seashore. "Can't do any harm, I suppose," I said to my husband. "And if we don't like her meditation workshop, at least we'll enjoy the seashore."

But when we got to the seashore retreat for the weekend workshop, we were shocked. Karine was alone and in a nasty mood. "Where is everybody?" we asked.

"I threw them out, "she answered

"You threw them out?" I asked surprised. "What do you mean?"

She replied, "I threw them out because they will never progress spirituality." When we pressed her to tell us what she meant, she said, "Ask the moon." Then she walked away.

Three years later, we got a call from her secretary. Karine, after traveling around the world, had returned and was having a workshop in an evergreen wood. She would be teaching once again meditation, this time with chimes. Would we be interested in coming? Can't do any harm, I suppose," my husband said to me. "And if we don't like the chimes, at least we'll enjoy the woods."

We sat on a hillside with Karine's bells, triangles, cymbals and chimes hanging from Juniper trees. In between taking a clapper and touching off beautiful sounds, she bragged about the meditation techniques she had invented; the teachers she had thrown out when they didn't live up to her expectations. Most of all, she bragged about the prophetic abilities she had, and her ability to see the future. The students sitting at her feet began asking her questions about her spectacular powers.

Forgetting about chimes and triangles, Karine sat down and began lecturing about herself. I looked at my husband and he made a slight face. We didn't know how we could get up politely and leave. We hadn't signed up for a course called "Introduction to the Wisdom of Karine." But there we were in the middle of this forest and to say "Excuse me, I have an important meeting," just wasn't honest.

We sat for another hour, and my husband, a lecturer in religious philosophy finally said very respectfully, "You know there are different levels of prophecy. Moses was at the highest level. After that came the lesser prophets. Karine, maybe you are like one of the Minor Prophets."

Karine turned red. "How dare you accuse me of being a minor prophet? Who are you to recognize the level I am on? You only think I'm on a minor level, because you're blind, and you want to ruin my workshop! You've come to ruin my workshop. All the people here know my worth! You don't know? Why did you come?"

She ranted and raged for at least ten minutes exhibiting pride, arrogance, an uncontrollable temper, an exaggerated sense of her own worth and scorn for other people. It was obvious that her spiritualistic or occult skills had not changed the awful qualities she possessed, and there was no way she could help or heal other people because she could not see beyond her little self. Finally when we picked ourselves up and left, one of her disciples came with us crying. She told us how Karine had kept her thinking for years that she would always be a lost soul if she wasn't Karine's disciple.

Clearly, Karine was searching for power, not in order to control her devastating emotions, but to control other people. My husband and I realized then she fit the definition of a false prophet. Real prophets like Moses were humble. They annihilated themselves and exalted God. False prophets annihilated God and exalted themselves. When we got home, we wrote Karine a letter and we told her this.

One week later Karine's secretary called, not acknowledging our letter, but demanding two hundred dollars for the workshop. Afraid of the bad spell this false prophet might cast on us, we quickly sent her a check, and thankfully we have never seen or heard of her since.

Doing the Chicken Asana Under Rifle Fire

All of the family was here one Sabbath. Estie fried up eggplant salad. Adi baked cakes and challot. I roasted chickens and sweet potatoes. Miriam poured buckets of water on the floor and then with a rubber-bladed mop, drew out all the dirt so the house shined.

We were so relaxed, so happy all day Saturday. But just as the Sabbath was going out, and I was thinking of whipping something up for dinner, gunshots and automatic fire, clip after clip just feet away. Frank, Shmulik and Yossi went racing out. Joshua stood guard at the entrance to our house with his pistol. Inside we only heard the terrible noise of shooting.

Adi and Estie quickly picked up Oriah and Shachar and with Miriam rushed into our reinforced second apartment. I was about to go with them when I stopped. This was the time to bring bird wisdom and Yoga into my life. This was the time of the test. I did an about face and went back into my kitchen. The shooting was intensifying and from the kitchen window I could not see where my sons and husband were. To stick my head out of the living room window would not be wise. The first regulation during a terrorist attack is "Do not go near windows!"

I took a deep and slow breath and opened the freezer. I was getting into a Yoga asana , a position of balance and poise. Steadying my hand that was shaking, overcoming my fear, I reached inside and found a package of chicken wings. I stood there for a moment, finding the stream of strength that runs through our blood, and it was there.

There are asanas named after birds. The Heron asana-- sitting on the floor, one leg bent behind, foot by the side of the hip joint: Other leg stretched up in the air and held by both hands. There is the Eagle asana and Crane too. The Crane one is hard. Squat, put your hands on the floor, then slowly tip forward putting your knees on your elbows.

Now try the Chicken Wing Asana. Stand straight and poised, feet together. Take out wings and do not get frightened by the fact that your sons and husband are in a gun battle with terrorists.

Our Children are Our Teachers

Our children can sometimes be our teachers.

One day my son called me outside.He pointed to the sky. Storks were migrating, making strange patterns over our home. My son told me they were looking for hot air which rises; on the hot air they would make their way to Syria without having to use their wings.

"Look their wings are not moving at all!"

Something can be learned from everything in the universe if we would only open our eyes, and this a son can do for his mother. Though we admire birds, and think they are much happier than we are, and certainly more free, they have troubles too.

It is very hard for birds to fly by their wings alone. They get exhausted; they get wing damage, and there are bird accidents in the skyways. If a migrating stork or goose gets carried away with himself, if he wants to show off for the females and he thinks he can get to Syria, Europe or Africa without submitting and surrendering himself to a greater power, he might find himself plunging to the earth below.

The storks had revealed a law of nature. They did not resist it or try to change it. They respected it. Submit. Surrender. Acquiesce to the law. So crystalline and clear! Despite the changes, the contradictory air streams in which we are always caught, hold steady and glide in a clear mind. The life force can carry you through life, through everything you do.

It is not like going to church or synagogue then coming out and doing everything in the same dull way you used to do. My son was showing me how to become aware, quiet and vigilant. I decided I would not let this message and lesson slip out of my hands. I would make it mine. I would cling to this law with all my heart and all my soul. An opportunity presented itself shortly after I saw the migrating birds.

Part Two coming soon! And do visit my website http://www.spiritualityteaching.com/

Curing Athsma through Yoga Part Two

Sandra is a quiet girl. I to have to pry the information from her. "How is your asthma?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "Fine."

"What do you mean your asthma is fine?"

"Yoga has helped me. I am down to squirting from one inhalator a day. I don't use the stronger one at all anymore."

"When do you squirt it? I asked.

"Before I go to sleep."

It was during savasana one night when all my students were dutifully concentration on breathing, that I leaned over Sandra. "Why do you use that inhalator?" I whispered.

"I'm afraid of not breathing at night." She whispered back.

All of a sudden I had an idea. "Have you ever tried holding your breath for a short time?"

I told her to inhale, and hold her breath, two seconds--kumbaka. This would clean out the air sacs of her lungs, clean out the memories of her little sister dying, give her the feeling she was in control and ease her fear about not breathing. Kumbaka is supposed to be the secret of long life, mental health and longevity. Soon she could hold her breath 15 seconds. Sandra was thrilled with her accomplishment.

"See? Not breathing a little bit is not frightening. When you go to bed, think of this." I told her.

Wanting to cure herself of asthma, every night before she went to bed, not only did she do deep breathing from her belly, she increased her breath retention to 25 seconds. And you know what?

Just last week, six months after she began Yoga, Sandra stopped using an inhator altogether! Better than that, Sandra is cured of asthma!

Curing Asthma through Yoga Part One

One of my first Yoga pupils was a teenaged girl, Sandra, who had been suffering from asthma since she was a little girl. I vaguely knew her family. Her sister who had had congenital heart disease died about twelve years ago; I had seen the little girl being wheeled around in her oxygen mask. I didn't say anything to Sandra. I just welcomed her into my class.

I began by teaching her deep breathing from the belly; then showing her how to stretch the inhaled air up through her ribs to her chest. I saw she only breathed superficially,and was only filling the top of her lungs. The breathing exercises relaxed her; her concentration improved, and she seemed stronger. Once a week she would hitchhike to my house where I held the class. It didn't matter if it was raining, sleeting or storm, she would arrive hopefully at my door, breathing through her mouth in a loud wheezing way. Though she was dedicated, she continued to be asthmatic and to use two different kinds of inhalators.

The first breakthrough came when none of the other pupils that night showed up and I could work with her alone. I asked her when her asthma began. She told me when she was six years old. ' Was that when your sister died? " I asked her.

"I got asthma two years before she died," she responded.

I told her to lie down and do the deep breathing, and I propped pillows beneath upper back to open up her lungs. But this time I said to her, "You are lying on your bed, a little girl. You don't have asthma yet, and your sister is still alive." Suddenly her breathing became quiet, flowing like a stream.

The minute she came back to the present, her wheezing resumed, but she was glowing, as if she had made a discovery. The problem was emotional and deeply rooted. Over the next few months, we worked on this.

Stay tuned for Part Two and do have a look at my website!
http://www.spiritualityteaching.com/

The Kabbalistic Tree of Life and Mine

At the age of 56, I felt like I had come to the end of a branch on the kabbalistic Tree of Life, and even more than that, the branch was about to break. I felt like I had made the wrong decision in my life about profession and career. In addition to raising five children, and doing Yoga and meditation, I had been writing books that sold and books that no one wanted to touch, articles that were published and articles which never saw the light of day. A writer's life is a lonely and egoistical life, and no one knew it better than me. Sitting on the end of that branch, I realized a happy life was giving to others, hearing their thoughts, feeling their pain , reaching out heart and hand. "If I could do it all over again, I would be a healer!" I cried to myself.

I must have cried aloud because my children, now grown, heard me. "Mom," they said, "You've been doing Yoga all your life, why don't you start teaching Yoga?

"Just like that?" I asked

"Sure, just let people know that you are starting classes. Now jump down from that branch."

And that is just what I did.

I called up a neighbor and she called other neighbors. Within one month, I had six pupils. I was on another branch of the Tree of Life and from this vista, the world was the most beautiful thing and human beings were exquisite creatures.

See more on my website http://www.spiritualityteaching.com/

Genesis of a Book

Writing a book for a few years is not an easy matter when you have children and even some granchildren running around the house. It is even harder when you are writing a book about Tarot symbols which you happened to discover in Franz Kafka when no one in the world thinks Franz Kafka was familiar with the Tarot, and your own neighbors do not know you even use Tarot cards. But there it was, the Tarot card The Hermit, staring out at me from Kafka's Amerika, and I knew I couldn't be quiet about it. The world had to know that the occult Tarot and respectable literature do meet.

I ran to my own Tarot library. Using esoteric scholar Robert Wang, I studied his bibliographies. There was a strong connection between Tarot and Kabbalah. So I began studying kabbalah at the university where I was doing my doctorate and for one year I studied the Zohar and the kabbalah of Rabbi Yizhak Luria, (the kabbalah that Madonna studies) Yet, I knew in order to write about the Tarot in literature I had to write more concretely and academically and I had to use models. Where had the Tarot in literature been discusssed before? I ran to the Encyclopedia Britannica. No entries for the Tarot, but their index directs me to T.S Eliot’s “The Wasteland.’ I learn that the Tarot figures in his ‘Wasteland’, in Madame Sosotris's Tarot.

I ran to the data base called the MLA. There were no entries for Eliot and the Tarot or this particular poem and the Tarot. I searched for ‘the Tarot and Literature.” It opened up to W.B. Yeats who was a member of the Order of the Golden Dawn. So my bibliography grew. I studied and researched and looked at the Tarot cards and read their meanings in the stories, poems, and novels of Yeats, Eliot and Kafka, and wrote and wrote, and edited and sweated, and compiled a bibliography and even did an index.It was a journey of discovery with lots of pain and confusion and frustration on the way.

The most frustrating thing of course was sending out letters to publishers and either being ignored, or politely refused, But finally my manuscript was accepted by the University Press of America, and just this week three years after I began, my publisher just sent me my copies hot off the press!

You can see my book on Amazon.com or on my website http://www.spiritualityteaching.com/