The Theosophy
King Arthur Pages
King
Arthur’s
Marriage
to Guinevere
The Passing of Arthur
By
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
That story
which the bold Sir Bedivere,
First made and
latest left of all the knights,
Told, when the
man was no more than a voice
In the white
winter of his age, to those
With whom he
dwelt, new faces, other minds.
For on their
march to westward, Bedivere,
Who slowly
paced among the slumbering host,
Heard in his
tent the moanings of the King:
"I found
Him in the shining of the stars,
I marked Him
in the flowering of His fields,
But in His
ways with men I find Him not.
I waged His
wars, and now I pass and die.
O me! for why
is all around us here
As if some
lesser god had made the world,
But had not
force to shape it as he would,
Till the High
God behold it from beyond,
And enter it,
and make it beautiful?
Or else as if
the world were wholly fair,
But that these
eyes of men are dense and dim,
And have not
power to see it as it is:
Perchance,
because we see not to the close;--
For I, being
simple, thought to work His will,
And have but
stricken with the sword in vain;
And all
whereon I leaned in wife and friend
Is traitor to
my peace, and all my realm
Reels back
into the beast, and is no more.
My God, thou
hast forgotten me in my death:
Nay--God my
Christ--I pass but shall not die."
Then, ere that
last weird battle in the west,
There came on
Arthur sleeping, Gawain killed
In Lancelot's
war, the ghost of Gawain blown
Along a
wandering wind, and past his ear
Went
shrilling, "Hollow, hollow all delight!
Hail, King!
tomorrow thou shalt pass away.
Farewell!
there is an isle of rest for thee.
And I am blown
along a wandering wind,
And hollow,
hollow, hollow all delight."
And fainter
onward, like wild birds that change
Their season
in the night and wail their way
From cloud to
cloud, down the long wind the dream
Shrilled; but
in going mingled with dim cries
Far in the
moonlit haze among the hills,
As of some
lonely city sacked by night,
When all is
lost, and wife and child with wail
Pass to new
lords; and Arthur woke and called,
"Who spake? A dream. O light upon the wind,
Thine, Gawain, was the voice--are these dim cries
Thine? or doth all that haunts the waste and wild
Mourn, knowing
it will go along with me?"
This heard the
bold Sir Bedivere and spake:
"O me, my
King, let pass whatever will,
Elves, and the
harmless glamour of the field;
But in their
stead thy name and glory cling
To all high
places like a golden cloud
For ever: but
as yet thou shalt not pass.
Light was
Gawain in life, and light in death
Is Gawain, for
the ghost is as the man;
And care not
thou for dreams from him, but rise--
I hear the
steps of Modred in the west,
And with him
many of thy people, and knights
Once thine, whom thou hast loved, but grosser grown
Than heathen,
spitting at their vows and thee.
Right well in
heart they know thee for the King.
Arise, go
forth and conquer as of old."
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
"Far
other is this battle in the west
Whereto we
move, than when we strove in youth,
And brake the petty kings, and fought with
Or thrust the
heathen from the Roman wall,
And shook him
through the north. Ill doom is mine
To war against
my people and my knights.
The king who
fights his people fights himself.
And they my
knights, who loved me once, the stroke
That strikes them
dead is as my death to me.
Yet let us
hence, and find or feel a way
Through this
blind haze, which ever since I saw
One lying in
the dust at Almesbury,
Hath folded in
the passes of the world."
Then rose the King and moved his host by
night,
And ever
pushed Sir Modred, league by league,
Back to the
sunset bound of Lyonnesse--
A land of old upheaven from the abyss
By fire, to
sink into the abyss again;
Where
fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt,
And the long
mountains ended in a coast
Of
ever-shifting sand, and far away
The phantom
circle of a moaning sea.
There the
pursuer could pursue no more,
And he that
fled no further fly the King;
And there,
that day when the great light of heaven
Burned at his
lowest in the rolling year,
On the waste
sand by the waste sea they closed.
Nor ever yet
had Arthur fought a fight
Like this
last, dim, weird battle of the west.
A deathwhite mist slept over sand and sea:
Whereof the
chill, to him who breathed it, drew
Down with his
blood, till all his heart was cold
With formless
fear; and even on Arthur fell
Confusion,
since he saw not whom he fought.
For friend and
foe were shadows in the mist,
And friend
slew friend not knowing whom he slew;
And some had
visions out of golden youth,
And some beheld
the faces of old ghosts
Look in upon
the battle; and in the mist
Was many a
noble deed, many a base,
And chance and
craft and strength in single fights,
And ever and
anon with host to host
Shocks, and
the splintering spear, the hard mail hewn,
Shield-breakings,
and the clash of brands, the crash
Of battleaxes
on shattered helms, and shrieks
After the
Christ, of those who falling down
Looked up for
heaven, and only saw the mist;
And shouts of
heathen and the traitor knights,
Oaths, insult,
filth, and monstrous blasphemies,
Sweat, writhings, anguish, labouring of
the lungs
In that close
mist, and cryings for the light,
Moans of the
dying, and voices of the dead.
Last, as by some one deathbed after wail
Of suffering,
silence follows, or through death
Or deathlike
swoon, thus over all that shore,
Save for some
whisper of the seething seas,
A dead hush
fell; but when the dolorous day
Grew drearier
toward twilight falling, came
A bitter wind,
clear from the North, and blew
The mist
aside, and with that wind the tide
Rose, and the
pale King glanced across the field
Of battle: but
no man was moving there;
Nor any cry of
Christian heard thereon,
Nor yet of
heathen; only the wan wave
Brake in among
dead faces, to and fro
Swaying the helpless
hands, and up and down
Tumbling the
hollow helmets of the fallen,
And shivered
brands that once had fought with
And rolling
far along the gloomy shores
The voice of
days of old and days to be.
Then spake King
Arthur to Sir Bedivere,
And whiter
than the mist that all day long
Had held the
field of battle was the King:
"Hearest thou
this great voice that shakes the world,
And wastes the
narrow realm whereon we move,
And beats upon
the faces of the dead,
My dead, as
though they had not died for me?--
O Bedivere, for on my heart hath fallen
Confusion,
till I know not what I am,
Nor whence I
am, nor whether I be King.
Behold, I seem
but King among the dead."
Then spake the
bold Sir Bedivere: "My King,
King
everywhere! and so the dead have kings,
There also
will I worship thee as King.
Yet still thy
life is whole, and still I live
Who love thee;
but who hates thee, he that brought
The heathen
back among us, yonder stands,
Modred, unharmed, the traitor of thine
house."
Then spake the King:
"My house hath been my doom.
But call not
thou this traitor of my house
Who hath but
dwelt beneath one roof with me.
My house are
rather they who sware my vows,
Yea, even
while they brake them, owned me King.
And well for
thee, saying in my dark hour,
When all the
purport of my throne hath failed,
That quick or
dead thou holdest me for King.
King am I,
whatsoever be their cry;
And one last
act of kinghood shalt thou see
Yet, ere I
pass." And uttering this the King
Made at the
man: then Modred smote his liege
Hard on that
helm which many a heathen sword
Had beaten
thin; while Arthur at one blow,
Striking the
last stroke with Excalibur,
Slew him, and
all but slain himself, he fell.
So all day long the noise of battle rolled
Among the
mountains by the winter sea;
Until King
Arthur's Table, man by man,
Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their lord,
King Arthur.
Then, because his wound was deep,
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
And bore him
to a chapel nigh the field,
A broken
chancel with a broken cross,
That stood on
a dark strait of barren land:
On one side
lay the Ocean, and on one
Lay a great
water, and the moon was full.
Then spake King
Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
"The
sequel of today unsolders all
The goodliest
fellowship of famous knights
Whereof this
world holds record. Such a sleep
They
sleep--the men I loved. I think that we
Shall never
more, at any future time,
Delight our
souls with talk of knightly deeds,
Walking about
the gardens and the halls
Of Camelot, as
in the days that were.
I perish by
this people which I made,--
Though Merlin sware that I should come again
To rule once
more; but, let what will be, be,
I am so deeply
smitten through the helm
That without
help I cannot last till morn.
Thou therefore
take my brand Excalibur,
Which was my
pride: for thou rememberest how
In those old
days, one summer
Rose up from
out the bosom of the lake,
Clothed in
white samite, mystic, wonderful,
Holding the
sword--and how I rowed across
And took it,
and have worn it, like a king;
And, wheresoever I am sung or told
In aftertime,
this also shall be known:
But now delay
not: take Excalibur,
And fling him
far into the middle mere:
Watch what
thou seëst, and lightly bring me word."
To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere:
"It is
not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus,
Aidless,
alone, and smitten through the helm--
A little thing
may harm a wounded man;
Yet I thy hest
will all perform at full,
Watch what I
see, and lightly bring thee word."
So saying, from the ruined shrine he stept,
And in the
moon athwart the place of tombs,
Where lay the
mighty bones of ancient men,
Old knights,
and over them the sea-wind sang
Shrill, chill,
with flakes of foam. He, stepping down
By zigzag
paths, and juts of pointed rock,
Came on the
shining levels of the lake.
There drew he forth the brand Excalibur,
And o'er him,
drawing it, the winter moon,
Brightening
the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth
And sparkled
keen with frost against the hilt:
For all the
haft twinkled with diamond sparks,
Myriads of topaz-lights,
and jacinth-work
Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long
That both his
eyes were dazzled as he stood,
This way and
that dividing the swift mind,
In act to
throw: but at the last it seemed
Better to
leave Excalibur concealed
There in the
many-knotted waterflags,
That whistled
stiff and dry about the marge.
So strode he
back slow to the wounded King.
Then spake King
Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
"Hast
thou performed my mission which I gave?
What is it
thou hast seen? or what hast heard?"
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
"I heard
the ripple washing in the reeds,
And the wild
water lapping on the crag."
To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:
"Thou
hast betrayed thy nature and thy name,
Not rendering
true answer, as beseemed
Thy fëalty, nor like a noble knight:
For surer sign
had followed, either hand,
Or voice, or
else a motion of the mere.
This is a
shameful thing for men to lie.
Yet now, I
charge thee, quickly go again,
As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing
I bade thee,
watch, and lightly bring me word."
Then went Sir Bedivere
the second time
Across the
ridge, and paced beside the mere,
Counting the
dewy pebbles, fixed in thought;
But when he
saw the wonder of the hilt,
How curiously
and strangely chased, he smote
His palms
together, and he cried aloud:
"And if indeed I cast the brand away,
Surely a
precious thing, one worthy note,
Should thus be
lost for ever from the earth,
Which might
have pleased the eyes of many men.
What good
should follow this, if this were done?
What harm,
undone? Deep harm to disobey,
Seeing
obedience is the bond of rule.
Were it well
to obey then, if a king demand
An act
unprofitable, against himself?
The King is
sick, and knows not what he does.
What record,
or what relic of my lord
Should be to
aftertime, but empty breath
And rumours of a doubt? But were this kept,
Stored in some
treasure-house of mighty kings,
Some one might
show it at a joust of arms,
Saying, 'King
Arthur's sword, Excalibur,
Wrought by the
lonely maiden of the Lake.
Nine years she
wrought it, sitting in the deeps
Upon the
hidden bases of the hills."
So might some
old man speak in the aftertime
To all the
people, winning reverence.
But now much
honour and much fame were lost."
So spake he,
clouded with his own conceit,
And hid
Excalibur the second time,
And so strode
back slow to the wounded King.
Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily:
"What is
it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?"
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
"I heard
the water lapping on the crag,
And the long
ripple washing in the reeds."
To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath:
"Ah,
miserable and unkind, untrue,
Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!
Authority
forgets a dying king,
Laid widowed
of the power in his eye
That bowed the
will. I see thee what thou art,
For thou, the
latest-left of all my knights,
In whom should
meet the offices of all,
Thou wouldst
betray me for the precious hilt;
Either from
lust of gold, or like a girl
Valuing the
giddy pleasure of the eyes.
Yet, for a man
may fail in duty twice,
And the third
time may prosper, get thee hence:
But, if thou
spare to fling Excalibur,
I will arise
and slay thee with my hands."
Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere,
and ran,
And, leaping
down the ridges lightly, plunged
Among the
bulrush beds, and clutched the sword,
And strongly
wheeled and threw it. The great brand
Made lightnings in the splendour of
the moon,
And flashing
round and round, and whirled in an arch,
Shot like a
streamer of the northern morn,
Seen where the
moving isles of winter shock
By night, with
noises of the Northern Sea.
So flashed and
fell the brand Excalibur:
But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm
Clothed in
white samite, mystic, wonderful,
And caught him
by the hilt, and brandished him
Three times,
and drew him under in the mere.
And lightly
went the other to the King.
Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker
breath:
"Now see
I by thine eyes that this is done.
Speak out:
what is it thou hast heard, or seen?"
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
"Sir
King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems
Should blind
my purpose, for I never saw,
Nor shall see,
here or elsewhere, till I die,
So great a
miracle as yonder hilt.
Then with both
hands I flung him, wheeling him;
But when I
looked again, behold an arm,
Clothed in
white samite, mystic, wonderful,
That caught
him by the hilt, and brandished him
Three times,
and drew him under in the mere."
And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard:
"My end
draws nigh; 'tis time that I were gone.
Make broad thy
shoulders to receive my weight,
And bear me to
the margin; yet I fear
My wound hath
taken cold, and I shall die."
So saying, from the pavement he half rose,
Slowly, with
pain, reclining on his arm,
And looking
wistfully with wide blue eyes
As in a
picture. Him Sir Bedivere
Remorsefully
regarded through his tears,
And would have
spoken, but he found not words;
Then took with
care, and kneeling on one knee,
O'er both his
shoulders drew the languid hands,
And rising bore
him through the place of tombs.
But, as he walked, King Arthur panted hard,
Like one that
feels a nightmare on his bed
When all the
house is mute. So sighed the King,
Muttering and
murmuring at his ear, "Quick, quick!
I fear it is
too late, and I shall die."
But the other
swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,
Clothed with
his breath, and looking, as he walked,
Larger than
human on the frozen hills.
He heard the
deep behind him, and a cry
Before. His
own thought drove him like a goad.
Dry clashed
his harness in the icy caves
And barren
chasms, and all to left and right
The bare black
cliff clanged round him, as he based
His feet on
juts of slippery crag that rang
Sharp-smitten
with the dint of armed heels--
And on a
sudden, lo! the level lake,
And the long
glories of the winter moon.
Then saw they
how there hove a dusky barge,
Dark as a
funeral scarf from stem to stern,
Beneath them;
and descending they were ware
That all the
decks were dense with stately forms,
Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream--by these
Three Queens
with crowns of gold: and from them rose
A cry that
shivered to the tingling stars,
And, as it
were one voice, an agony
Of
lamentation, like a wind that shrills
All night in a
waste land, where no one comes,
Or hath come, since
the making of the world.
Then murmured Arthur, "Place me in the
barge."
So to the
barge they came. There those three Queens
Put forth
their hands, and took the King, and wept.
But she, that
rose the tallest of them all
And fairest,
laid his head upon her lap,
And loosed the
shattered casque, and chafed his hands,
And called him
by his name, complaining loud,
And dropping
bitter tears against a brow
Striped with
dark blood: for all his face was white
And colourless, and like the withered moon
Smote by the
fresh beam of the springing east;
And all his
greaves and cuisses dashed with drops
Of onset; and
the light and lustrous curls--
That made his
forehead like a rising sun
High from the daďs-throne--were parched with dust;
Or, clotted
into points and hanging loose,
Mixed with the
knightly growth that fringed his lips.
So like a
shattered column lay the King;
Not like that
Arthur who, with lance in rest,
From spur to
plume a star of tournament,
Shot through
the lists at Camelot, and charged
Before the eyes
of ladies and of kings.
Then loudly
cried the bold Sir Bedivere:
"Ah! my
Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?
Where shall I
hide my forehead and my eyes?
For now I see
the true old times are dead,
When every
morning brought a noble chance,
And every chance
brought out a noble knight.
Such times
have been not since the light that led
The holy
Elders with the gift of myrrh.
But now the
whole Round Table is dissolved
Which was an
image of the mighty world,
And I, the
last, go forth companionless,
And the days
darken round me, and the years,
Among new men,
strange faces, other minds."
And slowly
answered Arthur from the barge:
"The old
order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God
fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good
custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort
thyself: what comfort is in me?
I have lived
my life, and that which I have done
May He within
himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,
Pray for my
soul. More things are wrought by prayer
Than this
world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a
fountain for me night and day.
For what are
men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a
blind life within the brain,
If, knowing
God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for
themselves and those who call them friend?
For so the
whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold
chains about the feet of God.
But now
farewell. I am going a long way
With these
thou seëst--if indeed I go
(For all my
mind is clouded with a doubt)--
To the
island-valley of Avilion;
Where falls
not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind
blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns
And bowery
hollows crowned with summer sea,
Where I will
heal me of my grievous wound."
So said he,
and the barge with oar and sail
Moved from the
brink, like some full-breasted swan
That, fluting
a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her
pure cold plume, and takes the flood
With swarthy
webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
Revolving many
memories, till the hull
Looked one
black dot against the verge of dawn,
And on the
mere the wailing died away.
But when that
moan had past for evermore,
The stillness
of the dead world's winter dawn
Amazed him,
and he groaned, "The King is gone."
And
therewithal came on him the weird rhyme,
"From the
great deep to the great deep he goes."
Whereat he
slowly turned and slowly clomb
The last hard
footstep of that iron crag;
Thence marked
the black hull moving yet, and cried,
"He
passes to be King among the dead,
And after
healing of his grievous wound
He comes again;
but--if he come no more--
O me, be yon
dark Queens in yon black boat,
Who shrieked
and wailed, the three whereat we gazed
On that high
day, when, clothed with living light,
They stood
before his throne in silence, friends
Of Arthur, who
should help him at his need?"
Then from the dawn it seemed there came, but
faint
As from beyond
the limit of the world,
Like the last
echo born of a great cry,
Sounds, as if
some fair city were one voice
Around a king
returning from his wars.
Thereat once
more he moved about, and clomb
Even to the
highest he could climb, and saw,
Straining his
eyes beneath an arch of hand,
Or thought he
saw, the speck that bare the King,
Down that long
water opening on the deep
Somewhere far
off, pass on and on, and go
From less to
less and vanish into light.
And the new
sun rose bringing the new year.
Theosophy
Avalon
King
Arthur &
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Merlin
& The Tree of Life
Merlin the Magician
Born circa 400 CE ; Welsh: Myrddin;
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Concerns
are raised about the fate of the
wildlife as The
Spiritual Retreat,
Tekels
Park in Camberley, Surrey,
England
is to be sold to a developer.
Tekels
Park is a 50 acre woodland park,
purchased for
the Adyar Theosophical
In
addition to concern about the park,
many are worried
about the future
of the Tekels Park Deer as
they
Confusion
as the Theoversity moves out of
Tekels
Park to Southampton, Glastonbury &
Chorley
in Lancashire while the leadership claim
that the Theosophical Society will carry
on using
Tekels Park despite its sale to a developer
Anyone
planning a “Spiritual” stay at the
Tekels
Park Guest House should be aware of the sale.
Future of Tekels Park
Badgers in Doubt
Party On! Tekels Park Theosophy NOT
Tekels Park & the Loch Ness Monster
A Satirical
view of the sale of Tekels Park
in Camberley, Surrey to a developer
The
Toff’s Guide to the Sale of Tekels Park
What the men in top hats have to
say about the sale of Tekels Park
__________________________
An
Outline of Theosophy
Charles
Webster Leadbeater
Theosophy
- What it is How is it Known?
The
Method of Observation General
Principles
The
Three Great Truths Advantage
Gained from this Knowledge
The
Deity The Divine Scheme The
Constitution of Man
The
True Man Reincarnation The Wider Outlook
Death Man’s
Past and Future Cause
and Effect
______________________________
A B C D EFG H IJ KL M N OP QR S T UV WXYZ
Complete Theosophical Glossary in Plain Text Format
1.22MB
Helena Petrovna Blavatsky 1831 – 1891
The Founder of Modern Theosophy
Index of Articles by
By
H P Blavatsky
Is the Desire to Live Selfish?
Ancient Magic in Modern Science
Precepts Compiled by H P Blavatsky
Obras
Por H P Blavatsky
En Espanol
Articles about the Life of H P Blavatsky
Classic Introductory Theosophy
Text
A Text Book of Theosophy By C
What Theosophy Is From the Absolute to Man
The Formation of a Solar System The Evolution of Life
The Constitution of Man After Death Reincarnation
The Purpose of Life The Planetary Chains
The Result of Theosophical Study
Preface to the American Edition Introduction
Occultism and its Adepts The Theosophical Society
First Occult Experiences Teachings of Occult Philosophy
Later Occult Phenomena Appendix
Preface
Theosophy and the Masters General Principles
The Earth Chain Body and Astral Body Kama – Desire
Manas Of
Reincarnation Reincarnation Continued
Karma Kama Loka
Devachan
Cycles
Arguments Supporting Reincarnation
Differentiation Of Species Missing Links
Psychic Laws, Forces, and Phenomena
Psychic Phenomena and Spiritualism
Quick Explanations with Links to More Detailed Info
What is Theosophy
? Theosophy Defined (More Detail)
Three Fundamental Propositions Key Concepts of Theosophy
Cosmogenesis Anthropogenesis Root Races
Ascended Masters After Death States
The Seven Principles of Man Karma
Reincarnation Helena Petrovna Blavatsky
Colonel Henry Steel Olcott William Quan Judge
The Start of the Theosophical
Society
History of the Theosophical
Society
Theosophical Society Presidents
History of the Theosophical
Society in Wales
The Three Objectives of the
Theosophical Society
Explanation of the Theosophical
Society Emblem
The Theosophical Order of
Service (TOS)
Glossaries of Theosophical Terms
Index
of Searchable
Full
Text Versions of
Definitive
Theosophical
Works
H P Blavatsky’s Secret Doctrine
Isis Unveiled by H P Blavatsky
H P Blavatsky’s Esoteric Glossary
Mahatma Letters to A P Sinnett 1 - 25
A Modern Revival of Ancient Wisdom
(Selection of Articles by H P Blavatsky)
The Secret Doctrine – Volume 3
A compilation of H P Blavatsky’s
writings published after her death
Esoteric Christianity or the Lesser Mysteries
The Early Teachings of The
Masters
A Collection of Fugitive Fragments
Fundamentals of the Esoteric Philosophy
Mystical,
Philosophical, Theosophical, Historical
and Scientific Essays Selected from "The
Theosophist"
Edited by George
Robert Stow Mead
From Talks on the Path of Occultism - Vol. II
In the Twilight”
Series of Articles
The In the
Twilight” series appeared during
1898 in The Theosophical Review and
from 1909-1913 in The Theosophist.
compiled from information supplied by
her relatives and friends and edited by A P Sinnett
Letters and
Talks on Theosophy and the Theosophical Life
Obras Teosoficas En Espanol
Theosophische Schriften
Auf Deutsch
Karma Fundamental Principles Laws: Natural and Man-Made The Law of Laws
The Eternal Now
Succession
Causation The Laws of Nature A Lesson of The Law
Karma Does Not Crush Apply This Law
Man in The Three Worlds Understand The Truth
Man and His Surroundings The Three Fates The Pair of Triplets Thought, The Builder
Practical Meditation Will and Desire
The Mastery of Desire Two Other Points
The Third Thread Perfect Justice
Our Environment
Our Kith and Kin Our Nation
The Light for a Good Man Knowledge of Law The Opposing Schools
The More Modern View Self-Examination Out of the Past
Old Friendships
We Grow By Giving Collective Karma Family Karma
National Karma
India’s Karma
National Disasters
Try these if you are looking
for a
local Theosophy Group or Centre
UK Listing of Theosophical Groups
Please tell us about your UK Theosophy Group
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