FOREWORD

    This is a book about the Occult, and about the powers of

Man.  It is a simple book in that there are no “foreign words,”

no Sanskrit, nothing of dead languages.  The average person

wants to KNOW things, does not want to guess at words

which the average Author does not understand either!  If an

Author knows his job he can write in English without having

to disguise lack of knowledge by use of a foreign language.

    Too many people get caught up in mumbo jumbo. The

laws of Life are simple indeed; there is no need at all to dress

them up with mystic cults or pseudo religions.  Nor is there

need for anyone to claim “divine revelations.”  ANYONE

can have the same “revelations” if they work for it.

    No one religion holds the Keys of Heaven, nor will one be

forever damned because he enters a church with his hat on

instead of his shoes off.  In Tibet lamasery entrances bear the

inscription “A thousand monks, a thousand religions.”

Believe what you will, if it embraces “do as you would be done

by” you will GET by when the final Call comes.

    Some say that Inner Knowledge can only be obtained by

joining this cult or that cult, and paying a substantial   

subscription too. The Laws of Life say, ‘Seek, and you shall

find.’

    This book is the fruit of a long life, training culled from the

greater Lamaseries of Tibet and from powers which were

gained by a very close adherence to the Laws.  This is know-

ledge taught by the Ancients of old, and is written in the

Pyramids of Egypt, in the High Temples of the Andes, and

the greatest repository of Occult knowledge in the world,

the Highlands of Tibet.

                                    T. LOBSANG RAMPA

                              CHAPTER ONE

    The evening was warm, deliciously, unusually warm for thc

time of the year. Gently rising on the windless air, the sweet

scent of incense gave tranquility to our mood. Far away the

sun was setting in a blaze of glory behind the high peaks of

the Himalayas, tinting the snow-clad mountain tops a blood

red as if in warning of the blood Which would drench Tibet

in the days to come.

    Lengthening shadows crept slowly towards thc City of

Lhasa from the twin peaks of the Potala and our own

Chakpori. Below us, to the right, a belated caravan of

traders from India wended their way to the Pargo Kaling,

or Western Gate. The last of the devout pilgrims hurried

with unseemly haste on their circuit of the Lingkor Road,

as if afraid of being overtaken by the velvet darkness of

the fast approaching night.

    The Kyi Chu, or Happy River, ran merrily along on its

endless journey to the sea, throwing up blight flashes of

light as tribute to the dying day. The City of Lhasa was

agleam with the golden glow of butter lamps. From the

nearby Potala a trumpet sounded at the end of thc day its

notes rolling and echoing across the Valley, rebounding

from rock surfaces, and returning to us with altered timbre.

    I gazed at the familiar scene, gazed across at the Potala,

hundreds of windows atwinkle as monks of all degree went

about their business at thc close of the day. At the top of

the immense building, by the Golden Tombs, a solitary

figure, lonely and remote, stood watching. As the last rays

of the sun sank below the mountain ranges, a trumpet

sounded again, and the sound of deep chanting rose from

the Temple below. Swiftly the last vestiges of light faded;

swiftly the stars in the sky became a blaze of jewels set in

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a   purple background.  A meteor flashed across the sky and

flared into a burst of final flaming glory before falling to the

Earth as a pinch of smoking dust.

    “A beautiful night, Lobsang!”  said a well-loved voice.

“A beautiful night, indeed,” I replied as I swiftly rose to

my feet in order that I might bow to the Lama Mingyar

Dondup.   He sat by the side of a wall and motioned for me

to sit also.  Pointing upwards, he said,  Do you realize that

people, you, and I, may look like that?  I gazed at him

dumbly, how could I look like stars in the night sky. The

Lama was a big man, handsome, and with a noble head.

Even so, he did not look like a collection of stars.  He

laughed at my bemused expression .  “Literal as usual, Lob-

sang, literal as usual,” he smiled.  “I meant to imply that

things are not always what they seem.  If you wrote ‘Om!

ma-ne-pad-me Hum’ so large that it filled the whole Valley

of Lhasa people would not be able to read it, it would be

too large for them to grasp.”  He stopped and looked at me

to make sure that I was following his explanation and then

continued, “In the same way the stars are ‘so large’ that

we cannot determine what they really form.”                          

    I looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses.

The stars forming something? They were—well—

stars! Then I thought of writing so large that it filled the

Valley, and so became unreadable because of its size.  The

gentle voice went on, “Think of yourself shrinking, shrink-

ing, becoming as small as a grain of sand. How would I

look to you then?  Suppose you became even smaller, so

small that the grain of sand was as large as a world to you.

Then what would you see of me?” He stopped and looked

piercingly at me. “Well?” he asked  “what would you

see?”  I sat there and gaped, brain paralyzed at the thought,

mouth open like a newly landed fish. 

    “You would see, Lobsang,” the Lama said,  “a group of

widely dispersed worlds floating in darkness.  Because of

your small size you would see the molecules of my body as

separate worlds with immense space in between. You

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would see worlds rotating around worlds, you would see

‘suns’ which were the molecules of certain psychic centers,

you would see a universe!”  My brain creaked, I would

almost swear that the ‘machinery’ above my eyebrows gave

a convulsive shudder with all the effort I was expending in

order to follow all this strange, exciting knowledge.

    My guide, the Lama Mingyar Dondup reached forward

and gently raised my chin. “Lobsang!” he chuckled, “your

eyes are becoming crossed with the effort to follow me.”  He

sat back, laughing, and gave me a few moments in which

to recover somewhat.  Then he said, “Look at the material

of your robe.  Feel it!”  I did so, feeling remarkably foolish

as I gazed at the tattered old garment I wore.  The Lama

remarked, “It is cloth, somewhat smooth to the touch.  You

cannot see through it.  But imagine seeing it through a glass

which magnified it by ten.  Think of the thick strands of yak

wool, each strand ten times thicker than you see it here.

You would be able to see light between the strands.  But

magnify it by a million and you would be able to ride a

horse through it, except that each strand would be too huge

to climb over!”

    It made sense to me, now that it was pointed out.  I sat

and thought, nodding, as the Lama said, “Like a decrepit

old woman!”  “Sir!” I said at last, “then all life is a lot

of space sprinkled with worlds.”  “Not quite so simple as

that,” he replied, “but sit more comfortably and I will tell

you a little of the Knowledge we discovered in the Cave of

the Ancients.”  “Cave of the Ancients!” I exclaimed, full

of avid curiosity, “you were going to tell me about that

and the Expedition!”  “Yes!  Yes!” he soothed, “so I will,

but first let us deal with Man and Life as the Ancients in

the days of Atlantis believed them to be.”

    I was secretly far more interested in the Cave of the

Ancients which an expedition of high lamas had discovered,

and which contained fabulous stores of knowledge and

artifacts from an age when the Earth was very young.

Knowing my Guide as well as I did, I knew that it would

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be useless to expect to be told the story until he was ready,

and that was not yet.  Above us the stars shone in all their

glory, hardly dimmed by the rare, pure air of Tibet.  In the

Temples and Lamaseries the lights were fading one by one.

From afar, carried on the night air, came the plaintive wail

of a dog, and the answering barks of those in the Village of

Sho below us.  The night was calm, placid even, and no

clouds drifted across the face of the newly risen moon.

Prayer flags hung limp and lifeless at their masts.  From

somewhere came the faint clacking of a Prayer Wheel as

some devout monk, encased in superstition and not aware

of Reality, twirled the Wheel in the vain hope of gaining

the favour of the Gods.

    The Lama, my Guide, smiled at the sound and said, “To

each according to his belief, to each according to his need.

The trappings of ceremonial religion are a solace to many,

we should not condemn those who have not yet traveled

far enough upon the Path, nor are able to stand without

crutches.  I am going to tell you, Lobsang, of the nature of

Man.”  I felt very close to this Man, the only one who had

ever shown me consideration and love.  I listened carefully

in order to justify his faith in me.  At least, that is how I

started, but I soon found the subject to be fascinating, and   

then I listened with unconcealed eagerness.

    “The whole world is made of vibrations, all Life, all that

is inanimate, consists of vibrations.  Even the mighty Him-

alayas,” said the Lama, “are just a mass of suspended

particles in which no particle can touch the other. The

world, the Universe, consists of minute particles of matter

around which other particles of matter whirl.  Just as our       

Sun has worlds circling around it, always keeping their

distance, never touching, so is everything that exists com-

posed of whirling worlds.”  He stopped and gazed at me,

perhaps wondering if all this was beyond my understanding,

but I could follow it with ease.

    He continued, “The ghosts that we clairvoyants see in

the Temple are people, living people, who have left this       

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world and entered into a state where their molecules are so

widely dispersed that the ‘ghost’ can walk through the

densest wall without touching a single molecule of that

wall.”  “Honourable Master,” I said, “why do we feel a

tingle when a ‘ghost’ brushes past us?”  “Every molecule,

every little ‘sun and planet’ system is surrounded by an

electric charge, not the sort of electricity which Man gener-

ates with machines, but a more refined type.  The electricity

which we see shimmering across the sky some nights.  Just

as the Earth has the Northern Lights, or Aurora Borealis

flickering at the Poles, so has the meanest particle of matter

its ‘Northern Lights.’  A ‘ghost’ coming too close to us

imparts a mild shock to our aura, and so we get this

tingle.”

    About us the night was still, not a breath of wind dis-

turbed the quiet; there was a silence that one knows only

in such countries as Tibet. “The aura, then, that we see, is

that an electric charge?”  I asked. “Yes! replied my

Guide the Lama Mingyar Dondup.  “In countries outside

of Tibet, where wires carrying electric current at high

voltages are strung across the land, a ‘corona effect’ is

observed and recognized by electrical engineers.  In this

‘corona effect’ the wires appear to be surrounded by a

corona or aura of bluish light.  It is observed mostly on dark,

misty nights, but is of course there all the time for those

who can see.”  He looked at me reflectively.  “When you

go to Chungking to study medicine you will use an instru-

ment which charts the electrical waves of the brain.  All

Life, all that exists, is electricity and vibration.”

    “Now I am puzzled!” I replied, “for how can Life be

vibration and electricity?  I can understand one, but not

both.”  “But my dear Lobsang!” laughed the Lama, “there

can be no electricity without vibration, without movement!

It is movement which generates electricity, therefore the two

are intimately related.”  He saw my puzzled frown and with

his telepathic powers read my thoughts.  “No!” he said,

“just any vibration will not do!  Let me put it to you in

                        13

this way; imagine a truly vast musical keyboard stretching.

from here to infinity. The vibration which we regard as

solid will be represented by one note on that keyboard. The

next might represent sound and the next again will rep-      

resent sight.  Other notes will indicate feelings, senses,

purposes, for which we have no understanding while upon

this Earth.  A dog can hear higher notes than can a human,

and a human can hear lower notes than can a dog.  Words

could be said to the dog in high tones which he could hear

and the human would know nothing of it.  So can people
of the so-called Spirit World communicate with those yet

upon this Earth, when the Earthling has the special gift of

clairaudience.”

    The Lama paused and laughed lightly, “I'm keeping you
from your bed, Lobsang but you shall have the morning

off in order to recover.”  He motioned upwards toward the

stars glittering so brightly in the clear, clear air.  “Since

visiting the Cave of the Ancients and trying the wonderful

instruments there, instruments preserved intact since the

days of Atlantis, I have often amused myself with a whimsy.

I like to think of two small sentient creatures, smaller even

than the smallest virus.  It does not matter what shape they

are, just agree that they  are intelligent and  have super-

super instruments.  Image them standing upon an open

space of their own infinitesimal world (just as we are

now!) ‘My!  It is a beautiful night!’  exclaimed Ay, star-

ing intently upwards at the sky. ‘Yes,’ replied Beh, ‘it makes

one wonder at the purpose of Life, what are we, where are

we going?’ Ay pondered, gazing at the stars sweeping

across the heavens in endless allay. ‘Worlds without limit,

millions, billions of them.  I wonder how many are in-

habited?’  ‘Nonsense!  Sacrilege!  Ridiculous!’  stuttered      

Beh, ‘you know there is no life except upon this our

world, for do not the Priests tell us that we are made in

the Image of God?  And how can there be other life unless

it is exactly like ours — no, it is impossible, you are losing

your wits!’  Ay muttered bad-temperedly to himself as he

                                                   14
strode off, ‘They could be wrong, you know, they could be

wrong!’ ”  The Lama Mingyar Dondup smiled across at

me and said, “I even have a sequel to it!  Here it is:

    “In some distant laboratory, with a science undreamed

of by us, where microscopes of fantastic power were avail-

able, two scientists were working.  One sat hunched up at a

bench, eyes glued to the super-super microscope through

which he gazed.  Suddenly he started, pushing back his stool

with a noisy scrape upon the polished floor, ‘Look, Chan!’

he called to his Assistant, ‘Come and look at this!’  Chan

rose to his feet, walked across to his excited Superior and

sat down before the microscope.  ‘I have a millionth of a

grain of lead sulphide on the slide,’ said the Superior.

‘glance at it!’  Chan adjusted the controls and whistled with

startled surprise. ‘My!’ he exclaimed, ‘it is just like looking

at the Universe through a telescope.  Blazing sun, orbiting

planets . . . !’  The Superior spoke wistfully, ‘I wonder if

we shall have enough magnification to see down to an

individual world - I wonder if there is life there!’  ‘Non-

sense!’ said Chan brusquely, ‘of course there is no sentient

life. There cannot be, for do not the Priests say that we

are made in the Image of God, how can there be intelligent

Life there?’ ”

    Over us the stars wheeled on their course, endless,
eternal.  Smiling, the Lama Mingyar Dondup reached in

his robe and brought forth a box of matches, treasure

brought all the way from far-off India.  Slowly he extracted

one match and held it up. “I will show you Creation,

Lobsang!” he said gaily.  Deliberately he drew the match
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