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T. LOBSANG RAMPACHAPTERS OF LIFE(Edition: 22/04/2021)Chapters of Life — (Originally published in 1967) Lobsang talksabout dimensions, parallel worlds and prophecies, providing thereader with a deeper understanding into how prophesies arecalculated, something that most people do not fully understand.Lobsang also answers questions about religion and Christianity.Religion serves a very real purpose that many disregard today as wecan clearly see societies and communities crumbling away. Sadly,many will interpret religion to their way of thinking only.

It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.The Coat of Arms is surrounded by a Tibetan rosary made up ofone hundred and eight beads symbolising the one hundred and eightbooks of the Tibetan Kangyur. In personal blazon, we see tworampant seal point Siamese cats holding a lit candle. In the upper left-2/239

hand of the shield we see the Potala; to the right-hand of the shield, aTibetan prayer wheel turning, as shown by the small weight which isover the object. In the bottom, left-hand of the shield are books tosymbolise the talents of writer and knowledge of the author, whereasto the right-hand side of the shield, a crystal ball to symbolise theesoteric sciences. Under the shield, we can read the motto of T.Lobsang Rampa: ‘I lit a candle’.Table of contentsTable of contents. 3To thank . . . . 4Chapter One A coming world leader . 5Chapter Two Many mansions . 22Chapter Three Many more mansions . 41Chapter Four Many dimensions too! . 61Dialogue of Plato the philosopher .77Chapter Five Painting with words . 81I fear not .87Be content .88My love.89The confession to Maat .99Affirmation .100To my overself I pray .100A prayer .101Chapter Six A world we all must visit . 101Chapter Seven End of a chapter . 122Chapter Eight Meditation . 149Chapter Nine Is astral travel for you?. 169Chapter Ten The works of man . 188Chapter Eleven You write this! . 207Chapter Twelve Religion and science . 228‘Kindness to publishers’ department . 2373/239

To thank . . .Mrs Valeria Sorock (a language purist!) for her noble action intyping extra copies of this manuscript, bravely ignoring and unalteringfractured English and graceless grammar.Victoria Harvey of Brighton, Sussex, England, for the delicatefeeling and understanding so adequately displayed in theseillustrations by her.‘Ma’ for reading and criticising (always kindly) my first thoughts,and ‘Buttercup’ for such hard work in typing from my dictation.The Misses Tadalinka and Cleopatra Rampa, the Representativeson Earth of the Lady Ku'ei and Mrs Fifi Greywhiskers who, in spite ofbeing only six months old, NOBLY entertained and sometimes toreup the pages before they were finished with.Ladies—good gracious! They are ALL ladies!—THANK YOU!T. LOBSANG RAMPATo MariechenA Lady of GermanyA Light in the Darkness,A friend throughout the years.4/239

Chapter OneA coming world leaderTHE tall, rank weeds at the edge of the unkempt vacant lot stirredslightly. The broad leaves of the ragged old dock plant wavedsideways, and the two unwinking green eyes stared out into the gloomof the dismal street. Slowly, and with considerable caution, a gauntyellow tomcat emerged on to the uneven sidewalk. Carefully hestopped to sniff the night air for signs of enemies. Friends—he hadnone, for cats in this street lived a near-jungle existence, with everyman's hand against them.Satisfied at last that all was clear, he sauntered across to the centreof the roadway and there, sitting, he commenced a meticulous toilet.First the ears, then the back of the neck with a well-moistened paw.Finally, with the left leg pointed skywards, he continued his carefulgrooming. Pausing for a moment to draw breath, he looked about him,looked at the dreary street.Dirty brick houses of another era. Tattered curtains at soot-smearedwindows, with paint peeling from the rotting window frames.Occasionally there came the loud blare from some discordant radio, tobe quickly turned down as a screamed curse testified to some otheroccupant's disapproval.Yellow glimmers of light came from such street lamps as hadescaped being broken by the local children. Great patches of blackshadow sprawled across the area of the broken lamps. The yellowtomcat turned again to his toilet, unmoved by the garbage littering thesidewalks. From far away, from the better area, came the muted roarof the traffic and reflected from the sky came the glow of many neonsigns. But here, in this street, all was desolate, a street of the hopeless.Suddenly the yellow tomcat was all alert, ears erect, eyes staringinto the gloom, muscles ready for instant flight. SOMETHING hadimpinged upon his awareness. Springing to his feet, he gave a warningHISS before merging into the gloom between two houses. For a5/239

moment all was normal in the street, the fretful wail of a sick baby, aman and woman quarrelling with lurid anatomical overtones, and thedistant screech of brakes suddenly applied in an adjacent street.At last, there came the faintest of unusual sounds, slow, shufflingfootsteps—not a drunk, that was normal here!—but aged, haltingfootsteps, the footsteps of one who was tired of life, who was hangingon by the merest thread to a miserable and uncertain existence. Theshuffling came nearer, like the slow grating of sand beneath sandaledfeet. The dark chasm of the gloomy street, but poorly relieved by theinfrequent street lamps, made seeing difficult. A vague shadow movedfeebly across a lighted patch and was swallowed up again by thedarkness.The sound of wheezing, asthmatic breath smote harshly on the earsas the shrouded figure approached. Suddenly the steps halted, andthere came the raucous noise of harsh expectoration, followed by apainfully hissing intake of breath. A heavy sigh, and the totteringsteps resumed their weary cadence.Dimly a whitish shadow materialised out of the semi-darkness ofthe street and came to a halt beneath a feebly flickering street lamp.An aged man clad in dirty white robes and with tattered sandals uponhis feet peered near-sightedly at the ground before him. Stooping, hefumbled to pick up a discarded cigarette end lying in the gutter. As hebent the burden he carried reflected the light; a placard on a pole, withthe crudely printed words: ‘Repent, Repent, for the Second Coming ofthe Lord is at hand. Repent.’ Straightening, he moved a few stepsfarther, and then climbed painfully down some stone steps to abasement apartment.6/239

(Repent ye for the second coming of the Lord is at hand. Repent.)“Don't know why ye do it, Bert, that's a fact I don't. Ye only get'slaughed at by the kids. Give it up, will ya?”“Ah, Maudie, we all got our job to do. Guess I might plant a seed ofthought somewhere, you know. I'll keep at it a while longer.”“A while is all it'll be, Bert, ye'r eighty-one now, time you give it upI say, afore you drop dead on the street.”****7/239***

The old lych-gate was gleamingly resplendent under the weakafternoon sun. The fresh varnish brought new life to the age-oldwood. Farther along the path the ancient grey stone church of St.Mary's looked mellow and benevolent. The great iron-studded doorswere open now, waiting for worshippers to the Eventide Service. Highabove the bells clanged their eternal message, ‘Hurry now, hurry now,or you'll be late.’ A thousand years of history was locked in the oldchurchyard. Great stone tombs of bygone days, with their archaicspellings, vast stone angels with wide-spread wings. Here and therebroken marble columns signified a life ‘broken’ in its prime.A vagrant shaft of light, bursting unexpectedly from suddenlyparted clouds, shot through the old church and threw the stained-glasswindows into vivid life, laying the shadow of the castellated toweracross the graves of those who were buried so long ago.People were converging on the church now, coming from alldirections, talking animatedly, dressed in their Sunday best. Youngchildren, self-conscious in their finery, and embarrassed by freshlyscrubbed faces, tagged along behind their parents. An old Vergerappeared briefly and gazed worriedly down the path before retiringinto the dim coolness of the church.From over the stone wall came a burst of laughter, followed by theRector and a clerical friend. Skirting the old tombstones, theyfollowed a private path leading to the vestry. Soon the wife andchildren of the Rector appeared, making their way to the mainentrance so they could mingle with the incoming throng.Above, in the bell tower, the clang-clang, clang-clang continued,urging on the tardy, reproaching the churchless. The crowd thinned toa trickle, and came to a stop as the Verger peered out once more, and,seeing no one, closed the main door.Inside there was the hallowed atmosphere so common to oldchurches of any Faith. The great stone walls soared upwards, to giveway at last to massive rafters. The sunlight shone through the stainedglass windows, throwing shifting patterns across the pale faces of thecongregation. From the organ loft came the lulling strains of a hymn8/239

whose history was lost in the mists of antiquity. A last peal from thebells, and as their echoes were still dying away a door creaked faintly,and the bell-ringers came into the nave to find seats at the back.Suddenly the organ changed its music. People stiffened with an airof expectancy and there was subdued commotion at the rear of thechurch. The tread of many feet, the rustle of vestments, and soon thefirst choirboys were filing up the aisle, to take their places in the choirstalls. There came the fidgeting and murmuring so common to suchoccasions as the congregation prepared for the service to start.The Reader droned on, reading the Lessons as he had done foryears past, reading automatically—without a thought. Behind him abored choirboy with a rubber band and some pellets of paperproceeded to find amusement. “Ouch!” said the first victim,involuntarily. Slowly the organist-choirmaster turned on the organstool and fixed the culprit with such a ferocious glare that he droppedthe rubber band and shuffled uneasily.The Guest Cleric, ready to give the sermon, slowly mounted thesteps of the pulpit. At the top he leaned against the wooden ledge andgazed out complacently at the congregation. Tall, he was, with wavybrown hair, and with eyes of that shade of blue which so appeals toelderly spinsters. The Rector's wife, sitting in the first pew, gazed upand permitted herself to wish her husband could have such anappearance. Slowly, taking his time, the Preacher gave as his textTHE SECOND COMING OF THE LORD.He droned on, and on, and on. In a far-back pew an old retiredfarmer found it too much for him. Slowly he lapsed into slumber.Soon snores resounded throughout the church. Hastily a sidesmanmoved towards him and shook him awake before leading him outside.At last the Visiting Cleric finished his Address. After giving theBlessing he turned and made his way down the pulpit steps.There was a shuffling and stirring of feet as the organistcommenced to play the closing hymn. Sidesmen moved along theaisles passing the collection plates and shaking a reproving head atthose who did not give enough. Soon they formed into a group of four9/239