Morons of the Press Lack The

AS IT WAS!

Dedicated to The City of Calgary,

where I have had peace and quiet

and freedom from interference in

my personal affairs. Thank you,

City of Calgary.

AS IT WAS!

Book One - As it was in the Beginning

Book Two - The First Era

Book Three - The Book of Changes

Book Four - As it is Now!

......

. . .

FOREWORD . . .

All “the best” books have a Foreword, so it is very

necessary that THIS book have one. After all., Authors are

quite entitled to regard their own books as The Best. Let

me start The Best with an explanation of WHY I chose

my title.

“As It Was!” Now why would he use such a silly title?

He says in other books that he ALWAYS writes the truth

Sure, sure, you shall have your explanation, so just Keep

Calm (should be in six-inch capitals) and READ ON.

All my books ARE true, and I have maintained that

fact in face of relentless persecution and calumny. But

throughout the ages sane, sensible people have been perse-

cuted and even tortured and killed for telling it As It was!

A Very Wise Man was almost burnt at the stake for daring

to assert that the Earth revolved around the Sun instead

of-as the Priests taught-that the Earth was the centre

of Creation and all planets revolved around it. The poor

fellow had a terrible time, being stretched on the Rack and

all that, and saved being cooked only by recanting.

Then there have been people who inadvertently levi-

tated at the wrong moment in front of the wrong people

with the wrong results; they have been bumped off in vari-

ous spectacular ways for letting it be known that they were

different from the common horde. Some of “the horde”

ARE common, too, especially if they are pressmen!

Humans of the worst type—you know who THEY are!

—just LOVE to drag everyone down to the same level;

they just cannot bear to that anyone is different from

they, so, like maniacs, they cry “destroy! destroy!” And

instead of trying to prove a person right—they must al-

ways try to prove him wrong. The Press in particular like

to start witch-hunting and persecute a person so that sen-

sation may be stirred up. The morons of the Press lack the

wits to think that there MIGHT be “something in it after

all!”

Edward Davis, “America's Toughest Cop,” wrote in

True Magazine dated January 1975. “The Media in gen-

era1 is really composed of a bunch of frustrated fiction

writers. Putting it another way, Journalism is filled with

Picasso types who get out their paint boxes and construct

a picture thats supposed to be me, but which nobody

recognizes except the guy with the tar brush and feathers.”

Mr. Davis, it is very clear, does not like the Press. Nor do

I. Both of us have good reason not to. A pressman said to

me. “Truth? Truth never sold a paper. Sensation does. We

do not bother with truth; we sell sensation.”

Ever since the publication of “The Third Eye”—a

TRUE book.— strange creatures have crawled out of the

woodwork” and with pens dipped in venom have written

books and articles attacking me. Self-styled “experts” de-

clared THIS to be false, while others of the genre declared

THIS to be true but THAT false. No two “experts” could

agree.

Itinerant “investigators” toured around interviewing

people who had never met me, fabricating wholly imagi-

nary stories. The investigators never met me either.

Pressmen, desperate for sensation, concocted "interviews"

which never took place, Mrs. Rampa, in an entirely fabri-

cated "interview" was quoted—misquoted—as saying the

book was fiction. She did not say it. She has never said it.

We both say-pal my books are TRUE.

But neither press, radio, or publishers, have EVER

permitted me the opportunity of giving my side of the

matter. Never! Nor have I been asked to appear on T.V.

or radio and tell the Truth! Like many before me I have

been persecuted for being “different” from the majority.

So Humanity destroys those who could help Mankind with

special knowledge, or special experiences. We, the Un-

usual, could, if allowed, push back the Frontiers of

Knowledge and advance man's understanding of Man.

The press report me as small and hairy, big and bald,

10
tall and short, thin and fat. Also—according to “reliable”

press reports, I am English, Russian, a German sent to

Tibet by Hitler, Indian, etc. “RELIABLE” press reports!

ANYTHING—anything at all except the Truth-but that

is contained within my books.

So many lies have been told about me. So much dis-

torted imagination has been exercised, so much suffering

has been caused, so much misery—But here in this book

is Truth. I am telling it

As It Was!

PAGE 12 INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK

BOOK ONE

As it was in the beginning

PAGE 14 INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK

CHAPTER ONE

The old man leaned back wearily against a supporting

pillar. His back was numb with the pain of sitting long

hours in one cramped position. His eyes were blurred with

the rheum of age. Slowly he rubbed his eyes with the back

of his hands and peered around. Papers—papers, nothing

but papers littered the table before him. Papers covered

with strange symbols and masses of crabbed figures.

Dimly seen people moved before him awaiting his orders.

Slowly the old man climbed to his feet, fretfully thrust-

ing aside helping hands. Shaking with the weight of years

he moved to a nearby window. Shivering a little by the

opening, he tucked his ancient robe tighter around his

sparse frame. Bracing his elbows against the stonework he

stared around. Cursed with the ability to see afar when his

work demanded that he see near, he now could see to the

farthest limits of the Plain of Lhasa.

The day was warm for Lhasa. The willow trees were at

their best, with leaves showing the youngest green. Small

catkins, or pussy-willow, lent a pleasant myriad of yellow

streaks to the green and brown background. Four hundred

feet below the old man the colours blended most har-

moniously with the gleam of the pellucid water showing

through the lower branches.

The old Chief Astrologer mused on the land before him,

contemplated the mighty Potala in which he lived and

which he so rarely left, and then only for the most pressing

matters. No, no, he thought, let me not think of THAT

yet; let me rest my eyes by enjoying the view.

There was much activity in the Village of Sho which

clustered so snugly at the foot of the Potala. Brigands had

been caught while robbing traders in the high mountain

passes and had been brought to the Hall of Justice in the

Village. Justice had already been dispensed to other of-

fenders; men convicted of some serious crime or other

walked away from the Hall, their chains clanking in tune

with their steps. Now they would have to wander from

place to place begging for their food, for, chained, they

could not easily work.

The old Astrologer gazed wistfully toward the Great

Cathedral! of Lhasa. Long had he contemplated a visit to

renew boyhood memories; his official duties had for too

many years prevented any diversions for pleasure alone.

Sighing, he started to turn away from the window, then he

stopped and looked hard into the distance. Beckoning to

an attendant, he said, “Coming along the Dodpal Linga,

just by the Caesar, I seem to recognize that boy, isn't it the

Rampa boy?” The attendant nodded “Yes, Reverend Sir

that is the Rampa boy and the manservant Tzu, The boy

whose future you are preparing in that horoscope.” The

old Astrologer smiled wryly as he looked down on the

figure of the very small boy and the immense almost seven-

foot tall manservant from the Province of Kham, He

watched as the two ill-matched figures, one on a small

pony and the other on a large horse, rode up until an

outcrop of rock from the Mountain hid them from view.

Nodding to himself, he turned back to the littered table.

“So THIS” he murmured, “will be square with THAT.

Hmmn, so for more than sixty years he will have much

suffering because of the adverse influence of — “ His

voice lapsed into a low drone as he rifled through count-

less papers, making notes here, and scratching-out there.

This old man was the most famous astrologer of Tibet, a

man well versed in the mysteries of that venerable art, The

astrology of Tibet is far different from that of the West.

Here in Lhasa the date of conception was correlated with

the date of birth. A progressed horoscope also would be

done for the date on which the complete “work” was to be

delivered. The Chief Astrologer would predict the Life

Path of the famous, and of significant members of those

families. The government itself would be advised by as-

trologers, as would the Dalai Lama. But THIS was not the

astrology of the West, which seems to be prostituted to the

sensational press.

At long, low tables, priest-astrologers sat cross-legged

checking figures and their relationship to each other.

Charts were drawn of the heavenly configurations extant

at the time of conception, time of birth, time of delivery of

the horoscope reading, which was known well in advance,

and for every year of “the life of the subject” a full chart

and annual delineation was prepared. Then there was the

blending of the whole into one very large report.

Tibetan paper is all handmade and forms quite thick

held in a pile between two sheets of wood. In the West

sheets roughly eight inches from top to bottom by about

two feet to two feet six broad. Western paper for writing is

longer from top to bottom than it is broad; Tibetan paper

is the opposite. The pages of books are not bound but are

such books would soon be ruined, with pages lost or torn.

In Tibet paper is sacred and is treated with extreme care;

to waste paper is a serious offense and to tear a page was

to waste paper—hence the extreme care. A lama would be

reading, but he would have a small acolyte to stand by

him. The wooden top sheet of the book would be removed

with great care and would be placed face down on the left

of the Reader. Then, after reading the top sheet, the page

would reverently be removed by the acolyte and placed

face down on the top cover. After the reading was fin-

ished, the sheets would be carefully leveled, and the book

would be tied together with tapes.

So was the horoscope prepared. Sheet after sheet was

written on or drawn upon. The sheet was put aside to

dry-for it was an offense to waste paper by smudging.

Then, at last, after perhaps six months, for time did not

matter, the horoscope was ready.

Slowly the acolyte, in this case a young monk with

already several years of experience, reverently lifted the

sheet and placed it face down upon its companion on the

leaf. The old Astrologer lifted the new sheet thus exposed.

“Tch, tch,” he grumbled, “this ink is going a bad colour

before it is even exposed to the light. We must have this

page written”. With that he picked up one of his “scrib-

ble sticks” and made a hasty notation.

These scribble sticks were an invention dating back

many thousands of years, but they were made in precisely

the same manner as they had been made two or three

thousand years before. There was, in fact, a legend to the

effect that Tibet had once been by the side of a shining sea

and support was lent to the legend by the frequent finding

of sea-shells, fossilized fish, and many other items which

could have come only from a warmer country then beside

the sea. There were buried artifacts of a long-dead race,

tools, carvings jewelry. All these, together with gold,

could be found in great profusion by the side of the rivers

that ran through the country.

But now the scribble sticks were made in exactly the

same way as they had been made previously. A large mass

of clay was obtained and then monks sallied forth and

picked from willow trees suitable saplings, thin pieces of

twig about half as thick as one's little finger and perhaps

a foot long. These were very carefully gathered and then

were taken back to a special department of the Potala.

Here all the twigs would be carefully examined and graded,,

the straight flawless ones would have particular care de-

voted to them, they would be peeled and then wrapped in

clay, much caution being exercised to ensure that the twigs

were not bent.

Those twigs which had a slight bend or twist were also

wrapped in clay because they would be suitable for junior

monks and acolytes to use in their own writings. The bun-

dles of clay, each with a seal-impression showing which

was super class (for the highest lamas and the Inmost One

himself), and then first class for high class lamas, and

second class for ordinary use, would have a very small

hole made through the clay so that steam generated during

a heating process could escape and thus obviate the burst-

ing of the clay wrapping.

Now the clay would be laid on racks in a large cham-

ber. For a month or so they would just lie there with the

moisture evaporating in the low-humidity atmosphere.

Sometime between four to six months later the clay bun-

dles would be removed and transferred to a fire-the fire

would also be used for cooking purposes, heating water,

and things like that—and carefully placed so that they

were right in the reddest part of the fire. For a day the

temperature would be maintained and then that fire would

be permitted to die out. When it was cold the clay bundles

would be broken open, the waste clay thrown away, and

the carbonized willow sticks (charcoal) would now be

ready for the highest use which is the dissemination of true

knowledge.

The willow sticks which had been determined as unsuit-

able for conversion into charcoal sticks would have been

used to help the fires drying out the clay of the better

sticks. The fires were of well-dried yak dung and any odd

wood which happened to be around. But again, wood was

never used for burning if it could be of use for some other

“more noble” purpose because wood was in very short

supply in Tibet.

Scribble sticks, then, were that commodity which in the

Western world are known as charcoal sticks and which are

used by artists in their black and white drawings. But ink

also was required in Tibet, and for that another sort of

wood was used, again wrapped in clay. This was heated

much longer and subjected to a much higher temperature.

Then, after several days when the fires were extinguished

and the clay balls raked from the now cold firebed and

broken open, a very black residue would be found inside;

almost pure carbon.

The carbon would be taken and very, very carefully

examined for anything which was not black carbon. Then

it would be put in a piece of fairly coarse mesh cloth

which would be tightened and tightened over a piece of

stone which had a depression in it, which had, in effect, a

trough in it. The trough would be possibly eighteen inches

by twelve inches and perhaps two inches deep. Monks of

the domestic class would pummel the cloth in the bottom

of the trough so that gradually a very fine carbon dust was

formed. Eventually that would be mixed with a hot gum

from certain trees which grew in the area, it would be

stirred and stirred and stirred until the result was a black

gooey mass. Then it would be allowed to dry in cakes

afterwards when one wanted ink one just rubbed one of

these cakes in a special stone container and a little water

would be added to it. The result would be an ink which

was of a rusty-brown colour.

Official documents and the highly important astrologi-

ca1 charts were never prepared from ink of this common

base, instead there was a piece of very highly polished