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.
Book One - As it was in the Beginning
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-
9
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,
10tall 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!
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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
15
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
16
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.
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