posted September 21, 2006 02:51 PM              

...as we passed a small temple within the main building, I heard "Hear the Voices of our Souls. This is the World of Illusion."

"Sir!" I said to my Guide when we were alone, "how is this the 'World of Illusion'?" He looked at me with a smile. "Well," he replied, "What is real? You touch this wall and your finger is stopped by the stone. Therefore you reason that the wall exists as a solid that nothing can penetrate. Beyond the windows the mountain ranges of the Himalayas stand firm as the backbone of the Earth. Yet a ghost, or you in the astral can move as freely Through the stone of the mountains as you can through the air." "But how is that 'illusion'?" I asked. "I had a dream last night which really was illusion; I feel pale even to think of it!" My Guide, with infinite patience, listened while I told of that dream and when I had finished my tale he said, "I shall have to tell you about the World of Illusion. Not for the moment, though, as we must first call upon the Oracle.

The State Oracle was a surprisingly young man, thin, and of very sickly appearance. I was presented to him and his staring' eyes burned straight through me, making tingles of fright race up and down my spine. "Yes! You are the one, I recognise you well," he said. "You have the power within; you shall have the knowledge also. I will see you later." The Lama Mingyar Dondup, my beloved friend, looked well pleased with me. "You pass every test, Lob-sang, every time!" he said. "Now come, we will retire to the Sanctuary of the Gods and talk." He smiled down at me as we walked along. "Talk, Lobsang," he remarked, "about the World of Illusion."

The Sanctuary was deserted, as my Guide knew in advance. Flickering lamps burned before the Sacred Images, causing thcir shadows to jump and move as though in some exotic dance. Incense smoke spiralled upwards to form a low lying cloud above us. Together we sat by the side of the Lectern from whence the Reader would read from the Sacred Books. We sat in the attitude of contemplation, legs crossed, and fingers entwined.

"This is the World of Illusion," said my Guide, "Wherefore we call to souls to hear us, for they alone are in the World of Reality. We say, as you well know, Hear the Voices of our Souls, we do not say Hear our Physical Voices. Listen to me, and do not interrupt, for this is the basis of our Inner Belief. As I shall explain later, people not sufficiently evolved must first have a belief which sustains them, makes them feel that a benevolent Father or Mother is watching over them. Only when one has evolved to the appropriate stage can one accept this which I shall now tell you." I gazed at my Guide, thinking that he was the whole world to me, wishing we could be always together.

"We are creatures of the Spirit," he said, "we are like electric charges endowed with intelligence. This world, this life, is Hell, it is the testing place wherein our Spirit is purified by the suffering of learning to control our gross flesh body. Just as a puppet is controlled by strings manipulated by the Puppet Master, so is our flesh body controlled by strings of electric force from our Overself, our Spirit. A good Puppet Master can create the illusion that the wooden puppets are alive, that they act, of their own volition (vilje) . In the same way we, until we learn better, consider that our flesh body is the only thing that matters. In the spirit-strangling atmosphere of the Earth we forget the Soul that truly controls us, we think that we do things of our own free will and are answerable only to our "conscience." So, Lobsang, we have the first Illusion, the illusion that the puppet, the flesh body, is the one that matters." He stopped at 'the sight of my puzzled expression. "Well?" he asked, "and what troubles you?"

"Sir!" I said, "where are my strings of electric force? I cannot see anything connecting me to my Overself!" He laughed as he replied, "Can you see air, Lobsang? Not while you are in the flesh body." Leaning forward he grasped my robe, nearly scaring the life out of me as I stared into his penetrating eyes. "Lobsang!" he said sternly, "have all your brains evaporated? Are you really bone from the neck up? Have you forgotten the Silver Cord, that collection of lines of electric force linking you here with your soul? (the young Lobsang had done many astraltravels by this time). Truly, Lobsang, you are in the World of Illusion!" I felt my face grow red.

Of course I knew about the Silver cord, that cord of bluish light which connects the physical body to the spirit body. Many times, when astral travelling, I had 'watched the Cord shimmering and pulsing with light and life. It was like the umbilical cord which connects the mother and the newborn child, only the 'child' which was the physical body could not exist for a moment if the Silver Cord was severed.

I looked up, my Guide was ready to continue after my interruption. "When we are in the physical world we tend to think that only the physical world matters. That is one of the safety devices of the Overself; if we remembered the Spirit World with its' happiness we would be able to remain here only by a strong effort of will. If we remembered past lives when, perhaps, we were more important than in this life, we should not have the necessary humility.

We will have 'some tea brought in and then I will show you, or tell you, of the life of a Chinaman from his death, to his rebirth and to his death and arrival in the Next World." The Lama stretched forth his hand to ring the small silver bell in the Sanctuary, then stopped at my expression. "Well?" he asked, "what is your question?" "Sir!" I answered, "why a Chinaman? Why not a Tibetan?" "Because," he replied, "if I say 'a Tibetan' you will try to associate the name with someone you know - with incorrect results." He rang the bell and a servant-monk brought us tea. My Guide looked at me thoughtfully. "Do you realise that in drinking this tea we are swallowing millions of worlds?" he asked. "fluids have a more sparsely molecular content If you could magnify the molecules of this tea you would find that they roll like the sands beside a turbulent lake. Even a gas, even the air itself is composed of molecules, of minute particles. However, that is a digression, we were going to discuss the death and life of a Chinaman." He finished his tea and waited while I finished mine.

"Seng was an old mandarin," said my Guide. "His life had been a fortunate one and now, in the evening of that life he felt a great contentment. His family was large, his concubines and slaves many. Even the Emperor of China himself had shown him favours. As his aged eyes peered short-sightedly through the window of his room he could dimly discern the beautiful gardens with the strutting peacocks. Softly to his failing ears came the song of birds returnmg to the trees as the day grew old. Seng lay back, relaxed upon his cushions. Within himself he could feel the rustling fingers of Death loosing his bonds with life. Slowly the blood red sun sank behind the ancient pagoda. Slowly Old Seng sank back upon his cushions, a harsh rattling breath hissing through his teeth. The sunlight faded, and the little lamps in the room were lighted, but Old Seng had gone, gone with the last dying rays of the sun." My Guide looked at me in order to be sure that I was following him, then continued,

"Old Seng lay slumped upon his cushions, with his body sounds creaking and wheezing into silence. No longer did blood rush through arteries and veins, no longer did body fluids gurgle within. The body of Old Seng was dead, finished with, of no more use. But a clairvoyant, if one had been present, would have seen a light blue haze form around the body of Old Seng. Form, then lift over the body, floating horizontally above, attached by the thinning Silver Cord. Gradually the Silver Cord thinned, and parted. The Soul which had been Old Seng floated off, drifted like a cloud of incense smoke, vanished effortlessly through the walls." The Lama refilled his cup, saw that I also had tea, then continued.

"The Soul drifted on through realms, through dimensions which the materialist mind cannot comprehend. At last it reached a wondrous parkland, dotted with immense buildings at one of which he stopped, here the Soul that had been Old Seng entered and made his way across a gleaming floor. A soul, Lobsang, in its own surroundings, is as solid as you are upon this world. The soul in the world of the soul, can be confined (begrenses) by walls, and walk upon a floor. The soul there has different abilities and talents from those we know upon the Earth. This Soul wandered on and at last entered a small cubicle. Sitting down, he gazed at the wall before him. Suddenly the wall appeared to vanish, and in its place he saw scenes, the scenes of his life. He saw that which we term The Akashic Record, which is the Record of all that has ever happened and which can be seen readily by those who are trained. It is also seen by everyone who passes from the Earth life to the life beyond, for Man sees the Record of his own successes and failures. Man sees his past and judges himself! There is no sterner judge than Man himself.(This is what is described in today-stories of "near-death-experiments", but remember that this was written in 1963 - long before such books appeared in the western countries. R.Ø.remark.) We do not sit trembling before a God; we sit and see all that we did and all that we meant to do."

I sat silent, I found all this of quite absorbing interest. I could listen to this for hours better than dull lessonwork!

"The Soul that had been Old Seng the Chinese Mandarin sat and saw again the life that he, upon Earth, had thought so successful," continued my Guide. "He saw, and sorrowed for his many faults, and then he rose and left the cubicle, going speedily to a larger room where men and women of the Soul World awaited him. Silently, smiling with compassion and understanding, they awaited his approach, his request to be guided. Sitting in their company he told them of his faults, of the things he had attempted to do, meant to do, and failed."

"But I thought you said he was not judged, he judged himself!" I said quickly. "That is so, Lobsang," replied my Guide. "Having seen his past and his mistakes, he now approached these Ad-visors in order to receive their suggestions - but do not interrupt, listen to me and save your questions for after.

"As I was saying," continued the Lama, "the Soul sat with the Advisors and told them of his failures, told them of the qualities which he had to 'grow' in to his Soul before he could evolve further. First would come the return to view his body, then would come a period of rest - years or hundreds of years - and then he would be helped to find conditions such as were essential for his further progress. The Soul that had been Old Seng went back to Earth to gaze finally upon his dead body, now ready for burial. Then, no longer the Soul of Old Seng, but a Soul ready for rest, he returned to the Land Beyond. For a time unspecified he rested and recuperated, studying the lessons of past lives, preparing for the life to come. Here, in this life beyond death, articles and substances were as solid to his touch as they had been on Earth. He rested until the time and conditions were pre-arranged."

"I like this!" I exclaimed, "I find it of great interest." My Guide smiled at me before continuing.

"At some pre-determined time, the Soul in Waiting was called and was led forth into the World of Mankind by one whose task was such service. They stopped, invisible to the eyes of those in the flesh, watching the parents-to-be, looking at the house, assessing the probabilities that this house would afford the desired facilities for learning the lessons which had to be learned this time. Satisfied, they withdrew. Months later the Mother-to-Be felt 'a sudden quickening inside her as the Soul entered and the Baby came to life. In time the Baby was born to the World of Man. The Soul that had once activated the body of Old Seng now struggled anew with the reluctant (motvillig) nerves and brain of the child Lee Wong living in humble (beskjeden) circumstances in a fishing village of China. Once again the high vibrations of a Soul were converted to the lower octave vibrations of a flesh body."

I sat and thought. Then I thought some more. At last I said, "Honourable Lama, as this is so, why do people fear death, which is but a release from the troubles of Earth?" "That is a sensible question, Lobsang," replied my Guide. "Did we but remember the joys of the Other World many of us would not be able to tolerate hardships here, wherefore we have implanted within us a fear of death." Giving me a quizzical sideways glance, he remarked, "Some of us do not like school, do not like the discipline so necessary at school. Yet when one grows up and becomes adult the benefits of school become apparent. It would not do to run away from school and expect to advance in learning; nor is it advisable to end one's life before one's allotted (tildelte) time." I wondered about this, because just a few days before an old monk, illiterate and sick, had thrown himself from a high hermitage. A sour old man he had been, with a disposition (gemytt) that made him refuse all offers of help. Yes, old Jigme was better out of the way, I thought. Better for himself. Better for others.

"Sir!" I said, "then the monk Jigme was at fault (skyldig) when he ended his own life?" "Yes, Lobsang, he was very much at fault," replied my Guide. "A man or woman has a certain allotted (tildelt) span upon the Earth. If one ends his or her life before that time, then he or she has to return almost immediately. Thus we have the spectacle of a baby born to live perhaps a few months only. That will be the soul of a suicide returning to take over the body and so live out the time, which should have been lived before. Suicide is never justified; it is a grave offence (overtredelse) against oneself, against one's Overself." "But Sir," I said, "how about the high born Japanese who commits ceremonial suicide in order to atone for family disgrace? Surely he is a brave man that he does that."

"Not so, Lobsang," my Guide was most emphatic. "Not so. Bravery consists not of dying but in living in face of hardship, in face of suffering. To die is easy, to live -that is the brave act! Not even the theatrical demonstration of pride in 'Ceremonial Suicide' can blind one to its wrongness. We are here to learn and we can only learn through living our allotted span. Suicide is never justified!" I thought again of old Jigme. He was very old when he killed himself, so when he came again, I thought, it would be for a short stay only.

"Honourable Lama," I asked, "what is the purpose of fear? Why do we have to suffer so much through fear? Already I haye discovered that the things I fear most never happen, yet I fear them still!" The Lama laughed and said, "That happens to us all. We fear the Unknown. Yet fear is necessary. Fear spurs us on when otherwise we should be slothful (dovenskap) . Fear gives us added strength with which to avoid accidents. Fear is a booster which gives us added power, added incentive (ansporenhet) , and makes us overcome our own inclination to laziness. You would not study your school work unless you feared the teacher or feared appearing stupid in front of others."

***

Monks were coming into the Sanctuary; chelas darted around lighting more butter lamps, more incense. We rose to our feet and walked out into the cool of the evening where a slight breeze played with the leaves of the willows. The great trumpets sounded from the Potala so far away, and dimly the echoes rolled around the walls of the State Oracle Lamasery.

Silverstone~

------------------
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

posted September 24, 2006 11:08 AM              

OverSoul, Akashik records, etc, are things
I wouldn't say I believe in, but always find them interesting to think about and consider the possibilities.

thanks.