Book: Lobsang Rampa "The Third Eye
LOBSANG RAMP
THE THIRD
EYE
"SOFIA" 2000
Translation: V. Trilis
Editor: V. Trilis
Cover: O. Kuklina
Lobsang Rampa, Third Eye.
Per. from English - K .: "Sofia", 2000. - 192 p.
The need to make a new translation of The Third Eye, one of the most famous books in the world, presented us with an absolutely unexpected gift.
Before you is a new complete translation of the book, obviously impossible in Soviet times for censorship reasons. Very small, but frequent bills in the previous edition made the book incomparably poorer. Anyone who has long loved this book should definitely read it in the new edition.
"The Third Eye" is a striking story of a spiritual journey, a wonderful autobiographical tale of an extraordinary childhood in Chakpori Monastery, a stronghold of Tibetan medicine. A seven-year-old boy from an aristocratic Tibetan family, under the guidance of a great Master, comprehends the secrets of seeing the aura, astral travel, and healing. This is a book about friendship with the Dalai Lama himself, the last Great Incarnation.
This is a rich artistic document about Tibet, about its unique nature, about the life and customs of its leading estates - the aristocracy and clergy, about the system of physical and spiritual education of children and youth in Lamaist monasteries, about the history of the country.
Finally, there is also an acquaintance with Tibetan Buddhism. Simple, fascinating, but deeply the author reveals everything that is essential in this great religion - from traditions, legends and pictorial cult details to the highest moral and spiritual truths.
"Chapter 1" CHAPTER 1. CHILDREN
"Chapter 2" CHAPTER 2. END OF CHILDHOOD
"Chapter 3" CHAPTER 3. LAST DAYS AT HOME
"Chapter 4" CHAPTER 4. AT THE GATE OF THE TEMPLE
"Chapter 5" CHAPTER 5. CHELA
"Chapter 6" CHAPTER 6. LIFE IN THE MONASTERY
"Chapter 7" CHAPTER 7. OPENING THE "THIRD EYE"
"Chapter 8" CHAPTER 8. BOTTLES
"Chapter 9" CHAPTER 9. "LIVING ROSE HEDGE"
"Chapter 10" CHAPTER 10. FOUNDATIONS OF THE TIBETAN FAITH
"Chapter 11" CHAPTER 11. TRAPPA
"Chapter 12" CHAPTER 12. HERBS AND Flying Kites
"Chapter 13" CHAPTER 13. FIRST VISIT TO THE PARENT'S HOUSE
"Chapter 14" CHAPTER 14. I USE THE THIRD EYE
"Chapter 15" CHAPTER 15. SECRETS OF THE NORTH AND YETI
"Chapter 16" CHAPTER 16. LAMA
"Chapter 17" CHAPTER 17. THE LAST DEDICATION
"Chapter 18" CHAPTER 18. FAREWELL TIBET!
Oh you! You can't stay in the saddle at four years old! When will you become a real man? And what will your most worthy father say?
Old Tzu, in his hearts, pulled out the pony with a whip - at the same time got the unlucky rider - and spat on the ground.
The gilded domes and roofs of the Potala sparkled in the bright sun. Closer, the living azure lake of the Serpent's Castle stretched out, giving out the places where waterfowl frolicked with light ripples. In the distance, along a rocky mountain path, people were leaving Lhasa; from there were heard the blows and loud cries with which the drivers encouraged the slow yaks. Somewhere very close from time to time a low "bmmmm" shook the air, "bmmmm" - these are monks-musicians, getting away from the listeners, learning to play their bass-pipes.
I had no time to admire these ordinary, everyday things. The most difficult task - to keep on the back of a rebellious pony - stood in front of me. Nakkim had something completely different on his mind - he had to get rid of the rider, run to the pasture, roll on the grass and laugh loudly.
Old Tzu was renowned for being a stern and principled mentor. Throughout his life, he professed perseverance and firmness, and now his patience - as a teacher and riding instructor for a four-year-old child - was undergoing a serious test. For this position, the native of Kama was selected from a large number of applicants due to his tall, over seven feet, and enormous physical strength. In a heavy felt suit, Tzu's broad shoulders looked even more imposing. In Eastern Tibet, there is one area where men are particularly tall and sturdy. This always gives them an edge when recruiting police monks for Lamaist monasteries. Thick pads on the shoulders of the clothes make these guards even more massive, and the faces, smeared with black paint, are simply intimidating. They never part with long clubs and are ready to use them at any moment; all this can cause nothing but horror in the unfortunate intruder.
Once Tzu also served as a police monk, but now - what a humiliation! - was supposed to nurse an aristocrat toddler. Tzu could not walk for a long time, as he was severely crippled; he rarely even dismounted. In 1904, the British, under the command of Colonel Yanghaz-band, invaded Tibet, devastated the country, believing, obviously, that the best way to win our friendship was to fire cannons at our houses and kill some of the already small Tibetans. Tzu, who took part in the defense, in one of the battles tore out part of his left thigh.
My father was one of the leaders of the Tibetan government. His family, like my mother's, belonged to the ten most aristocratic and influential families in Tibet, who played a significant role in the politics and economy of the country. I'll tell you a little more about our system of government.
Six feet tall, massive and sturdy, my father was proud of his strength for a reason. In his youth, he himself raised ponies. Few of the Tibetans, like him, could boast of victory in competitions with the natives of Kama.
Most Tibetans have black hair and dark brown eyes. My father stood out here too - he was a gray-eyed brown-haired man. Very hot-tempered, he often gave vent to his irritation, which seemed to us unreasonable.
We rarely saw my father. Tibet was going through difficult times. In 1904, before the British invasion, the Dalai Lama retired to Mongolia, and during his absence transferred the government of the country to my father and other cabinet members. In 1909, after a short stay in Beijing, the Dalai Lama returned to Lhasa. In 1910, the Chinese, inspired by the example of the British, took Lhasa by storm. The Dalai Lama had to flee again, this time to India. During the Chinese Revolution in 1911, the Chinese were expelled from Lhasa, but before that time they had managed to commit many terrible crimes against our people.
In 1912, the Dalai Lama returned to Lhasa. During the most difficult years of his absence, all responsibility for the fate of the country fell on his father and colleagues in the cabinet. Mother said more than once that in those days my father was more busy than ever and, of course, could not pay any attention to raising children; in fact, we didn’t know our father’s warmth. It seemed to me that my father was especially strict with me. Tzu, already stingy with praise or affection, received instructions from him to "make me a man or break me."
I was not good at handling ponies. Tzu took this as a personal insult. In Tibet, upper-class children are put on a horse before they begin to walk. In a country where there is no wheeled transport and where everyone travels either on foot or on horseback, it is very important to be a good rider. Children of Tibetan aristocrats are taught horseback riding daily and hourly. Standing on narrow wooden saddles, at full gallop, they know how to hit moving targets with rifles and bows. Good riders can race across the field in full battle formation and change horses at a gallop, that is, jump from one horse to another. And at four years old I am not able to stay on a pony!
My pony Nakkim had a furry hair and a long tail. Its narrow muzzle was distinguished by its exceptional expressiveness. He knew surprisingly many ways to throw an unsure rider to the ground. Nakkim's favorite trick was to take off the bat and suddenly slow down, and even tilt his head at the same time. The very moment I slid helplessly down his neck, he jerked his head up, with a special twist so that I would do a full somersault in the air before plopping to the ground. And he calmly stopped and looked at me from above with an expression of arrogant superiority.
Tibetans never ride at a trot: the ponies are too small, and the rider would look just ridiculous. A gentle pace is sufficient; the canter is practiced only in training exercises.
Tibet has always been a theocratic state. The "progress" of the outside world presented no temptation for us. We wanted one thing: to meditate calmly and overcome the limitations of the body shell. For a long time, our sages understood that the riches of Tibet arouse the envy and greed of the West. And that when the foreigners come, the world will leave. The invasion of the Chinese communists confirmed the righteousness of the sages.
We lived in Lhasa in the prestigious Linghor quarter. Our house was located not far from the ring road, in the shadow of the Summit. In Lhasa itself there are three ring roads and one more external one, Linghor - it is well known to pilgrims. At the time I was born, our house, like all other houses, was three stories high on the side of the road. The three-story height was the officially authorized limit because no one had the right to look down at the Dalai Lama; but since this high prohibition was in effect only during the annual ceremonial procession, many Tibetans built easily disassembled wooden superstructures on the flat roofs of houses and used them for almost eleven months of the year.
Our old-built stone house enclosed the courtyard in a large square. The first floor housed livestock, and we lived in the upper rooms. The house had a stone staircase; most Tibetan houses have such ladders, although peasants use notched pillars dug into the ground instead of ladders, climbing which it is easy to break their legs. The pillars seized with oily hands from frequent use become so slippery that the inhabitants often inadvertently break off them and come to their senses already on the floor below.
In 1910, during the Chinese invasion, our house was partially destroyed; the inner walls were particularly damaged. My father rebuilt the house and made it a five-story building. Since the completed floors did not overlook the circular road and we did not have the opportunity to look down on the Dalai Lama during the processions, no one contradicted this.
The door to the courtyard was massive and dark from time to time. The Chinese invaders did not overcome its powerful frame and only managed to make a gap in the wall nearby. Just above this door was the housekeeper's room, who watched everyone who entered and left the house. He managed the household, distributed responsibilities around the house, fired and appointed servants. When the monastic trumpets announced the end of the day, the beggars of Lhasa gathered under the housekeeper's window to stock up on something for dinner. All the wealthy residents of the city knew the poor people in their neighborhoods and helped them. Prisoners in chains often walked along the streets: there were very few prisons in Tibet, so the convicts simply walked the streets and collected alms.
In Tibet, the condemned are treated condescendingly, without contempt, no one considers them rejected by society. We understand that everyone can be in their place, and we pity them.
To the right of the steward lived, each in his own room, two monks. These were our confessors, day and night praying to heaven for favor to our home. Medium-sized families supported only one confessor, our social position obliged us to have two. They turned to them for advice and, before doing anything, asked them to pray to the gods for the bestowal of good luck. Once every three years, the confessors changed - the old ones went to their monastery, and new ones came in their place.
In each wing of the house there was a chapel, where oil lamps burned in front of the altar with wooden sculptures. Seven bowls of holy water were constantly polished to a shine, and they were refilled several times a day. This was done in case the gods came and wanted to get drunk. The confessors were well fed - the same thing that the whole family ate - so that their prayer would be passionate and so that the gods would hear how good our food was.
To the left of the housekeeper lived a lawyer who made sure that everything in the house was done according to custom and according to the law. Tibetans have great respect for their traditions and laws, and our father was to serve as an outstanding example of law-abidingness.
Together with my brother Palzhor and sister Yasodhara, I lived in the new part of the house, which is farthest from the road. To our left was our chapel, and to our right was the classroom, in which the children of the servants studied with us. The lessons were long and varied.
Palzhor's life was short-lived. He was too weak to adapt to the difficulties that were in store for us. He was not yet seven years old when he left this world and went to the country of a Thousand Temples. Yaso was six then, and I was four. Even now, I seem to see how the servants of Death came after my brother, emaciated and dried up like the bark of a tree, took his corpse and took it with them to chop it into pieces and give it to the vultures, as custom demanded.
I have now become the heir to the family, and my studies have become more difficult. I was four years old; I had an irresistible indifference to horses. My father, a man of strict rules, wanted me to be brought up under conditions of iron discipline - for the edification of everyone.
In my country there is such a rule: the more noble the clan, the more severe the education should be. In some aristocratic families, some indulgence was allowed in matters of raising children - but not in ours! The father was of the opinion that if the son of a poor man could not count on an easy life in the future, then at least in his youth he had the right to condescension and a gentle attitude towards him; and vice versa, the noble offspring will in the future expect all the benefits corresponding to his family, therefore, an extremely harsh childhood and an upbringing bordering on cruelty, which is based on difficulties and hardships, will help an adult noble person better understand the poor and be sympathetic to their concerns and needs. This formulation of the question officially came from the government. Such a system of upbringing turned out to be fatal for children who were in poor health, but for those who survived, then there were no barriers.
Tzu occupied a room on the ground floor at the main entrance. Having once been a police monk and having seen different people in his life, Tzu was greatly burdened by the position of a retired campaigner in the role of an uncle. Next to his room were the stables with twenty of his father's driving horses, Tibetan ponies, and draft animals.
The grooms hated Tzu for his official zeal and habit of prying his nose into other matters. Whenever his father went on horseback, he was invariably accompanied by an armed escort of six horsemen. The riders had their own uniforms, and Tzu constantly nagged at them about her impeccability.
For some reason unknown to me, these six men used to line up their horses against the wall, turning their backs to it, and galloping towards their father as soon as he left the gate. I noticed that if you hang out of the barn window, you can reach the rider with your hand. Once, with nothing to do, I passed a rope through the leather belt of one of them at the moment when he was checking his equipment. I managed to knot the ends of the rope and put it on the hook of the barn. All this happened imperceptibly in the general vanity and conversations. When the father appeared, five horsemen galloped towards him; the sixth was pulled off the horse. Having hit the ground, he screamed at the top of his lungs that he had fallen into the clutches of evil spirits. The belt fell off, and in the general confusion I quietly removed the rope and imperceptibly disappeared. After that, I made fun of the victim of my joke with great pleasure:
- Hey, Netuk, so you, it turns out, are also bad in the saddle?
Life was becoming difficult - they had to stay awake for 18 hours out of 24. Tibetans believe that it is unwise to sleep during the day: daytime demons can find a sleeping person and move into him. For this reason, even children are forbidden to sleep, as parents are afraid that their children will become "possessed." Monks are also assigned to the sick, whose duties include not letting the wards sleep at the wrong time. There is no condescension for anyone - even the dying should remain as long as possible in a state of full consciousness, so as not to go astray, moving to another world, not to get lost during the transition.
At school we studied Chinese and two varieties of Tibetan: the common language and the high-style language. The first was to be used in a conversation with family members and with people of lower ranks, the second was used to communicate with people of equal origin or higher rank. The rules required exquisite handling even with a horse of a more noble person than yourself! For example, any of the servants who lived in the house, when meeting with our aristocratic cat, majestically marching through the entire courtyard on its mysterious affairs, asked her:
- Will not the venerable Kis-kis deign to come with me and taste unworthy milk?
The Venerable Kis-kis, however, regardless of the shades of style, agreed only when she wanted to.
We had a very large class. At one time, this room served as a dining room for visiting monks, but then, when the whole building was reconstructed, it was converted into school activities. All the children who lived in our house studied at school; there were up to six dozen of them. We sat on the floor with our legs crossed in front of a table or a long bench about half a meter high, and always with our backs to the teacher, so as not to know when and at whom he was looking. I had to work hard and without a break.
In Tibet, paper is handcrafted and expensive - too expensive to be spoiled by children. Therefore, we used slate boards measuring 30 by 35 centimeters. They wrote with pieces of hard chalk, which was mined in the Tssu La mountains, another 4 thousand meters above Lhasa (the capital itself is at an altitude of 4 thousand meters above sea level).
I liked chalk that was reddish, and Sister Yaso loved purple. In general, we came across chalk of all kinds of colors - red, yellow, blue, green. I think that the shades of it were given by impurities of some metals. But whatever the reason, the multicolored crayons made us very happy.
The most troublesome thing was arithmetic. Imagine: 783 monks each drink two cups of tsampa daily, each cup containing 350 grams of the drink; it is required to determine what the barrel will be, which contains a week's supply of tsampa. Yaso received the answer as if playfully. My abilities, alas, were not so noticeable. But they showed up in engraving lessons - here I made good progress. All Tibetan written heritage is preserved on wooden tablets filled with engraving. Wood engraving is considered a very honorable occupation in Tibet. But the children, again, could not use the tree because of its high cost. It was imported from India. Tibetan woods were too hard to be engraved. We worked on soft soapstone, which lent itself well to a sharpened knife, and sometimes we simply engraved on dried old cheese!
The lessons on the study of our laws were unforgettable for me. Each lesson began with reading laws, and it ended with reading laws. Here is some of them:
Answer good for good.
Do not attack civilians.
Read scripture and understand it.
Help your neighbors.
The law is strict with the rich and instills in them understanding and equality.
The law is gentle to the poor and consoles them.
Pay your debts on time.
And so that we never forget these laws, they were engraved in the form of slogans and hung on all four walls of the classroom.
However, our life was not only under the sign of study and rigor. We indulged in children's games and amusements with the same zeal as in our studies. The games helped to better adapt to the harsh climate of Tibet, to sudden changes in temperature. Suffice it to say that in summer in the south the temperature reaches 30 ° C during the day, and frosts can hit at night. In winter, Tibet is generally very cold.
Our favorite pastime was archery - this game strengthens muscles well. Bows were made from yew brought from India. However, we also made crossbows from Tibetan wood. We have never fired at live targets - this is forbidden by our Buddhist faith. With the help of a long rope, invisible to our eyes, the servants raised and lowered the targets without warning. Most of my comrades could accurately hit the target at full gallop. I couldn't even stay in the saddle for any length of time! But pole vaulting was my strong point. We quickly scattered with a five-meter pole in our hands and, resting on the ground, jumped. I have already said that peers were in the saddle for a long time, their legs were not so trained and weaker than mine. That is why I have always been the first in this type of exercise.
Pole vaulting is of great practical importance for us, for example, when crossing streams. It was funny for me to look at my comrades when, trying to jump over the stream after me, one after another flopped into the water.
Walking on stilts was another pastime. Climbing on them, we played giants, arranged fights. Whoever was the first to fall off the stilt was considered defeated. We made the stilts at home ourselves - there was no question of buying them in a shop around the corner. Our housekeeper was a zealous servant, and it took a great skill of persuasion to beg him for a tree for stilts and footsteps. The wood must be even, without knots, and the triangular footboards are made from the remnants of the material. Since it was a matter of “spoiling” expensive and rare material, we had to wait for an opportune moment in order to approach the economy with our own ideas.
Girls and young women played shuttlecock - a piece of wood with holes drilled on one side and feathers inserted into them. The shuttlecock could only be kicked. The girls, supporting their skirts at a certain height for convenience, struck the shuttlecock with blows, trying to prevent it from falling to the ground. It was forbidden to touch the shuttle with a hand - this meant immediate disqualification. Experienced participants could hold the shuttlecock in the air for up to ten minutes, not allowing a single miss.
But the biggest interest in Tibet, at least in the Yu administrative region, where Lhasa is located, was the flying of kites. This game can be considered a national sport. True, kites were launched only at certain times of the year. Based on long-term observations, it was found that the massive launch of kites in the mountains causes heavy rains; this was attributed to the wrath of the rain gods, so the launch was allowed only in the fall, during the dry season. At some times of the year, people tried not to even scream in the mountains, because screaming contributes to the rapid condensation of oversaturated rain clouds from India, as a result of which a tropical downpour can break out in the wrong place and in the wrong place.
So, on the very first day of autumn, a lone serpent hung over the roof of the Potala Temple. A few minutes later, the whole sky over Lhasa was full of other snakes of all shapes, sizes and colors. They made bends, bounced and swayed in strong winds.
I loved this game and was always in a hurry to be one of the first to fly my kite into the sky. We made these aircraft ourselves. Usually the snake consisted of a light bamboo frame, covered with beautiful silk. We were willingly given this high quality material as a good kite was a matter of honor for every decent house. We often attached a head, wings and tail to the main box, and the snake took the form of a terrible dragon.
We played whole battles, during which each of us tried to dump the enemy's serpent to the ground. To do this, we lowered the rope of the kite with shards of glass or coated it with glue mixed with glass dust, hoping that the opponent's ropes could be cut and then the winner would get his apparatus.
Sometimes we sneaked out into the street late in the evening and launched kites, having previously fixed small oil lanterns in their heads and bodies. The eyes of our dragons lit up with a red light, the multi-colored bodies also stood out against the background of the black sky. This game was especially exciting during the period when large caravans of yaks from the Lho Dzong province were expected to arrive in Lhasa. By childish naivety, we believed that the caravan men, these "dark" people from a distant province, had never heard of such a "novelty" as our flying kites at home. And, of course, we really wanted to scare them half to death.
One of our tricks was that three shells of different sizes were inserted into the snake, and they were placed so that from the stream of air passing through them, the snake began to emit supernatural groans. We imagined these groans were no different from the sounds of dragons belching fire, and we were confident that they would go through the merchants to the bone. A child's imagination suggested what horrors the unfortunates experience in their wagons at the moment when our dragons screech over their heads with a howl. We ourselves were chilled by this thought.
I could not even imagine that these games will help me in the future, when I really have to fly on kites. But then it was just a game - but how exciting!
There were also dangerous games. For example, we built huge kites, up to two or three square meters in size, with wings on the sides. We dragged them to the cliff, where there were especially powerful updrafts. Tying ourselves with one end of the rope around the waist, we let the horse gallop. The kite soared up sharply. Climbing higher and higher, he met with a strong air flow, the rider was abruptly lifted from the saddle, and for some time he rushed three or four meters above the ground, hanging on a rope. Some dodgers were almost torn in two because they forgot to free their legs from the stirrups in time. It was easier for me: I was used to falling off the horse and jumped off in time, with great pleasure continuing to fly the kite. Forgetting all caution and embarking on new adventures, I found that if at the moment of lifting the kite to pull the rope abruptly, the kite rises even higher and the flight can thus be extended for a few more seconds.
Once I pulled the rope with such diligence and enthusiasm - and the wind helped me too - that I was carried up to the roof of a peasant house, where the owner had decomposed the fuel for the winter. (Our peasants live in houses with flat roofs. They put yak dung on them, which is then burned dry in the hearth.)
The house I fell on the roof was made of briquettes of dried silt, not stone like most houses in Tibet. There was no chimney; instead, there was a gaping hole in the roof through which smoke escaped. I was dragged along the roof, the half-dried manure scattered in all directions, part of it fell into the hole for smoke, and then I collapsed there too, right on the heads of the unfortunate tenants.
My appearance, of course, did not please the owners too much. They greeted the guest with angry shouts, and to begin with, the angry host gave me a good thrashing, and then took me to my father. My father, in turn, prescribed me another dose of correctional medicine. I slept on my stomach that night.
The next day, my life became even more complicated: I had to collect the necessary amount of manure in the stable and spread it in the proper order on the roof of the same peasant's house. Work, one might say, hellish for a child who is not yet six years old. But everyone except me felt good: my peers laughed at me to their hearts content, the peasant received twice as much fuel as he had, and my father once again showed everyone how strict but fair he is. The second night I had to sleep on my stomach - horse riding did not serve me as a consolation.
It may seem that I was treated too harshly, but I must object: there is no place for the weak in Tibet. Lhasa is located at an altitude of four thousand meters above sea level, its climate is very harsh, the temperature varies widely; other settlements are located even higher, and people with poor health represent a heavy burden for others. This is the reason for the harsh upbringing of children, and there are no other reasons here, just as there is no place for cruelty for the sake of cruelty.
In the highlands, Tibetans bathe newborns in icy streams to find out if the baby is strong enough and has the right to live. More than once I have seen small processions heading to the ice springs at an altitude of about 6 thousand meters above sea level. Arriving at the place, the procession stops. The grandmother takes the child in her arms, the whole family gathers around her - father, mother, closest relatives. The child is undressed, and the grandmother plunges the little body into the stream up to the neck, so that only one head remains on the surface. The cold penetrates the child through and through, he instantly turns red, then turns blue. Soon the crying stops - the baby is no longer able to protest. It seems that he is already dead, but grandmother has considerable experience in this area: she pulls him out of the stream, wipes him dry and dresses him. Will the child survive? This is the will of God! If he dies, it means that less misfortune will fall to his lot. In a country with such a cold climate, such a test is carried out out of the best intentions - one should not leave the weak and sick where there is almost no medical care. The death of several babies is considered a lesser evil here than the life of several incurable invalids.
After my brother's death, my studies had to be accelerated, because at the age of seven I was supposed to prepare for a career. Which one? And that's how astrologers say. In Tibet, any decision - from buying a yak to choosing a profession - is made according to the prediction of an astrologer. Such a moment was approaching in my life: just on the eve of my 7th birthday, my mother was going to arrange a grand reception and invite the whole high society to it in order to listen to the predictions of astrologers.
My mother was a woman of outstanding corpulence, chubby and black-haired. Tibetan women wear special wooden forms on their heads, through which they pass and style their hair in the most bizarre way. These forms are usually varnished, encrusted with semiprecious stones - jade, coral; in general, these products have long been the subject of very delicate art. If a woman's hairstyle also shines, oiled, then it makes a very vivid impression.
Our women love dresses of the most cheerful colors, with a predominance of red, green and yellow colors. A solid-colored apron with a horizontal, contrasting, but harmoniously colored ribbon is an almost constant attribute of their clothing. An earring is worn in the left ear, the size of which depends on the position in society. The mother belonged to a family from government circles and wore an earring more than 15 centimeters long.
We have always been supporters of complete equality of men and women. But in managing household chores, my mother went further - she did not recognize any equality. In her element, she enjoyed indisputable authority, the power of a dictator - in short, she did what she wanted.
In the turmoil and emotional excitement about the reception device, she really felt like a fish in water. It was necessary to organize everything, to dispose of everything, to foresee all the little things, to come up with something that would "amaze" the neighbors. And she succeeded brilliantly, because frequent trips with her father to India, Beijing and Shanghai generated in her head a lot of exotic ideas that could be enough for more than one life!
After the date for the reception was set, the monks began to write out invitations with great care and joy on thick, handmade, sheets of paper intended for important messages. The size of each such message was 30 by 60 centimeters, and it was sealed with the seal of the father of the family. Mother put her own next to her father's seal - a sign of her belonging to a noble family. They also had a common seal, so there were only three seals on display - the invitation was a grandiose document. I trembled with fear at the very thought that I was the cause of such great events. I could not at that time know that in this whole venture my role was more than modest: the Social Event was highlighted. If I had been told then that the reception would raise the prestige of my parents, I would still not understand anything. And I would still be scared.
Special messengers were appointed to send invitations. Each messenger sat on a purebred stallion and took in his hands a rod, at the end of which was attached a package with the image of the family coat of arms. The wands were decorated with ribbons with prayers written on them, and the ribbons fluttered in the air during the ride.
When the moment of sending the messengers came, the end of the world began in our yard. The servants were hoarse with screams, the horses whinnied, the huge black mastiffs barked. After drinking the last sip of Tibetan beer, the horsemen noisily lowered their mugs. Then the main gate creaked open, and the whole cavalcade rushed forward with wild screams.
Tibetan messengers carrying a written message also have an oral version, and the content of the second may differ significantly from the content of the first. In ancient times, bandits who ambushed a messenger could intercept a message and, using it, launch an attack on a poorly defended house or procession. Therefore, the custom arose to write deliberately false messages in order, in turn, to lure the robbers into the trap. The double bind custom has survived to this day. Therefore, even today, a written message may differ from an oral version, which in this case is the only correct one.
The house is running, alterations, cleaning! The walls were washed and re-painted. The ceilings are whitewashed. Parquet floors have been waxed and so polished that they become unsafe to walk on. The altars of the main rooms are lacquered. A large number of new oil lamps have appeared - some are gold, others are silver, but they are all frayed so that you cannot tell what metal they are made of. The mother and the housekeeper, unaware of rest, rush around the house like mad, give orders and scold everyone who comes to their hand right and left. The servants run in confusion, they look pitiful, they do not have time to do anything. We have more than fifty servants of our own, and we have hired others on the occasion of the reception. Nobody is messing around, everyone is working diligently. Even the yard is cleaned out, the slabs sparkle as if they had just been brought from the quarry. To give them a festive look, the inter-tile joints are filled with multi-colored materials.
When everything was ready, the mother gathered the crazed servants and ordered them to dress in the purest of clean clothes.
Even more excitement reigned in the kitchens - a huge amount of food was to be prepared! Tibet is a giant refrigerator - food prepared for future use does not deteriorate for a long time due to the dry and cold climate. Even at elevated temperatures, food supplies in dry air do not deteriorate. Therefore, meat remains fresh throughout the year, and grain can be stored for several centuries.
Buddhists don't kill. They eat the meat of only those animals that died as a result of falling from the mountain or were killed by accident. Our granaries and storerooms were always stocked with food.
In Tibet, there is a profession of a butcher, but orthodox families do not communicate with butchers - they are a caste of "untouchables."
The mother decided to receive the guests as original as it was luxurious. In particular, she decided to treat them to specially prepared rhododendron flowers. A few weeks before the reception, some of the servants on horseback went to the foot of the Himalayas, where you can find the most exquisite flowers. We grow giant rhododendrons, distinguished by an amazing range of shades and smells. Barely blossoming buds are suitable for collection; they are immediately washed gently. Care is needed: the slightest scratch is enough and the "jam" will be ruined. After that, each flower is immersed in a large glass jar filled with water and honey. Make sure that no air gets inside the glass. The jar is closed and exposed to the sun every day for the next few weeks and rotated regularly to ensure that all parts of the flower receive the necessary amount of sunlight. The flower grows slowly, being saturated with nectar from the honey solution. Some keep the flower for a few more days in the air before eating, so that the petals become slightly crispy, but have not yet lost their appearance and aroma. Sometimes the petals are sprinkled with icing sugar to simulate snow.
The father grumbled with displeasure:
“Instead of these beautiful flowers, we could buy ten yaks with all the harness.
But the mother answered with a purely feminine logic:
- Don't be stupid, our reception should be surprising to everyone; and as for the costs, these are my problems.
Shark fin soup was another delicacy. Some of the guests remarked that "this dish is the world's top gastronomic art." I didn’t like the soup terribly. I almost vomited when I had to try it. The shark was brought from China in such a miserable condition that even the former owner would hardly recognize it by its appearance. To put it mildly, she was "slightly smelly." Some people think that this only improves the taste.
But I liked the young juicy bamboo shoots, also brought from China. There are several ways to prepare sprouts, but I ate them raw with a pinch of salt. I especially liked the yellow-green young shoot tips! It seems that most of the stalks that the chef cooked for placing in the pot ended up without ends, and the chef clearly regretted this, because he himself also preferred to eat them raw. He vaguely guessed what was the matter, but he had no proof!
In Tibet, a man runs the kitchen. Women know nothing about things like preparing tsampa and making precise mixtures. They drop a handful of one, drop a handful of the other over their eyes, and think that everything is in order. Men are thoughtful, patient, and therefore, as a rule, turn out to be the best cooks. To chat and gossip - here women have no equal, as well as in something else. But not in the preparation of tsampa.
Tsampa is the staple food of the Tibetans. For some, tea and tsampa are generally the only dishes of their entire life, from the first meal to the last. A barley tsampa is prepared, which is fried until it takes on a golden brown hue. Then the barley is ground into flour, the flour, in turn, is fried again, poured into a bowl and poured with hot tea with melted butter. The entire contents are kneaded and shaped into a biscuit. Salt, borax and yak butter are added to taste. The tsampa prepared in this way is rolled out, cut into pieces and served in the form of cakes or cookies of various shapes. Tsampa by itself is not very attractive to the dining table, but still serves as a fairly capacious and balanced food at all heights in any conditions.
But back to our gala reception. Some made tsampa, others made butter using a technology that cannot be recommended from a hygiene point of view. Large sacks of goat skins with fur inside served as wineskins for churning butter. They were filled with yak or goat milk. To prevent milk from flowing out, the neck of the bag was twisted and tightened tightly. The bags of milk were vigorously crumpled and shaken until the butter churned into them. For this work, special oil mills were equipped with cobblestones protruding from the ground for almost half a meter.
If the bags filled with milk are repeatedly raised and lowered onto the cobblestones, then the butter inside separates from the milk, gets confused - this is called churning. It was even hard to watch when a man of twelve servants spent hours engaged in this business. Breathing heavily, groaning, they raised and lowered, raised and lowered the bags on the stones. Sometimes the bags, either from awkward handling, or from dilapidation, burst. I remember one big man who worked with a kind of furious zeal, as if bragging about the strength of his muscles. He worked twice as fast as the others, and the veins in his neck were bulging from the strain. Once someone remarked to him:
- You are getting old, Timon, you started to work slower.
Grumbled something unflattering in response, Timon furiously grabbed the sack and in his hearts threw it on the stones. But then the strength did him a disservice - the bag tore at the very moment when Timon stood over him, stretching out his arms and neck. A column of still semi-liquid oil shot up and hit the confused Timon right in the face, covering his eyes, mouth, ears and hair. Fifteen gallons of butter and buttermilk in a golden mass flowed down the hero's body.
The mother came running to the noise. As far as I know, this was the only time in her life when she did not say a word. Either she was furious, seeing how much oil was gone, or it seemed to her that the poor fellow was choking, but she silently grabbed the heavy torn bag and slapped Timon on the head with a swing. The unlucky Timon lost his balance, slipped and stretched out in a puddle of oil.
There were times when awkward servants like Timon spoiled the butter. One careless movement is enough when lowering the bag on a stone, so that the wool inside separates from the hide and mixes with the oil. If pulling a dozen or two hairs out of the oil was considered commonplace, then a whole tuft of wool caused unpleasant feelings. The spoiled oil was burned in oil lamps or distributed to the poor, who reheated and filtered it. All kinds of "mistakes" of the cooks also fell to the beggars. If in any house a decision was made to show the neighbors the real standard of living, then such "mistakes", that is, in fact, wonderfully cooked dishes, were given to the poor. After which these gentlemen, satisfied and full of food, went and told, as if by the way, how well they were treated. In turn, the neighbors, not wanting to hit their faces in the mud, rolled up a first-class treat to the beggar brethren. It could be a long story about how the beggars live in Tibet. They don't need anything; the profession of a beggar, mastering all the traditional methods, provides a simply luxurious life.
In most eastern countries, begging is not considered shameful. Many monks go from monastery to monastery, begging for alms, and this practice is considered as worthy as, say, the custom of collecting money for charitable purposes, widespread in other countries. The one who feeds the wandering monk is doing a good deed. The poor have their own laws: having received, for example, alms, they leave and for some time do not bother the generous owner.
Our two monks also took an active part in the preparations for the reception. They entered the pantries where the meat carcasses lay and offered prayers to the souls who lived in them before. Our religion teaches that if an animal is killed - even by accident - and people want to eat it, then they become its debtors. The debt is paid through the confessor, who, standing in front of the carcass, offers prayers to his soul. In Lamaist monasteries and temples, there are monks who are only engaged in praying for animals. Before a long journey, our monks ask the gods for mercy to the horses so that they do not get tired on the difficult path. A horse is never taken out of the stable for two days in a row. If it was driven yesterday, today it is resting. This rule also applies to draft animals. And animals understand everything perfectly. If, for example, a horse that had been working the day before was saddled by mistake, then it cannot be moved from its place. When the saddle is removed from her, she steps aside and shakes her head, as if to say: "I would like to see you if you were treated so unfairly." Donkeys are even worse. They wait for bales to be loaded on them, and then fall and roll from side to side, trying to crush the load.
We also had three cats, constantly busy with their own business. One lived in a stable and established an iron order among the mice there. It is impossible to do otherwise with mice - they can become so insolent that they will eat the cat itself. Another lived in the kitchen. More precisely, it was a cat, old and a little rustic. He was born prematurely and survived one of the lamb - so in 1904 Younghusband frightened the mother cat with his cannons. Therefore, the newborn was quite rightly given the nickname Younghusband. The third cat had a reputation as a very respectable matron and lived with us. This was a real example of maternal virtue - she did not refuse anything to her playful kittens. In moments free from educational activities and maternal responsibilities, she followed my mother from room to room, black, small, flexible - a walking skeleton, despite her excellent appetite. In Tibet, animals are treated very soberly. They do not lisp with them, but they are not considered as slaves either. An animal is, first of all, a living creature performing its intended mission and, like a person, having its own rights. Buddhism teaches that all livestock, all living creatures have a soul and reach ever higher degrees of development with each reincarnation.
We did not wait long for replies to invitations. From all sides, horsemen were already rushing towards us, waving sticks with messages. The steward each time went downstairs from his room to personally pay homage to the messengers of the noble gentlemen. Having ripped off the message from the stick, the rider immediately blurted out the oral version without a break. And then his legs gave way and he fell to the ground, acting out a scene of complete exhaustion. Let everyone see - he did his best to get to Rampa's house as soon as possible! Our servants, surrounding the messenger, played their part:
- Poor fellow! How fast he rode! Incomprehensible! Yes, his heart can break! Poor and gallant youth!
Once I was greatly disgraced by interfering in the conversation inappropriately.
“Don't be afraid for his heart,” I said. - I saw him just resting nearby, gaining strength before galloping into our yard!
Out of modesty, I will not talk about the somewhat awkward silence that followed my words.
Finally, that great and terrible day came when, as I understood, my fate was to be decided, and no one would ask me for advice. As soon as the first rays of the sun appeared from behind the mountains, a servant burst into the bedroom:
- How? You still haven't got up, Tuzdy Lobsang Rampa? Couch potato! It's already four o'clock, we have a lot of things to do. Get up!
I threw off the covers and jumped out of bed. Today the road of my life opens before me.
In Tibet, children are given two names. The first name is the day of the week the baby is born. I was born on a Tuesday, so the name Tuesday (Tuesday) comes before the name given to me by my parents - Lobsang. But when the boy enters the monastery, he is given another name. Will it be the same with me? It remains to wait a few hours, and I will find out everything. I turned seven years old. I dreamed of becoming a boatman; I really wanted to experience rolling and pitching on the Tsang-Po River, sixty kilometers from here. Although, however, wait a minute ... Did I really want it? All boatmen are of the lower caste, as their boats are made of yak skins stretched over a wooden frame. Am I a boatman? Will I belong to a lower caste? No way. I would like to become a professional in such a thing as flying on kites. Yes, it is better to be free and light as air, better to fly than to wallow in some pitiful yak-skin shuttle in the middle of a stormy river. I will become a major expert in kite flying. I will make huge kites with big heads and sparkling eyes. Astrologers will have their say today. Or maybe it's not too late to jump out of the window, run away and hide? My father will immediately send a chase after me, they will find me and take me back home. After all, I am one of the Rampas and am obliged to follow our traditions. Who knows, maybe astrologers will still say that I was born to fly on snakes. All that was left was to wait and hope.
Ay, Yulji, you will pull out all my hair! Wait! Do you want me to be bald like a monk?
- Hush, Tuzdi Lobsang. Your braid must be straight and well oiled, or your venerable mother will skin me.
- Couldn't you be more careful, Yulji? You’ll break my neck.
- Nothing, be patient. I'm in a hurry anyway.
I sat on the ground, and a hefty servant fiddled with my scythe, gripping it like a doorknob. Finally, this terrible thing stood on end like a frozen yak skin, but shone like a moonlit path on a clear lake.
The mother did not squat. She moved around the house so quickly that it might seem like I have multiple mothers. She made instant decisions, gave final orders, and all this was done in a raised voice. Yaso, only two years older than me, walked up and down with the concentrated look of a forty-year-old woman. Father got away from all this mess, locked himself in the office. I had a great desire to join him!
For some reason, my mother decided to take all of us to the main temple of Lhasa - Jokhang. Undoubtedly, this decision was made with the sole purpose of giving a religious flavor to the whole reception. At about 10 o'clock in the morning (Tibetan time is a very elastic substance) a three-voice gong announced the collection. We sat on a pony - father, mother, Yaso and five other fellow travelers, among whom was your humble servant, who did not feel a drop of enthusiasm at that moment. Our group crossed the Linghor road and turned left, passing the foot of the Potala, a real mountain of buildings up to 130 meters high and 400 meters long. We drove through the entire village of Sho and, after another half hour drive along the Jichu Valley, we arrived at the temple. Small houses, shops and stables were crowded around the temple in groups, awaiting their clients from among the pilgrims. Built thirteen centuries ago, Jokhang has never been empty, the number of pilgrims has become more and more. Mos stone slabs
Dear friends!
The described mode of monastic life is also surprising: cruelty, denunciation and the absence of any compassion for novices and monks-disciples. Not a monastery, but some kind of barracks with "bullying". And this can hardly be explained by the difficult conditions of Tibet, as the author is trying to do. All this does not resemble the community of Buddha, but rather some kind of monastery of dark sects.
The main character of the book is also surprising - the so-called "highest and last incarnation". He is not at all interested in spiritual aspirations or in the knowledge that he learns. And all his achievements are based either on fear or on the desire to please his mentor. Devotion to your teacher is perhaps one of the few highlights in this book. True, this is more like a child's attachment to his patron than a student's devotion to the teacher.
As for the esoteric moments presented in the book, a number of questions arise here as well. First of all, this concerns the concept of the "Third Eye" and its opening through a surgical operation. It is known that the "Third Eye", or the Eye of Dangma, is an organ of higher spiritual knowledge or spiritual wisdom and opens only in high Initiates as a result of an impeccably pure life and the development of spiritual forces. This is the highest spiritual achievement. The "third eye" refers to the highest fiery centers, and therefore it is impossible to open it at a young age, especially with the help of some kind of surgical manipulation. In fact, in this case, the author of the book is misleading the reader. The abilities acquired through the described operation are neither the opening of the "Third Eye", nor true clairvoyance. These are purely psychic abilities, such as aurovision or seeing the imprints of the astral plane, as well as astral travel. They have nothing to do with real spiritual achievements, about which the author of the book apparently has no idea. Violent methods of revealing psychic abilities without correlation with spiritual development can be practiced only in dark schools and sects. They also try to lure those interested in unusual phenomena into their networks, promising an easy achievement of superphysical abilities. And L. Rampa tries to assure the reader of their easy acquisition, for example, to learn how to travel in the astral body, without saying at all what dangers it threatens. Breathing exercises are also discussed. But all this can only lead to negative results, the development of mediumship and obsession.
However, the book also contains a number of correct propositions, such as: life on earth is a school where people come for knowledge and experience; reincarnation of a person; the presence of an aura and its color, reflecting the physical and mental state of a person; some information about the ancient history of Tibet, in particular about the giants that once existed. But half-truths are often more harmful than direct fiction, because they incline to trust. Thus, the author talks about valleys in the mountains with hot springs and lush vegetation. And even pronounces the sacred name of Shambhala. But he does not say a word about the High Sages of this reserved country, which the whole of Asia knows about. The only inhabitants of these high-mountainous oases, according to L. Rampa, are ape-like yeti. However, the author does not leave the Earth and humanity without "patrons". In "The Third Eye" this is mentioned in passing, but developed in his other books. These are the so-called "gardeners" - aliens who visit the Earth on flying saucers, representatives of the "higher", in fact, monstrous in its spiritlessness, technogenic civilization. All this is very reminiscent of the nonsense of "contactees" possessed by entities from the lower layers of the astral plane.
In general, the book "The Third Eye" makes a rather dark impression. Despite a certain fascination, it cannot serve as a source of either esoteric knowledge or deep and undistorted data about Tibet.
Lobsang Rampa
Third Eye
CHAPTER 1 CHILDREN
- Oh you! You can't stay in the saddle at four years old! When will you become a real man? And what will your most worthy father say?
Old Tzu, in his hearts, pulled out the pony with a whip - at the same time, the unlucky rider got it - and spat on the ground.
The gilded domes and roofs of the Potala sparkled in the bright sun. Closer, the living azure lake of the Serpent's Castle stretched out, giving out the places where waterfowl frolicked with light ripples. In the distance, along a rocky mountain path, people were leaving Lhasa; from there were heard the blows and loud cries with which the drivers encouraged the slow yaks. Somewhere very close from time to time a low "bmmmm" shook the air, "bmmmm" - these are monks-musicians, getting away from the listeners, learning to play their bass-pipes.
I had no time to admire these ordinary, everyday things. The most difficult task - to stay on the back of a rebellious pony - was in front of me. Nakkim had something completely different on his mind - he had to get rid of the rider, run away to the pasture, roll on the grass and laugh loudly.
Old Tzu was renowned for being a stern and principled mentor. Throughout his life, he professed perseverance and firmness, and now his patience - as a teacher and riding instructor for a four-year-old child - was seriously tested. For this position, the native of Kama was selected from a large number of applicants due to his tall, over seven feet, in height and enormous physical strength. In a heavy felt suit, Tzu's broad shoulders looked even more imposing. There is one area in Eastern Tibet where men are particularly distinguished by their height and strong build. This always gives them an advantage when recruiting police monks for Lamaist monasteries. Thick pads on the shoulders of the clothes make these guards even more massive, and the faces, smeared with black paint, are simply intimidating. They never part with long clubs and are ready to use them at any moment; all this can cause nothing but horror in the unfortunate intruder.
Once Tzu also served as a police monk, but now - what a humiliation! - had to nurse an aristocrat toddler. Tzu could not walk for a long time, as he was severely crippled; he rarely even dismounted. In 1904, the British, under the command of Colonel Yanghaz-band, invaded Tibet, devastated the country, believing, obviously, that the best way to win our friendship was to fire cannons at our houses and kill some of the already small Tibetans. Tzu, who took part in the defense, in one of the battles tore out part of his left thigh.
My father was one of the leaders of the Tibetan government. His family, like my mother's, belonged to the ten most aristocratic and influential families in Tibet, who played a significant role in the politics and economy of the country. I'll tell you a little more about our system of government.
Six feet tall, massive and sturdy, my father was proud of his strength for a reason. In his youth, he himself raised ponies. Few of the Tibetans, like him, could boast of victory in competitions with the natives of Kama.
Most Tibetans have black hair and dark brown eyes. My father stood out here too - he was a gray-eyed brown-haired man. Very hot-tempered, he often gave vent to his irritation, which seemed to us unreasonable.
We rarely saw my father. Tibet was going through difficult times. In 1904, before the British invasion, the Dalai Lama retired to Mongolia, and during his absence transferred the government of the country to my father and other cabinet members. In 1909, after a short stay in Beijing, the Dalai Lama returned to Lhasa. In 1910, the Chinese, inspired by the example of the British, took Lhasa by storm. The Dalai Lama had to flee again, this time to India. During the Chinese Revolution in 1911, the Chinese were expelled from Lhasa, but before that time they had managed to commit many terrible crimes against our people.
In 1912, the Dalai Lama returned to Lhasa. During the most difficult years of his absence, all responsibility for the fate of the country fell on his father and colleagues in the cabinet. Mother said more than once that in those days my father was more busy than ever and, of course, could not pay any attention to raising children; in fact, we didn’t know our father’s warmth. It seemed to me that my father was especially strict with me. Tzu, already stingy with praise or affection, received instructions from him to "make me a man or break me."
I was not good at handling ponies. Tzu took this as a personal insult. In Tibet, upper-class children are put on a horse before they begin to walk. In a country where there is no wheeled transport, and where everyone travels either on foot or on horseback, it is very important to be a good rider. Children of Tibetan aristocrats are taught horseback riding daily and hourly. Standing on narrow wooden saddles, at full gallop, they know how to hit moving targets from rifles and bows. Good riders can race across the field in full battle formation and change horses at a gallop, that is, jump from one horse to another. And at four years old I am not able to stay on a pony!
My pony Nakkim had a furry hair and a long tail. Its narrow muzzle was distinguished by its exceptional expressiveness. He knew surprisingly many ways to throw an unsure rider to the ground. Nakkim's favorite trick was to take off the bat and suddenly slow down, and even tilt his head at the same time. The very moment I slid helplessly down his neck, he jerked his head up, with a special twist so that I would do a full somersault in the air before plopping to the ground. And he calmly stopped and looked at me from above with an expression of arrogant superiority.
Tibetans never ride at a trot: the ponies are too small, and the rider would look just ridiculous. A gentle pace is sufficient; the canter is practiced only in training exercises.
Tibet has always been a theocratic state. The "progress" of the outside world presented no temptation for us. We wanted one thing: calmly meditate and overcome the limitations of the body shell. For a long time, our sages understood that the riches of Tibet arouse the envy and greed of the West. And that when the foreigners come, the world will leave. The invasion of the Chinese communists confirmed the righteousness of the sages.
We lived in Lhasa in the prestigious Linghor quarter. Our house was located not far from the ring road, in the shadow of the Summit. In Lhasa itself, there are three ring roads and another external one, Linghor - it is well known to pilgrims. At the time I was born, our house, like all other houses, was three stories high on the side of the road. The three-story height was the officially authorized limit because no one had the right to look down at the Dalai Lama; but since this high prohibition was in effect only during the annual ceremonial procession, many Tibetans built easily disassembled wooden superstructures on the flat roofs of houses and used them for almost eleven months of the year.
Our old-built stone house enclosed the courtyard in a large square. The first floor housed livestock, and we lived in the upper rooms. The house had a stone staircase; most Tibetan houses have such ladders, although peasants use notched pillars dug into the ground instead of ladders, climbing which it is easy to break their legs. The pillars seized with oily hands from frequent use become so slippery that the inhabitants often inadvertently break off them and come to their senses already on the floor below.
In 1910, during the Chinese invasion, our house was partially destroyed; the inner walls were particularly damaged. My father rebuilt the house and made it a five-story building. Since the completed floors did not overlook the circular road and we did not have the opportunity to look down on the Dalai Lama during the processions, no one contradicted this.
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THE THIRD EYE is a striking story of a spiritual journey, a wonderful autobiographical tale of an extraordinary childhood in Chakpori Monastery, a stronghold of Tibetan medicine. A seven-year-old boy from an aristocratic Tibetan family, under the guidance of a great Master, comprehends the secrets of seeing the aura, astral travel, and healing. This is a book about friendship with the Dalai Lama himself, the last Great Incarnation. Publisher: "Sofia" (1994) Format: 84x108 / 32, 320 pages |
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Rampa was hunted down by the British press in Howth ( Howth), and was called to account in connection with these allegations. He did not deny that he was born as Kyril Hoskin, but at the same time stated that now his body is occupied by the spirit of Lobsang Rampa. According to the explanation given in his third book, The Story of the Ramp, Hoskin once fell from in his garden at Thames Ditton ( Thames ditton) while trying to photograph. He lost consciousness, and when he woke up, he saw a monk in a saffron dress, walking towards him. The monk discussed with him the possibility of taking Rampa on his body, and Hoskin agreed, as he was dissatisfied with his current life. When Rampa's original body fell into disrepair, he moved into the body of a Briton. Throughout the rest of his life, Rampa continued to maintain that the events described in The Third Eye were true and in many of his books he wrote:
Character biographyDr. Today Lobsang Rampa was born in Tibet in the early 20th century. Rampa was educated at Sakpori Medical Theological School in Lhasa, the Tibetan capital. In the year, Lobsang Rampa left for to study medicine at the university. Lobsang Rampa was held captive during. The books written by Lobsang Rampa are written in the genre, contain, in addition to biographical information, discussions about the occult. In the early books, you can find that observations about Tibetans, real ethnographic data and rather superficial stories about Buddhism are combined with fantastic plots. The books also explain travel, observation and reading of the aura, etc. The most popular was his first book, The Third Eye. Lobsang Rampa's books served to popularize Buddhism in the sixties. Some researchers of such a phenomenon as, believe that it was with Lobsang Rampa's book "The Third Eye" that the boom of NRMs began, although many other phenomena undoubtedly served as the source of NRMs. List of works
Bibliography
Notes (edit)LinksExcerpts from the works of Rampa, support for his views
Criticism
Other books on similar topics:
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The book of the author Lobsang Rampa "The Third Eye" enjoys considerable popularity. However, it is unlikely that she will be able to answer the question of how to develop the ability to clairvoyance. There is a lot of literature on this topic, but not all of it enjoys a good reputation.
In the article:
Lobsang Rampa, "The Third Eye" - book about tibetan monks
Known to many as a clairvoyant with an unusual biography. For a long time he lived the life of an ordinary person, until the spirit of a Tibetan monk chose him as a new carrier. It is known that during his lifetime Lobsang Rampa was never physically in Tibet, but everything that he wrote and said on this topic corresponds to the truth.
Lobsang Rampa "Third Eye"
The book "The Third Eye" is devoted to the spiritual search, which the monk began in his childhood. The book is, for the most part, autobiographical. She tells the reader about the author's childhood, which passed in the stronghold of Tibetan medicine. - Chakpori monastery... In this book, you will learn how a seven-year-old boy, under the guidance of a wise Master, mastered what most people consider impossible. - vision of the aura, astral travel and lucid dreams.
A separate chapter of the book "The Third Eye" by Lobsang Rampa is devoted to the opening of the third eye according to Tibetan methods. In Tibetan monasteries, this is done through painful surgery:
He placed the jagged end of the instrument against the middle of his forehead and began to turn the handle. A minute passed. I felt as if my body was being pierced through. Time stopped. The instrument broke through the skin and entered the soft tissue without causing much pain. But when the tip touched the bone, I felt like a slight blow. The monk increased the pressure by rotating the instrument; the teeth gnawed into the frontal bone. The pain was not acute, I felt only pressure, accompanied by a dull pain. I did not budge, being all the time under the gaze of Lama Mingyar Dondup, - i would rather pass up than move or scream. He believed me, and I believed him. I knew he was right, no matter what he did, no matter what he said. He closely followed the operation, and only slightly pursed lips betrayed his excitement. Suddenly there was a crackling sound - the tip of the instrument has passed the bone.
It is unlikely that the information described in Lobsang Rampa's book "Third Eye" will be useful for those wishing to open the brow chakra and become clairvoyants, but the reader will be interested to learn more about the life of monks in Tibetan monasteries, the terrible operation to open the third eye and the effect that followed after it.
Boris Monosov, “Clairvoyance as Reality - third eye opening practices "
The author of the book on the third eye Monosov Boris I am sure that everyone can develop extraordinary abilities. However, in order to open them, you will have to devote a lot of time to practice. There are many of the latter, however, if you do not want to waste your time, it is better to prefer literature with a good reputation. Boris Monosov calls himself a professional magician, and his books are quite popular.
Boris Monosov's book "Clairvoyance as Reality - third eye opening practices ”contains a cycle of techniques and exercises aimed at opening the third eye. The practical course of Monosov is suitable for every person, however, one should not expect that the third eye chakra will open in a few days. Compare these classes with learning another language - you are unlikely to be able to communicate fluently with foreigners after a few lessons.
Boris Monosov's book consists of eleven sections. They are dedicated to preparing for the discovery of psychic abilities, as well as the opportunities that a new vision bestows. An open third eye can bring significant benefits to any person, and in order to achieve such a goal, it is not at all necessary to be born into a family of sorcerers.
Boris Sakharov, "Opening the Third Eye" - yoga and scientific approach
The author of the book about the opening of the third eye, Boris Sakharov, is one of the most prominent representatives of the Russian intelligentsia. Most of all he was worried about the heritage and culture of the East, and Boris Sakharov devoted his life to the study and popularization of this topic. He wrote many books about yoga, as well as the philosophy and culture of the East.
Despite the fact that in the books of Boris Sakharov there is a place for mysticism and, in general, things that are not accepted to believe in modern society, the reader will certainly notice the scientist's pragmatic approach to the presentation and analysis of information. This author has a good reputation even among skeptics, he is a respected practitioner. Hatha Yoga and Raja Yoga.
Reviews claim that Boris Sakharov's writing style makes his books easy to read. Complex terms and principles of Eastern philosophy are set out clearly for a person with a Western mentality. He connects the methods of opening the third eye and the very fact of its presence with yoga, therefore the book "Opening the Third Eye" will be useful and interesting not only for those who are fond of esotericism, but also for people interested in yoga.
The techniques outlined in Boris Sakharov's book "Opening the Third Eye" are based on the author's personal developments, as well as on the analysis of information from yogi treatises. Some yogis are sure that the disclosure of the secrets of yoga to a wide range of uninitiated people in the book by Boris Sakharov "Opening the Third Eye" was the cause of the author's death in a car accident.
Other books on the third eye
Encyclopedia of secret techniques 
You are a clairvoyant! How to open the third eye 
The eye "I" from which nothing is hidden
There is a lot of little-known literature about the third eye that deserves the attention of readers. For instance, "Encyclopedia of secret methods" by Alexander Soldatov able to help quickly - in just three days. It is this period that the author considers normal, who positions his book as a unique practical guide to opening the third eye and gaining clairvoyance.
Also interesting is the book Olga Muratova “You are a clairvoyant! How to open the third eye "... The techniques described by the author are aimed at mastering the initial level of clairvoyance. Olga Muratova also describes what will be the further development of a person who has stepped on the path of gaining the gift of clairvoyance. Open provides truly amazing opportunities, and many have already seen this.
Curiosity is the logical approach to a rather mystical phenomenon David Hawkins, author of The Eye of the Self, From Which Nothing Is Hidden... The book is divided into four sections. The first describes the author's personal experience, the second - sets the direction of spiritual searches and the path to the goal. The third section will talk about human consciousness and methods of spiritual enlightenment, and the fourth is devoted to answers to questions from readers of previous books by this author.
