“Sir!” I said to my Guide the Lama Mingyar Dondup some hours later, “Sir! is there a God? Or Gods?” He looked down at me and said, “Let us go and sit on the roof, Lobsang, we can hardly talk here in this crowded place.” He turned and led the way along the corridor, out through the Lamas’ quarters, up the notched pole and so on to the roof. For a moment we stood looking at the well-loved scene, the towering mountain ranges, the bright water of the Kyi chu, and the reed-girt Kaling Chu. Beneath us the Norbu Linga, or Jewel Park, showed as a mass of living green. My Guide waved his hand. “Do you think all this is chance, Lobsang? Of course there is a God!” We moved to the highest part of the roof and sat down.
“You are confused in your thinking, Lobsang,” stated my Guide. “There is a God; there are Gods. While upon this Earth we are in no position to appreciate (verdsette) the Form and Nature of God. We live in what may be termed a three-dimensional world. God lives in a world so far removed that the human brain while on earth, cannot hold the necessary concept of God and thus men tend to rationalise. ‘God’ is assumed to be something human, super-human if you prefer the term, but Man, in his conceit, believes that he is made in the Image of God! Man also believes that there is no life on other worlds. If Man is made in the Image of God and the peoples of other worlds are in a different image – what is to become of our concept that Man only is made in God’s Image?” The Lama looked keenly at me to make sure that I was following his remarks. Most certainly I was; all this appeared self-evident.
“Every world, every country of every world, has its God, or Guardian Angel. We call the God in charge of the world the Manu. He is a highly evolved Spirit, a human who through incarnation after incarnation has purged the dross, leaving only the pure behind. There is a band of Great Beings who at times of need come to this Earth that they may set an example whereby ordinary mortals may be enabled to lift from the mire (søle) of worldly desires.”
I nodded my head; I knew about this, knew that Buddha, Moses, Christ and many others were of that Order. I knew also of Maitreya, who, it is stated in the Buddhist Scriptures, will come to the world 5,656 million years after the passing of Buddha, or Gautama as He should more accurately be named. All this, and more, was part of our standard religious teaching as was the knowledge that any good person had an equal chance no matter what name his own religious belief carried. We never believed that only one religious sect “went to Heaven,” and all others were tumbled down to Hell for the amusement of sundry sanguinary fiends. But my Guide was ready to continue.
“We have the Manu of the world, the Great Evolved Being who controls the destiny of the world. There are minor Manus who control the destiny of a country. In endless years, the World Manu will move on, and the next best, now well trained, will evolve, will take over the Earth.”
“Ah!” I exclaimed in some triumph, “then not all Manus are good! The Manu of Russia is allowing Russians to act against our good. The Manu of China permits the Chinese to raid our borders and kill our people.” The Lama smiled across at me. “You forget, Lobsang,” he replied, “this world is Hell, we come here to learn lessons. We come here to suffer that our spirit may evolve. Hardship teaches, pain teaches, kindness and consideration do not. There are wars in order that men may show courage on the battle-fields and – like iron ore in the furnace – be tempered and strengthened by the fire of battle. The flesh body does not matter, Lobsang, that is only a temporary puppet. The Soul, the Spirit, the Overself (call it what you will) is all that need be considered. On Earth, in our blindness, we think that the body alone matters. Fear that the body may suffer clouds our outlook and warps our judgement. We have to act for the good of our own Overselves, while still assisting others. Those who follow blindly the dictates of overbearing parents add a load to the parents as well as to themselves. Those who blindly follow the dictates of some stereotyped religious belief also cramp their evolution.”
“Honourable Lama!” I expostulated, “may I add two comments?” “Yes, you may,” replied my Guide. “You said that we learn more quickly if conditions are harsh. I would prefer a little more kindness. I could learn that way.” He looked thoughtfully at me. “Could you?” he asked. “Would you learn the Sacred Books even if you did not fear the teachers? Would you do your share in the kitchens if you did not fear punishment if you lazed? Would you?” I hung my head, it was right, I worked in the kitchens when ordered to. I studied the Sacred Books because I feared the result of failure. “And your next question?” asked the Lama. “Well, Sir, how does a stereotyped religion injure one’s evolution?” “I will give you two examples,” replied my Guide. “The Chinese believed that it did not matter what they did in this life as they could pay for faults and sins when they came again. Thus they adopted a policy of mental slothfulness (dovenskap) . Their religion became as an opiate (sovemiddel) and drugged them into spiritual laziness; they lived only for the next life, and so their arts and crafts fell into disuse. China thus became a third-rate power in which bandit war-lords started a reign of terror and pillage.”
I had noticed that the Chinese in Lhasa seemed to be unnecessarily brutal and quite fatalistic. Death to them meant nothing more than passing to another room! I did not fear death in any way, but I wanted to get my task finished in one lifetime instead of slacking (avslapning) , and having to come to this World time after time. The process of being born, being a helpless baby, having to go to school, all that to me was trouble. I hoped that this life would be my last on Earth. The Chinese had had wonderful inventions, wonderful works of art, a wonderful culture. Now, through too slavishiy adhering to a religious belief, the Chinese people had become decadent, a ready prey to Communism. At one time age and learning had been deeply respected in China, as should be the case, now – no more were the sages given the honour due to them; all that mattered now was violence, personal gain and selfishness.
“Lobsang!” The voice of my Guide broke in to my thoughts. “We have seen a religion which taught inaction, which taught that one should not in any way influence an-other in case one added to one’s own Kharma – the debt which passes on from life to life.” He looked out across the City of Lhasa, seeing our peaceful Valley, then turned to me again. “Religions of the West tend to be very militant. People there are not content to believe what they want to believe, but they are willing to kill others to make them believe the same.” “I don’t see how killing a person would be good religious practice,” I remarked. “No, Lobsang,” replied the Lama, “but in the time of the Spanish Inquisition one branch of Christians tortured any other branch in order that they might be “converted and saved.” People were stretched on the rack and burned at the stake that they might thus be persuaded to change their belief! Even now these people send out missionaries who try by almost any means to obtain converts. It seems that they are so unsure of their belief that they must have others express approval and agreement of their religion – on the lines, presumably, that there is safety in numbers!”
“Sir!” I said, “do you think people should follow a religion?” “Why, certainly, if they so desire,” replied the Lama Mingyar Dondup. “If people have not yet reached the stage where they can accept the Overself, and the Manu of the World, then it may be a comfort for them to adhere to some formal system of religion. It is a mental and spiritual discipline, it makes some people feel that they belong within a family group, with a benevolent Father watching over them, and a compassionate Mother ever ready to intercede on their behalf with the Father. Yes, for those in a certain stage of evolution, such religion is good. But the sooner such people realise that they should pray to their Overself the sooner will they evolve. We are sometimes asked why we have Sacred Images in our Temples, or why we have Temples at all. To that we can reply that such Images are reminders that we too can evolve and in time become high Spiritual Beings. As for our Temples, they are places where people of like mind may congregate for the purpose of giving mutual strength in the task of reaching one’s Overself. By prayer, even when that prayer be not properly directed, one is able to reach a higher rate of vibration. Meditation and contemplation within a Temple, a Synagogue, or Church is beneficial.”
I mused (funderte på..) upon that which I had just heard. Below us the Kaling Chu(local river) tinkled and ran faster as it squeezed to crowd itself beneath the Bridge of the Lingkor Road. Off to the south I perceived a party of men waiting for the Ferryman of the Kyi Chu. Traders had come earlier in the day, bringing papers and magazines for my Guide. Papers from India, and from strange countries of the world. The Lama Mingyar Dondup had travelled far and often, and kept in close touch with affairs outside Tibet. Papers, magazines. I had a thought at the back of my mind. Something that had bearing on this discussion. Papers? Suddenly I jumped as if stung. Not papers, but a magazine! Something I had seen, now what was it? I knew! It was all clear to me; I had flicked over some pages, not understanding a single word of the foreign languages, but seeklng pictures. One such page had stopped beneath my questing thumb. The picture of a winged being hovering in the clouds, hovering above a field of bloody battle. My Guide, to whom I had shown the picture, had read and translated for me the caption (billedteksten) .
“Honourable Lama!” I exclaimed excitedly, “earlier today you told me of that Figure – you called it the Angel of Mons – which many men claimed to see above a battlefield. Was that a God?” “No, Lobsang,” replied my Guide, “many many men, in the hour of their desperation, longed to see the figure of a Saint, or as they term it, an Angel. ‘Their urgent need and strong emotions inherent in a battlefield gave strength to their thoughts, their desires, and their prayers. Thus, in the manner of which I have shown you, they formed a thought form to their own specifications. As the first ghostly outline of a figure appeared, the prayers and thoughts of the men who caused it were intensified, and so the figure gained’ in strength and solidity and persisted for an appreciable time. We do the same thing here when we raise thought-forms’ in the Inner Temple. But come, Lobsang, the day is far advanced and the Ceremonies of Logsar are not yet concluded.”
We walked down the corridor, down into the scene of bustle, the busy turmoil which was the everyday life within a lamasery during a Season of Celebration. The Master of the Arts came in search of me, wanting a small, light boy to climb the scaffold and make some alterations to the head of a figure at the top. Trailing in the Master’s wake, I followed him at a brisk pace down the slippery path to the Butter Room. I donned an old robe, one liberally coated with coloured butter, and tying a light line around my waist that I might haul up material, I climbed the scaffold. It was as the Master had surmised (antatt), part of the head had broken away from the wooden slats. Calling down what I wanted, I dangled my rope and pulled up a pail of butter. For some hours I worked, twisting slivers (fliser) of thin wood round the struts of the backing, molding once again the butter to hold the head in place. At long last, the Master of the Arts, watching critically from the ground, indicated that he was satisfied. Slowly, stiffly, I disentangled myself from the scaffolding (stillas) and slowly descended to the ground. Thankfully I changed my robe and hurried off.
The next day I and many other chelas were down on the Plain of Lhasa, at the foot of the Potala, by the Village of Shø. In theory we were watching the processions, the games, and the races. In actuality we were showing off in front of the humble pilgrims who thronged the mountain paths that they might be in Lhasa at the time of Logsar. From all over the Buddhist world they came, to this, the Mecca of Buddhism. Old men crippled with age, young women carrying small babies, all came in the belief that in completing the Holy Circuit of the City and the Potala, they were atoning for past sins and ensuring a good rebirth to the next life on Earth. Fortunetellers thronged the Lingkor Road, ancient beggars whined for alms, and traders with their goods suspended from their shoulders pushed their way through the throngs in search of customers. Soon I tired of the frenzied scene, tired of the gaping multitude and their endless, inane questions. I slipped away from my companions and slowly wandered up the mountain path to my lamastic home.
The hermits (eremittene)
Upon the roof, in my favourite spot, all was quiet. The sun provided a gentle warmth. From below me, now out of sight, there arose a confused murmur from the crowds, a murmur which in its indistinctness, soothed me and made me drowse in the noonday heat. A shadowy figure materialised almost at the extreme limit of my vision. Sleepily I shook my head and blinked my eyes. When I again opened them the figure was still there, clearer now and growing more dense. The hairs at the back of my neck rose in sudden fright. “You are not a ghost!” I exclaimed. “Who are you?” The Figure smiled slightly and replied, “No, my son, I am not a ghost. Once I too studied here at the Chakpori, and lazed as you are lazing now upon this roof. Then I desired above all to speed my liberation from Earthy desires. I had myself immured within the walls of that hermitage,” he gestured upwards, and I turned to follow the direction of his outstretched arm. “Now,” he continued, telepathically, “on this the eleventh Logsar since that date I have attained that which I sought; freedom to roam at will, while leaving my body safe within the hermitage cell. My first journey is to here, that I may ‘once again gaze upon the crowd, that I may once again visit this well-remembered spot. Freedom, boy, I have attained freedom.” Before my gaze he vanished like a cloud of incense dispersed by the night wind.
The hermitages (eneboerkammerne) ! We chelas had heard so much about them, what were they like inside? We often wondered. Why did men incarcerate themselves within those rock chambers, perched precariously upon the mountain’s edge? We wondered about that too! I determined that I would ask my beloved Guide. Then I remembered that an old Chinese monk lived a few yards from where I was. Old Wu Hsi had had an interesting life; for some years he had been a monk attached to the Palace of the Emperors in Peking. Tiring of such life, he had wandered into Tibet in search of enlightenment. Eventually he had reached the Chakpori, and had been accepted. Tiring of that after a few years, he had gone to a hermitage and for seven years had lived the solitary life. Now, though, he was back at Chakpori waiting to die. I turned and hastened to the corridor below. Making my way to a small cell, I called to the old man.
“Come in! Come in!” he called in a high, quavering (skjelvende) voice. I entered his cell, and for the first time met Wu Hsi – the Chinese monk. He was sitting cross-legged and in spite of his age his back was as straight as a young bamboo. He had high cheekbones, and very very yellow, parchment-like skin. His eyes were jet black and slanted. A few straggly hairs grew from his chin, and from his upper lip depended a dozen or so hairs of his long moustache. His hands were yellow-brown, and mottled with great age, while his veins stood out like the twigs of a tree. As I walked toward him he peered blindly in my direction, sensing rather than seeing. “Hmm, hmm,” he said, “a boy, a young boy from the way you walk. What do you want, boy?” “Sir!” I replied, “you lived for long in a hermitage. Will you, Holy Sir, have the goodness to tell me of it?” He mumbled and chewed at the ends of his moustache and then said, “Sit, boy, it is long since I talked of the past, although I think of it constantly now.”
