COSMIC DEBRIS: Wise Sayings of Lobsang Rampa

Closing out our RAMPATHON for October, here's a selection of wise sayings collected from Rampa's works and presented in The Thirteenth Candle, with notations as to titles and page numbers:

A man has to hold his mouth open for a long time before a roasted partridge flies into it! Mrs. Maria Pien organized the topic index from The Thirteenth Candle which also uses this title abbreviation system:

Courtesy Corgi Books, 1973. THE END!

TIGERLILY by Mama San Ra'ab Rampa

Mrs. Rampa speaks! The world cried out for more Rampa, and Sarah aka Ra'ab aka Mama San obliged with this slim autobiographical volume that details the life and times of the Rampa family, and their special bond with a special cat named TIGERLILY!

Mrs. Rampa sprinkles her text with quotations galore, in a flimsy New Age framing that cites Kahlil Gibran, Winston Churchill, Mark Twain and others on the topics of friendship and happiness. Like her husband, Ra'ab writes in a treacly, maudlin style, and whereas Lobsang's overriding mood was miserable, hers seems melancholy, with sad remembrance of things past. The psychedelic cover art is mismatched with the restrained autobiography, and Ra'ab notes that Lobsang often takes issue with the cover art for their books, remarking that at times he looks like a corpse! Here of course, he's some kind of weirdo cat man.

Ra'ab details her childhood, a lonely one, and her marriage to "Carl" (aka Cyril, aka Lobsang), a good match that nonetheless sees the two loners set against the world. Carl works in advertising while the couple hunker down during the Blitz. Names and faces are often forgotten in Ra'ab's memories, lending a dreamlike quality that only heightens once she finally gets around to the big reveal of Carl's transference to Lobsang. Readers looking for a blow by blow will be disappointed however, as Ra'ab spends far more time on the topic of feline constipation than on specific details of Carl/Lobsang's identity, which she says readers may find in his book As It Was! Mostly she just defends him from the ever present, ever evil Press.

In his defense, Ra'ab strenuously emphasizes that Carl's father was a water engineer, not simply a plumber, and that Carl himself never pursued that trade at all. Like her husband, Ra'ab is a true blue Britisher (despite newly attained Canadian citizenship), also defending the Royals from Press libel and spending some time on the uncertain status of the Commonwealth. Lobsang's changeover from Carl/Cyril is just another one of life's bumps in the road, to be dealt with as the Blitz or bad health.

As with her husband, Ra'ab seems happiest writing about their cats, with Siamese cats being the Rolls-Royce or Cadillac of the cat world! Like Lobsang, Ra'ab talks telepathically with Miss Cleo and Miss Taddy, their current cats, who provide much commentary on the writing of this book.

The Rampa's life together before the change is notated as PR (Pre-Rampa), by the by. Ra'ab ends her book with a plug for Lobsang's latest, Three Lives. 

Like all of T. Lobsang Rampa's works, Tigerlily by Mama San is available to read and download at the official T. Lobsang Rampa website.

Corgi Books, 1978 (original pub. 1976)

THE THIRTEENTH CANDLE by T. Lobsang Rampa

The RAMPATHON rolls on, as we dig into Rampa's big thirteenth book, answering more reader questions and airing more dirty laundry on the astral plane. Hold on tight, as we light THE THIRTEENTH CANDLE!

In this Author's opinion the Press is the most evil force which has ever existed on this world; in this Author's opinion unless the Press be checked and controlled and censored the Press will eventually control the world and lead to Communism.

One thing you can say about Rampa, he doesn't mince words - even if it does sometimes seem like he's mashed his prose flat with a meat mallet! Ya also get the feeling he'd have been happier writing "straight" fiction, as this thirteenth volume is filled with "comical" vignettes of people debating the truth of Rampa's writing. It starts off with a couple of stupid housewives who bicker about a news account of a near death experience, until they go next door to their wise neighbor who's got a whole shelf of Rampa to set them straight. She doesn't lend books though, because that's unfair to the author! Here Rampa details more of his magic accounting that sees him getting something less than 1% of 1% of a book's asking price, damning him to a life of poverty.

Nobody's suffered more in this life or the next.

"Oh, woe is me."

The housewives are named Martha MacGoohoogly and Maud O'Haggis, to give you an idea of Rampa's sense of humor, and things continue in this vein with the next scene of butch dyke Lotta Bull and her femme charge Rosie Hipps, who ditch a sleazy London bar to make out on the couch and debate Rampa's views on homosexuality.

Rampa alternates scenes of disgusting, pig-ignorant Westerners arguing over his books with a throughline of a young lama's training in Tibet. These scenes are more naturalistic and much less venomous. Rampa comes off as a genuine misanthrope when writing about people, and only softens up when on the subject of cats or fantasy caricature Tibetans who can serve as mouthpieces for his cracked New Age melange. This time around it's breathing exercises, more astral travel, and more about that enigmatic Overself of which we are all simply avatars. We also get a silly section on Shakespeare, where Rampa innovates the anti-Stratford conspiracy with the reveal that the stupid peasant boy William was actually possessed by an enlightened astral presence, which is the only reason he could write so good!

Rampa really lets it rip in the last couple chapters, as he takes aim at Women's Libbers:

This particular Author has a screw loose about certain things. One is about the moronic press, and another is about the so-called Women's Liberation Movement. This particular Author firmly believes that women have a very important job in life, raising the future population. If women would only stop aping men—and they do definitely try to ape men and try to wear the pants, forgetting that they don't have the figure for it—then the world would be a better place. This Author believes that women are responsible for most of the troubles of the world through wanting to get out and be ‘free’, as they wrongly term it, instead of accepting their responsibilities as mothers. Women say they want to be equal, but are they not equal? Which is most important, a dog or a horse? They are different creatures. Men and women are different creatures, a man has never given birth without the assistance of a female, let us say, but a female can give birth without the assistance of a male by parthenogenesis. So if the Women's Lib Movement wants a boost, why not boast about that?

What greater proof of equality or even superiority can there be than that women have the task of providing and bringing up the future race? The male co-operation in the matter only takes a few minutes, but a woman— well, she should bring up children until they are able to get on by themselves, and how she brings them up, the example that she sets them, that is how the future race will be. But now women want to beetle off to the factory where they can talk scandal, they want to be a hash-slinger, or anything except to accept the responsibility for which she is so well qualified by Nature. Women's Liberation? I think the sponsors of the Women's Liberation Movement should be slapped across the backside—hard!

The question goes on to ask why women never aspire to the highest Lamahood. Because women are irrational, that is why, because women cannot think clearly, that is why. Because women let their emotions run away with reason, that is why. If women would only stop being such asses and face up to their responsibilities, then the whole world, the whole Universe, would be a better place.

As one reads through this enlightened lama's works, one can't help but notice how unhappy Rampa was. The bulk of his writing is taken up with a deep, abiding misery over his poor health, the state of the world, other people in general, the youth and the press and women in particular, along with Catholics and immigrants and Hottentots for good measure. No one is safe when Rampa's cheesed off, excepting the Royal Family who have suffered nearly as much as Rampa at the hands of an unfair press.

Perhaps the greatest proof of Rampa's fraudulent identity is this deeply ingrained British pessimism, a small minded provincialism that sees the entire world laid before you in all its wonder and complexity and says, "aw, none of that for me, guv!"

One of the only other topics that seems to cheer him is modern technology: ships and planes and industry, which account for much of his scene settings. The Buddhist writer David Michie noted the same emphasis when he received some personal photos from Rampa's estate:

The slides were mostly of travels in the latter years of his life – Europe, South America, USA, Canada and even Australia. I was disappointed to find that almost all were of landscapes, buildings, ships and aircraft – he clearly had an enthusiasm for mechanical innovation and technology. I had hoped to discover that he had been photographed with other people known in the worlds of psychic studies, psychology or spirituality more broadly.

Overall, the materials were more striking for what they didn’t contain as what they did. There is nothing in any of them to suggest that, through all his extensive travels, Lobsang Rampa ever visited a Tibetan Buddhist centre, met practitioners from any lineage, let alone the more prominent Tibetan Buddhists who had begun to visit Western countries. No passing references to interesting books he’d read or conversations he’d had with fellow authors or kindred spirits. These may have happened, but if you didn’t know the occupation of person who’d sent the items in that old cardboard box, from the vast majority of them you would probably conclude that he was some kind of engineer.

This volume also contains a useful index of topics, compiled by one Mrs. Maria Pien for all of Rampa's books thus far. An updated version covering his entire body of work is available at the official T. Lobsang Rampa website.

Like all of Rampa's book, The Thirteenth Candle is available to read and download at the official T. Lobsang Rampa website.

Corgi Books, 1973 (original pub. 1972)

FEEDING THE FLAME by T. Lobsang Rampa

The RAMPATHON continues! Up next is Rampa's big eleventh book: he says that thus far he's been lighting a candle in the darkness, and now's the time for FEEDING THE FLAME!

The point of this book, Rampa says, is to answer some questions from his dear and loyal readers. He also has plenty of stupid readers who waste his time with idiot letters, and he kvetches about these drooling morons for pages and pages ... what can he say, Rampa loves bitching and moaning! But anyways, to those dear and loyal readers who send in thoughtful queries, Rampa is ready to answer you!

"I hate you, the reader."

Would it surprise you that a lot of the answers are recycled from his last book? If you missed it last time: pets go to heaven, astral travel is possible, and Rampa absolutely unconditionally does NOT commune with any mediums charging fees for services. And when he departs this plane, Rampa assures us, he will NOT be taking any calls. He also addresses the specious text My Visit to Venus, assembled out of old Rampa articles by Gray Barker and presented by John Keel. Rampa does not approve!

Rampa's health is clearly on his mind. He spends much of this book in hospital, and is spared from the Angel of Death only by the astral appearance of his old friend, the Lama Mingyar Dondup, who tasks him with the writing of this book.

It's a hard life for ol' Rampa, living in shitty apartments in shitty towns like Halifax, having to listen to gibbering French Canadian patois outside and awful new British "music" on the radio, and, as he said, dealing with piles and piles of worthless letters from total dipshits. Rampa's not gonna tell you how to win the Irish Sweepstakes or make girls do what you want! He's here to answer the REAL questions, about real weighty subjects like life and death and the great beyond ...

Rampa's a grump, but at least he has his cats. The man loves writing on and on about his kitties, in that syrupy British style. Miss Cleo and Miss Tadalinka provide him much comfort, and again Rampa emphasizes that you'll meet your dear pets again on the other side.

Rampa and a friend. Courtesy David Michie.

Some new facts: Negroes are naturally rhythmic due to kharmic suffering, and homosexuals are to be pitied, NOT hated, for their mixed up souls! What a humanitarian! Rampa also dumps some atrocity tales on us about Chinese oppression in Tibet, and complains that the Dalai Lama doesn't want to team up with him for the cause! It's all the fault of the lying press, another Rampa bugbear. Soon now, by the way, there's going to be a big scandal where high ranking US officials will be exposed as Communist collaborators! It's a pity Rampa and John Pendragon never collaborated, they've both got the same slightly addled spirit as to predictions.

Rampa elaborates on the astral world, and the things you can get up to there after you leave your physical body in this life. You don't have to wear clothes or eat, but most people end up cladding themselves in some kind of thought-robes and taking sustenance from the ether. Details are also provided on the great astral Overself and its avatars - that's us! It's all part of the cosmic plan, as the Overself sends out feelers to explore and experience life, over and over again.

Rampa's wife Ra'ab does graphology for big firms, a neat detail that he works into a chapter on palmistry, clairvoyance, etc. He also burns some pages on the ol' Kennedy/Lincoln coincidences - Rampa's nothing if not longwinded and shameless about random padding.

Some more psychic potpourri: organ transplants are dangerous because of possible astral discontinuities between donor and recipient. Rampa says that artifical organs should be perfected as soon as possible! He also knows the truth about the lost submarines Thresher and Scorpion, but the story is too weird to be told right now. Rampa's also seen a genuine astral telephone, but the inventor was harassed by the press and Rampa himself is too broke to replicate the work. Ouija boards are not genuine conduits to spirit communication with the other side, but you can get yourself in trouble through self delusion or through trickery by lower astral forms imitating human spirits. These lower forms are harmless unless you allow yourself to be manipulated.

Rampa notes near the end of the book that he's deliberately answered questions in a "higgly piggly" order to prevent readers simply looking up the one or two specific answers they'd want. That's a nice excuse for the book being a disorganized ramble.

Some of the good readers thanked: Mr. and Mrs. "Yeti" Thompson, Mr. de Munnik, Mr. and Mrs. Hanns Czermak, and the Worstmann Ladies. And a big hand for the folks at home ... or maybe not, if you don't send return postage!

Like all of his work, Rampa's Feeding the Flame is available to read and download on the official website for T. Lobsang Rampa.

Corgi Books, 1975 (original pub. 1971)

BEYOND THE TENTH by T. Lobsang Rampa

It's RAMPATHON all month long in October, as we dive into the works of that insincere swami, that gaseous guru, the mad plumber from Devon himself, T. Lobsang Rampa! Up first is an entry that exemplifies Rampa's mid-career output: slapdash, peevish, and full of self pity to the rafters, we're going BEYOND THE TENTH!

Some fellow travelers in the back page ad ...

The text opens with some goofy scene setting by Rampa, as Tibetan monks debate the wonders of the indoor hot and cold taps they supposedly have in "Merikee" (America, you see), and then some western housewives cluck at the thought of telepathic Tibetan monks. Rampa's point is that it all depends on your perspective, and things that seem wondrous and unbelievable to us in our current modern western viewpoint may not be so much.

Readers looking for guidance on astral travel might be disappointed, as Rampa's instructions as to this seem vague and tossed off ... as well they might, because in the final chapter he admits he dictated the book in two weeks time! The cynical among us might even think he just made it up as he went along.

Most of the text is filled with descriptions of his own fantastical astral travels abroad, some health advice, a little UFO stuff, and an endless litany of whinging about unions, communists, the post office, the cost of healthcare, the cost of living, and the calumnious press campaign of harassment against him - here Rampa is referring to any reporting that accurately states his true identity as one Cyril Hoskin, former resident of Devon and lying fraud. Press criticism of the Royal Family also cheeses Rampa off, as "no family has ever suffered as much for Britain."

In a nice touch, Rampa claims that one of his cats was so saddened by the "press persecution" against him that she died of stress! No worries though, because he can still visit her on the astral plane.

Mad as hell and fit to tell us all about it ...

A bizarre vignette about an evil, thieving Welshman who mooches off the dole while complaining about the English until he gets a job as a bus driver, which then causes him to suffer from constipation, leads to a long section about this condition, which Rampa calls the curse of the ages. He recommends enemas and chewing certain herbs.

Possibly owing to his own chronic poor health, much of this title concerns health advice, with Rampa doing an alright job, in his own puffed up way, of letting people know that they should be informed as patients about what medical care entails and how to communicate with medical professionals to know they're getting the right care. He even disclaims any wonder cures, which is ethical of him. Alcoholism also comes in for a beating by Rampa, who says alcoholics should be banned from marriage and reproduction, as the condition is incurable unless they can bring themselves to avoid the stuff altogether. Sucking boiled sweets is one of Rampa's feeble suggestions to this end.

Also warned against are pay-for-play mediums and psychics, and cheap mass produced "lucky charms" ... though Rampa's Tranquilliser Touch-Stones don't count, for some reason!

Per usual, Rampa bitches about the cost of postage and tells us we'd better send return postage in any letters if we want him to respond! Despite being a best selling author he pleads poverty from all the fees, double taxation, unfair pricing, and etc., that chew away at his books' profits. That all of us might be able to churn out a book in 14 days that gets reprinted yearly, with seven editions and counting including two reprints in 1974!

Rampa wraps things up with some predictions for the future. Australia will blast a giant lake into the outback using nuclear bombs, and become a paradise fit for a billion people! Uruguay could have had this blessing, but the Uruguayans haven't had a hard enough time of things and so weren't kharmically prepared for the task. We're in John Pendragon's territory here, with an addled old man making oddball geopolitical proclamations. Rampa sees communism taking over the world, as trade unions destroy the west and then an evil, all encompassing strain of communism rises - but NOT Chinese communism, Rampa is quick to point out!

Eventually, however, communism in Africa specifically will be thwarted (being the only foreign influence bedeviling that continent, of course) and the people there will be free. Rhodesia cleans itself up and white people leave Africa, until such time in the future that we evolve past racism and become "the race of Tan," in Rampa's words. Maybe one day, the English may live in peace with filthy Welshmen, conniving Chinese, and greedy Postmasters ...

Beyond the Tenth is available to read and download at the official website for T. Lobsang Rampa.

Corgi Books, 1974 (original pub. 1969)