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)
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