T. Lobsang Rampa

Such a lot of people like to have big words. Such a lot of people mess up the whole thing when they go in for Big Words.

People hooted and jeered when, some few years ago, I wrote in The Third Eye that I had flown in kites. One would have thought that I had committed a great crime in saying that. But now-well, we look about and we can see people flying in kites. Some of them are high above the water being towed by a speed boat. Yet others are kites with a man aboard, he stands on the edge of a cliff or high piece of ground, and then he jumps off and he is actually flying in a kite. Nobody says now that Lobsang Rampa was right, but they certainly did hoot when I wrote about kite flying.

'The Thirteenth Candle?' Well, it is meant to be a logical title derived from what I am trying to do. I am trying to 'light a candle' which is far better than 'cursing the darkness'. This is my thirteenth book which, I hope, will be my Thirteenth Candle.

It was a time when people were questioning their beliefs. Christianity and organized religion seemed stagnant and out of touch with a new generation who were seeking spiritual truths rather than undefined platitudes. People were seeking answers, but no one knew what the question was. The time was ripe for a new beginning.

Few books have aroused more controversy in recent years than Lobsang Rampa's THE THIRD EYE, and the other works which have come from his pen.
The reason is simple enough. When an Englishman claims that his body has been taken over by the spirit of a Tibetan Lama, he can reasonably expect mockery.

There are those whose feet are firmly on The Path, who are known as 'Old Souls' and who possess inner knowledge. They are aware of Truth, they have no need of a book such as this. But for the vast majority, who may indeed be true seekers, because of the way we are educated in the so-called civilized world, analysis, proof, the opinion of others is often necessary. I believe this book provides what they need. It has been diligently researched, and even if some of the reports printed here are, at the least, inaccurate, that is not the fault of the author. She has merely reproduced what has been said and written about a personage who defies our present stage of understanding. It is for the reader to form his or her own opinion.

MISS MATHILDA HOCKERSNICKLER of Upper Little Puddlepatch sat at her half opened window. The book she was reading attracted her whole attention. A funeral cortege went by without her shadow falling across the fine lace curtains adorning her windows.