Three Lives

This book is NOT presented to you as fiction for a very special reason; it is NOT fiction! Of course, we can readily agree that some of the words in the book about life on this world are 'artistic license', but accept my statement that EVERYTHING about the life on 'The Other Side' is definitely true.

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Excerpt:

Some people are born with great musical talent; some people are born with great artistic talent, they can paint and captivate the world. Other people may be highly gifted through their own hard work and assiduous devotion to study.

I have little in the material side of this world-no car; no television, no this and no that-and for twenty-four hours a day I am confined to bed because, for one thing, I am paraplegic-no use in the legs. This has given me great opportunity for increasing talents or abilities which were granted to me at birth.

I can do everything I write about in any of my books- except walk! I have the ability to do astral travel and because of my studies and, I suppose, because of a peculiar quirk in my make-up, I am able to astral travel to other planes of existence.

The characters in this book are people who have lived and died on this world, and because of special provisions I have been able to follow their 'Flights into the Unknown'.

Everything in this book about the After Life is utterly true, therefore I will not label the book as fiction. ***********************************

'Who is that old geezer?'

Leonides Manuel Molygruber slowly straightened up and looked at the questioner. 'Eh?' he said. 'I asked you, who is that old geezer?'

Molygruber looked down the road to where an electrically propelled wheelchair was just going into a building. 'Oh him!' said Molygruber expertly expectorating upon the shoe of a passing man. 'He's a guy that lives around here, writes books or something, does a lot of stuff about ghosts and funny things, and then he does a lot of writing about people being alive when they're dead.' He snorted with superior knowledge and said, 'That's all rot you know, not a bit of sense in that rubbish. When you're dead you're dead, that's what I always say. You get them there priests come along and they say you've got to do a prayer or two and then perhaps if you say the right words you'll be saved and you'll go to Heaven, and if you don't you'll go to Hell. Then you get the Salvation Army come along, they make a hell of a racket of a Friday night, and then fellows the likes of me have got to come along with our little barrows and sweep up after them.

They're there yelling and banging their tambourines or whatever you call the things, shoving them under the noses of passers-by, screeching out they want money for the work of God.' He looked about him and blew his nose on the sidewalk. Then he turned to his questioner again and said, 'God? He never done nothing for me- never-I got my own bit of the sidewalk here which I've go to keep clean, I brushes and I brushes and I brushes, and then I takes two boards and I picks up the stuff and I puts it in me barrow, and every so often we get a car come along-we call 'em cars but they're really trucks, you know -and they comes and they takes me barrow and they upends it with all the stuff inside and all the stuff is taken away and I've got to start all over again. It's a never ending job, day after day, no stopping. You never know what Council man is coming by in his big flash Cadillac and if we ain't bent over our brooms all the time, well, I guess they go along to somebody in the Council and that somebody makes a racket with my Boss, and my Boss comes down and makes a racket on me. He tells me never mind if I don't do any work, the tax payer will never know, but make a show of working, you get your back down to it.'

Molygruber looked about him a bit more and gave a tentative push at his broom, then he wiped his nose with a horrid sound on his right sleeve and said, 'You're asking the time, mister, if anybody says what are you saying to that there cleaner, but what I'm saying is this; no God ever came down here and done me brushing for me, me wot's having my back breaking with bending over all the day long and pushing all the dirt that people drops around. You'd never believe what I get down in my patch, pantyhose and other things wot goes in pantyhoses-everything-you'd never believe what I finds on these street corners. But, as I was saying, no God ever came down here and pushed my brushes for me, never picked up any of the dirt on the roads for me. It's all me poor honest self wot can't get a better job that's got to do it.'

The man making the enquiry looked sideways at Molygruber and said, 'Bit of a pessimist, aren't you? Bet you're an atheist!'

T. Lobsang Rampa