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Three Lives - Lobsang Rampa - Eng.

Three Lives - Lobsang Rampa - Eng.

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Published by jedna_natasha

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Published by: jedna_natasha on Oct 17, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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02/14/2014

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FOREWORD
This book is NOT presented to you as fiction for a veryspecial reason; it is NOT fiction!Of course, we can readily agree that some of the wordsin the book about life on this world are ‘artistic license’, butaccept my statement that EVERYTHING about the life on‘The Other Side’ is definitely true.Some people are born with great musical talent; somepeople are born with great artistic talent, they can paint andcaptivate the world. Other people may be highly giftedthrough their own hard work and assiduous devotion tostudy.I have little in the material side of this world—no car; notelevision, no this and no that—and for twenty-four hoursa day I am confined to bed because, for one thing, I amparaplegic—no use in the legs. This has given me greatopportunity for increasing talents or abilities which weregranted 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 andbecause of my studies and, I suppose, because of a peculiarquirk in my make-up, I am able to astral travel to otherplanes of existence.The characters in this book are people who have lived anddied on this world, and because of special provisions Ihave been able to follow their ‘Flights into the Unknown’.Everything in this book about the After Life is utterlytrue, therefore I will not label the book as fiction.Lobsang Rampa
 
 
CHAPTER ONE
 ‘Who is that old geezer?’Leonides Manuel Molygruber slowly straightened up andlooked at the questioner. ‘Eh?’ he said.‘I asked you, who is that old geezer?’Molygruber looked down the road to where an electric-ally propelled wheelchair was just going into a building. ‘Ohhim!’ said Molygruber expertly expectorating upon the shoeof a passing man. ‘He's a guy that lives around here, writesbooks or something, does a lot of stuff about ghosts andfunny things, and then he does a lot of writing about peoplebeing alive when they're dead.’ He snorted with superiorknowledge and said, ‘That's all rot you know, not a bit of sense in that rubbish. When you're dead you're dead, that'swhat I always say. You get them there priests come alongand they say you've got to do a prayer or two and thenperhaps if you say the right words you'll be saved and you'llgo to Heaven, and if you don't you'll go to Hell. Then youget the Salvation Army come along, they make a hell of aracket of a Friday night, and then fellows the likes of mehave got to come along with our little barrows and sweepup after them. They're there yelling and banging theirtambourines or whatever you call the things, shoving themunder the noses of passers-by, screeching out they wantmoney for the work of God.’ He looked about him and blewhis nose on the sidewalk. Then he turned to his questioneragain and said, ‘God? He never done nothing for me—never—I got my own bit of the sidewalk here which I've got11

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