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Twilight - Lobsang Rampa - Eng.

Twilight - 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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 The old grey plane soared gently through the noondaysky. Years before she had been one of the Queens of Travel bearing a famous marquee indeed, traversing theair lanes of the whole world, covering the globe whereverMan traveled, carrying the elite of commerce, the starsof the theatre world and the films. In those days it hadbeen a prestige symbol to fly in a plane such as this. Nowshe was old and worn, a relic from a bygone age, oustedby screaming jets and the insane desire to “get there”faster and faster for—why? What DO people do with allthe time they “save”?The old twin-engines murmured softly, a pleasantenough sound, like giant bees on a summer day. Now theold plane was on a placid routine flight from Vancouverto Calgary. Last week, perhaps, she may have been flyingin the Northern Territories where the temperature wasfar, far below zero, and the blinding snow would makeanything but instrument flight impossible. Next week,maybe, she would take oil prospectors to some of theremote oil sands in the search for more and more powerby a power-mad nation, for a power-mad world. But nowthe former Queen of the Air was a charter plane, a poorold hack going anywhere at the whim of any customerwith a few dollars to spare.Soon the foothills of the Rockies came into view rising,ever rising, until they soared into the highest peaks of that immense range stretching across the world. Now the7
air was becoming turbulent and the plane bounced andtossed amid the snow-clad ranges, for here was the re-gion where the snow never left the highest mountainpeaks.Miss Taddy Rampa uttered a yowl of outraged protestand looked as though her last moment had come. MissCleo Rampa swallowed hard and put on her bravest I-Can-Take-It look as she opened wide her big blue eyes asshe stared hard at the rocky ground so far below.But why the flight? Why yet another move? It allstarted a few months before in Vancouver—.June in Vancouver is usually such a pleasant month, amonth when Nature starts to come fully awake and theweather is good, and when the sea has a smiling sparkle,when people are busy with their boats. Tourists startcoming, and it is usually a time when all the store-keepers are sharpening up their wits hoping to matchthose of the tourists. But this June, this day in June, wasnot so good after all. You'll have had the same type of day, one of those days when everything—but EVERY-THING—goes wrong. Still, you are lucky, you know, youhave those days every so often, or, as the saying goes,“Once in a blue moon.” But supposing this type of daylasted for weeks, for months, or even for years, supposingthere were patterns? Probably most people who are “inthe public eye” get trouble with the moronic few whoseem to exist solely to cause trouble for others.A bus driver friend of mine told me that he and hisfellows are always being persecuted by frigid old biddieswho think that they are the “Lords Anointed” and areentitled to special consideration from bus drivers—theythink the buses are their own private chariots. And whena bus driver politely points out that the buses are for theuse of everyone the old biddy will rush off to complain8

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