The Home of The Gods

Flying saucers? Of course there are flying saucers. I have seen many both in the sky and on the ground, and I have even been for a trip in one.

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WallpaperCave

Extracts from a LOBSANG RAMPA — unofficial publishing booklet from SAUCERIAN BOOK CLARKSBURG

The Home of the Gods

Flying saucers? Of course there are flying saucers. I have seen many both in the sky and on the ground, and I have even been for a trip in one.

Tibet is the most convenient country of all for flying saucers. It is remote from the bustle of the everyday world, and is peopled by those who place religion and scientific concepts before material gain. Throughout the centuries the people of Tibet have known the truth about flying saucers, what they are, why they are, how they work, and the purpose behind it all. We know of the flying saucer people as the gods in the sky in their fiery chariots. But let me relate an incident which certainly has never been told before in any country outside of Tibet, and which is utterly true.

The day was bitter. Frozen pellets of ice driven by the howling gale(storm), hammered like bullets into our flapping robes and tore the skin off any exposed surface. The sky was a vivid purple with patches of startlitling (fylte) white cloud which raced off into the hinterland. Here — nearly thirty thousand feet above the sea, in the Chang Tang Highlands of Tibet, we were toiling upwards, upward. At our last resting place — some five miles behind us — a voice had come into our consciousness: “Strive on, my brothers. Strive on, and enter the fog belt again, for there is much for you to see.” The seven of us, all high lamas from the lama-series of Tibet, had had much telepathic communication with the Gods of the Skies. From them we had learned the secret of the chariots, which sped swiftly across our land and which sometimes alighted in remote districts.

Onwards we climbed, higher, and higher, clawing a foot-hold in the hard earth, forcing our fingers into the slightest crevice (sprekk) in the rocks. At last we reached the mysterious fog belt again, and entered. Soon we were through it and into the wonderfully heated land of a bygone age.

(Remark: he writes much about this fogbelt in other books — see for instance THE THIRD EYE — and it is formed of volcanic heat in the high mountains that has melted the snow in a local area — but the extreme cold in these elevations — bring the vapour to condensate — and forms this hiding fogbelt on the outer limits of this volcanic area.)

“A days march more, my brothers,” said the voice, “and you shall see a chariot of old.”

For that night we rested in the warmth and comfort of the Hidden Land. We found ease and relaxation on a soft bed of moss, and in the morning we gratefully bathed in a warm, broad river before setting out on another days march. Here in this land there were pleasant fruits which we took with us for our meal, a satisfactory change indeed from the eternal tsampa:

Throughout that day we journeyed upwards through pleasant trees of rhododendron and walnut, and other the like of which we had not seen before. All the time we were rising upwards, and all the time we were in this pleasant warm land. With nightfall upon us we made our camp beneath some trees, and lit our fire, then rolled ourselves in our robes, and fell asleep. With the first light of dawn we were again ready to continue our journey. For perhaps another two to two and a half miles we marched, and then came to an open clearing. Here we were stopped, dumbfounded with amazement; the clearing before us was vast, and incredible.