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Tilak of Tibet Reveals Life's Purpose, by Ann Hackett [1944], at

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Tilak was drawn in his finer body to Lahore.

Leaving his earthly covering on the simple cot in the Chamber of the Great Potential, Tilak moved quickly to a side street near the market place. It was early morning and the city was still. Coming toward him on the narrow street was a man of thirty-five. As the man walked toward Tilak he kept glancing back, as though fearful of a hidden enemy who might spring from a darkened doorway and attack him.

Greatly agitated, the man addressed Tilak: "I have made a great mistake—Help me!"

"I will, friend," said Tilak: "Tell me what troubles you."

The man's roving eyes sought Tilak's for a moment. Then he hurriedly said: "I loved the daughter of a great merchant. She returned my love. Because I was a poor trader her father cast me from the house. I sent a friend to the house as an emissary. The girl's father told my friend that unless I could produce three hundred pieces of gold, I was not to approach his daughter

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again. Every part of me called to possess the girl. In the great market place I watched the traders. Much gold and silver passed between them. On day a trader placed a bag of gold on a small stand. When his back was turned I stole the bag of money. The bag contained three hundred pieces of gold. In my poor quarters I gloated over the yellow metal. Now I could buy the girl I loved from her father! Before I left to visit the home of the great merchant and give him the gold, a rumor spread throughout the city that the thief, who had stolen the gold from the trader, was known. Fear took me in its grasp. I would flee the city! I waited until night. Every footstep I heard I believed to be directed toward my abode—that someone was coming to take me before the magistrate. This apprehension grew, and when I heard a long knock on my door, in a state of fear, I swallowed a cup of bitterroot poison, seeking a release of my misdeed in death. I did not die. I found myself looking down on my earthly body as it was lying stiff and still on the floor. I stood as one in a spell, looking at the garment that had so lately served me. Again a knock at the door. Then a man pushed open the door and entered. It was my friend. He saw my body on the floor. He bent over and touched my body, and said aloud, 'Poor Das! He is dead! He did not live to receive my message.' The girl's father had relented and I was to be received in the household of the woman I loved. The rumor of the discovery of the

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thief was false. Full of fear, I had believed the rumor—and now, having wickedly thrown off my earthly covering, what am Ito do?"

Compassionately Tilak gazed at the man before him. The casting aside prematurely of the earthly covering changes nothing, leaves everything undone. This Tilak must tell the man. In no other way could he help him. Softly Tilak said: "Come."

Together they glided noiselessly through the city to the home of the girl. The daughter of the great merchant was waiting for Das. She had been weeping, for her eyes were red. For hours she had been standing by the window watching for the man she loved. Unseen and unheard Tilak stood with Das near the girl. Tilak said: "Your act of self-destruction has brought suffering to the one you loved."

In anguish Das cried: "I will speak to her—I will embrace her!"

"She would not hear you, nor feel your touch. You have cast aside the garment that would have placed you by her side, the garment she knew and loved. It was given to you for that purpose."

Das cried out to the girl of his heart, but she heard him not. He touched her, but she felt not his touch. "Why," groaned the man, "should I have done this thing?—I suffer."

Gently Tilak led him away. Every recent scene of

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the man's earthly life was visited. Each was the same. Das was needed, and he was not there.

However humble a man's earthly life, however limited his earthly existence, however few human beings he may meet; he is needed where he was placed in earthly existence; placed by a great and overshadowing destiny. When a man is too early removed from his earthly existence, by the self-severance of an earthly covering, who can do the work that was allotted to him? All other human beings are carrying their quota; are performing those things that they were sent to perform. No one can fulfill the destiny of another.

"I will leave Lahore. I cannot bear to view what is here."

"Where will you go, friend?" asked Tilak quietly.

"To other parts of India—the country is large."

"What will you do in other parts of India?"

"Forget all this!" cried Das.

"If you bear no relationship to other parts of India, to other parts of the world, they will hold nothing for you, friend, and you will be drawn back to Lahore where those that knew you live."

"I will try. I must shut all this out!" As Das was speaking he glided away toward Benares.

Tilak followed at a distance.

Das roamed the streets of Benares. He scanned face after face. No one did he know. He entered a Temple.

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[paragraph continues] The Temple service struck him as an ice cold wave, driving him out as though with fury.

Disconsolate, Das stood in the market place of Benares. The noise of the market place impressed him not. He heard a woman sobbing. The sobs filled his being with sorrow, a sorrow that he could not shake off, as he had so foolishly his earthly protective garment. The sobs drew him with the speed of light to Lahore—to the woman he loved. Again he stood beside the woman. He cried out to her. He touched the face he loved so well. She heard him not. She felt not his loving touch. Das wept bitter tears.

Tilak moved to the sorrowing man, and spoke to him: "There is little I can say that will comfort you. I may be able to give you courage, for when an individual knows the condition that confronts him, the individual develops the courage to face the condition. In taking your earthly covering you have deprived many of your earthly presence, a presence they needed. Now you must remain and lend a presence that they cannot see, nor feel. This presence, unknown though it be, must remain until the life that should have been your earthly existence has run its full course. During that time you must watch the sorrow and deprivation that the absence of your physical body caused. In forty-two years you will be released from this vigil, and will then pass into another field of activity where you would have passed better qualified should you have

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remained in your physical body until Fate's Decree removed you. This is so given that never again when occupying an earthly body will you seek its early destruction."

Sadly, Das said: "I will build the courage. I will need it. You have helped me."

Tilak smiled his benediction, and disappeared from the man's presence.



During midsummer Tilak journeyed down the mountainside to the warm valley below. He wandered through the Valley of the Kashmir. He stopped now and then to watch the simple folk as they worked in the fields.

Nature was dressed in fairest array. Tilak leaned over and picked up a bouquet of flowers that had been carelessly dropped. Tilak studied the bouquet. He studied the reds, the purples, the golden yellows, the blues, the greens. They presented a fragrant harmony. Each flower followed a definite design. Within each flower was hidden its seed. The seed would be faithful to the design of the flower. Follow they not a plan? Repeat they not themselves eternally?

Man too was designed. How carefully his form is constructed. Every part serves a purpose. Every part serves man. Man is so designed that he can absorb all

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that lies about him. When man is in harmony all his parts are in harmony.

There is a relationship between the inanimate and man. The inanimate changes slowly, that the picture be held longer before man; held until his faculties respond to that so majestically placed before him. Man cannot retain the inanimate in a pouch by his side. Man retains only that which becomes part of him.

All things appeal to man's protection and tenderness. If all things issued forth full grown, the tenderness and protective spirit in man would remain dormant. That which is young is helpless and needs guidance. As man guides he awakens within himself the power to guide.

Growth represents the phases of man's comprehension. Man sings through youthful limbs. He should sing ever. When growing man loses his power to sing, he has lost his power to absorb and retain the beauties around him.

A kind act is a bouquet. A pleasant word is a flower. Thus are nature's bounties distributed.

Every day brings its opportunities. No one can be isolated. If a man sits alone in his chamber, and believes that he is unattended, he is permitting to pass unnoticed the teaching of the day. How can man be isolated, when the mind is tenanted with thoughts? If the thoughts are low man is in direct communication with other minds that are low. When his mind soars he soars

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not alone. There is no place in the entire manifested universe that the mind of man can move and be alone.

As thoughts race through the mind they have a source. The source is not man. Man is but a channel through which thoughts are passing. What interests an individual attracts an individual. If thoughts are unpleasant hug them not. Would you crush to your breast an armful of burrs? Man has been given the power to select; what he selects he nourishes. Let man guard that which he would house.

What does man possess?—Nothing. What does man use?—Everything. What does man kneed?—That which he uses. On his journey from birth to death man is what he uses. If he becomes absorbed in the lesser things, he is, while so absorbed, similar to them. The user of the lesser is easily entertained.

The physical body has requirements; it also makes demands. Catering to bodily demands enslaves. Excessive bodily demands bring sorrow, even though the demands have been satisfied; for man is not body alone.

From birth man is dependent, and unless he seeks to rend the shackles that bind him, he becomes more dependent as he waxes toward age. Gauge not value by that which is seen. The value lies in the meaning of that which is seen to that which sees.

Tilak studied nature's finer forces; world forming forces, invisible to all sense life. The senses grasp but

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accumulated particles. The finer forces, Tilak discovered, sustain the manifested universe. Man has given these invisible finer forces many names. Plant and tree, growth cannot be seen. It is only the result of the growth that is perceived. The wind is invisible, yet it is filled with unused power. The power of moving water is invisible, yet it is greater than the water itself.. The power of the sun as it meets the surface of the earth is not seen, yet this power brings to pass growth and change on the face of the earth.

Tilak discovered that there are also powers moving through man; powers invisible—nature's finer forces. These invisible forces man can use, but man neglects them. Man's motive is such a power, as is man's thinking and feeling. These invisible powers depend not upon man's senses. When man utilizes these finer forces that move through him, he opens channels that connect him with the Great Unseen.

As every thought, feeling and act is recorded, man can, with the powers moving through him, read these recordings, and thereby guide his truant footsteps.

During a life, or even lives, man spends little time with himself. His entire consciousness seems to be absorbed by those things about him. This leads man to believe that injustice stalks the earth. Babes will often cry when there is naught amiss. So is it with man. Man has ever with him that which will comb the locks of despair. It is in the halls of plenty that complaint is

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loudest. Man demands much that his senses be continually entertained.

Could Tilak, or any other Teacher, approach any one in the market place and say: "There are greater riches that you can secure; riches greater than those that abound in the world's marts." Would not the one in the market place ask: "How much could I get for them? Would they give me power?"

No man prays that the sun change its course; yet man will pray that the course of his own life be changed, so that he may bask in the lethargic state of riches. Such prayer reaches not nature's finer forces.

The earth is as a mirror, which can reflect man at his lowest point. Man can descend no lower than man. He does not find his source in the animal kingdom, although he appears often to take on animalistic characteristics. Because man can growl, he is not the offspring of a dog. Because man can chirp, his ancestry will not be found in bird life. Man can show his teeth as a wolf, can devour food as a hog, and yet these animals knew not his forebears. Animal tendencies man has with the beasts of the earth, but even with these tendencies he is always man.

Man has wandered far from his source; he must again return to that source. Man has been made custodian of himself; into his keeping has been placed the great kingdom of self. Over this he must rule. Man often seeks to put aside this responsibility; as he does

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so the finer forces of nature ever seek to turn him back to his rightful kingdom.



Cross-legged, Tilak sat before the altar in the Chamber of the Great Potential. On the brazier he had placed a single drop of the essence of Future Vision. As the essence filled the Chamber Tilak saw before him legions of cowled and hooded figures. The cowls hid the faces of this restless, moving multitude.

From a distance came a loud sound, as the pealing of an iron bell. Instantly cowl and gown were dropped and Tilak saw before him uniformed men carrying guns and swords. The men assumed a definite formation, and marched with the sun glistening on steel helmets. Behind the men came iron monsters moving on strange wheels; from their upper parts protruded large guns. As they passed Tilak beheld in the sky thousands of steel birds who carried missiles of destruction. The faces of the soldiers, the steel that encompassed head and machine alike, sent forth red flashes as from a mighty forge.

Tilak was viewing men that were yet to be born of earth; men that by their method of living were preparing for a work of destruction. These men were banded together as tightly as links on a great anchor chain; links that appeared strong and all powerful, but

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which became as rust and turned to powder—a powder that blew across the earth, choking all vegetation and aught else that stood in the way.

Tilak knew then that wars are born, and soldiers develop, in the decaying cavity of baseness. What could turn these men from their chosen path; these men who were building veritable death, joined together by destructive purpose—these men, the puppets of an iron age!

Again the scene changed, and other people appeared before Tilak's vision—men and women that would till the soil, enjoying little of that which they would harvest. These workers of the soil would, by humble protest, endeavor to hold back the men with the iron heels.

Then appeared the small group of men who were to be in the seats of power. Richly covered were their bodies, covered with the finest raiment earth can produce. The faces above the gaudy garments were without feeling; the faces appeared in the higher light as skeletons, whose every finer part had been plucked from the bone, leaving them but as rattling outlines; whose very breath was as sulphur. Eyes were sunken to back of skull; mouths worked as vises, and crushed every word that passed through lipless apertures.

A blast rang out, as though from throat of iron trumpet. Then the whole air became filled with a bursting noise. On to the fair earth dropped lethal

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explosives, tearing into the side of the friendly ground, as a wild beast tears into the side of its prey. Steel helmeted soldiers appeared. With a madness they leaped upon other steel helmeted armed men. Carnage and death! As helmeted soldiers fell in battle again they appeared as hooded and cloaked figures. When the last steel helmeted soldier had been struck down, and had passed into the dark mist beyond, the earth rejoiced.



A great composer sat in his studio. All was quiet. It was two hours before dawn. The composer's eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. His whole self-consciousness was as an eardrum. He strained to catch an illusive melody that had hovered long near him. The composer hoped to give to the world a melody that would soften harshness, lift despondency, inspire to noble act. Near the composer, on the table within easy reach, was a blank music sheet.

Tilak, sitting in the Chamber of the Great Potential in the mountain vastness of far away Tibet, received the composer's call—the call for the melody. The finer body revealed to Tilak that when the composer took physical birth he had brought with him the melody. The melody had been impressed on the composer's finer body, and the composer sought to bring it through

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to his earthly body. As Tilak listened he heard the melody issuing from the finer garment of the composer. The melody was sweet; a melody that would encompass the earth with soothing tones. Tilak strung his polished stones. Standing before them he touched, with padded staff, one stone and then another. The composer's melody moved through space until it reached the eager ear of the composer.

Feverishly the composer filled in the blank music sheet that lay before him, until the marks represented the complete melody. After the composer had placed the last note on the paper he dropped into a deep slumber. It was not until the midday sun cast its rays through the studio window that the composer awakened. Instantly he reached for the sheet of music and studied the composition.

Later the people of the earth heard the melody and honored the great composer; the composer who had brought into their lives a concord of sweet sound.




Thoughts long held and nourished either find fruit in action or generate greater thoughts. Thus wrote Tilak on his parchment leaves. Thoughts that join a past action often ill-fit a present act. Each act should have its own thought; then the reflection becomes

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clearer. A person reflecting is arranging his thoughts. Thus reflection brings order to the mind. When the mind is well ordered disruptive thoughts seldom enter. Meditation to the mind is as theme to music. If the theme is sweet the meditation brings ease. Love colors all thinking. Love places a rainbow through all thought. When love is present thought soars, for love is ever the wings of thought.

A man would not knowingly house a thief; yet the mind of man will house thoughts that steal away peace. So often there is but a short distance between thought and the spoken word. Should not this distance be flower wreathed? That which issueth from the mouth of man took birth within the mind. Does man with his spoken word wish to reveal how poorly tenanted is his mind? What has greater power than kindly words—words of encouragement that have their source in the vaulted chambers of an ordered mind? Words clothed with compassion can only come from a mind filled with compassionate thoughts. Thoughts to be joyful must be free.

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