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

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Tilak rose in his subtle body. His physical covering was lying quietly on the wooden cot. Tilak glided swiftly and easily over the mountain and moved into space. Soon he reached a flower-covered pathway. On either side of the pathway were nooks and rustic seats. The pathway extended for some distance toward a wide river. Over the river was a swinging bridge of silver. The pathway was called the Lane of Birth. All individuals seeking physical rebirth cross the silver bridge and enter the pathway. Here the individuals meet other individuals seeking physical rebirth, and often plan many things they expect to do in earth life.

Tilak sat down on a rustic bench and watched the stream of people passing up and down the lane. They greeted one another as old friends do, friends that have been long separated. Not far from where Tilak sat stood a young maiden, eagerly waiting for someone. She quickly scanned the faces of those that passed. When the maiden felt Tilak's presence she turned toward him. Tilak smiled. The girl moved nearer to Tilak, and said: "I am waiting for Fronti."

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"He is to journey with you to physical life?"

With much feeling the girl replied: "Yes; we are lovers."

"Where will you take birth?"

"I do not know, but it does not matter so long as we are together."

A young man approached. The young man was slender, with light curly hair and deep blue eyes. The girl rushed to him: "Fronti."

The young couple stood for a moment studying one another. Fronti spoke: "Many are seeking birth, Tula."

"It is a strong urge, Fronti. The earth and those that dwell thereon call and we can but respond."

"Do you remember, Tula, how we wanted to build a comfortable home for poor orphans?"

"Indeed I do!—And in the country, too!"

"That is the call, Tula, to complete that left unfinished—one earthly life is so short."

"I wonder why we want to do certain things?"

"It is part of a great plan, Tula—others want to do other things, and all seems to work out as a gigantic picture."

"Whatever we want to do with all our heart will be accomplished—Isn't that wonderful!"

From the folds of his flowing robe Fronti withdrew a rolled parchment. This he held before the girl: "I have drawn the plans, Tula."

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Tula studied the parchment carefully: "You have not forgotten a thing!"

The young man's face brightened: "In earth life I will be an architect and draw many plans."

"Your earthly parents, Fronti?"

"I do not know, Tula."

Tilak approached the young couple: "Come," he said softly, "and I will show you."

Happily they followed Tilak down the winding path that led to the earth below. Tilak led them to a great city.

With interest the boy and girl studied the houses and people of the city. Near one of the city squares Tilak and the young couple entered a courtyard. In the courtyard sat a man and his wife: "We have a sweet little girl—if only we could have a son! I would teach him my trade. He would become a great weaver, and his son after him," observed the man.

Tilak said quietly: "Your father and mother, Fronti."

Fronti studied the small home, and then entered through the open door. Tilak and the girl remained outside. Returning, Fronti said: "I will make many changes. The house is poorly constructed, although clean and comfortable."

"Your father wants you to be a weaver," said the girl.

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"Is not architecture weaving with brick and stone, Tula?"

"You recognize not your father and mother?" inquired Tilak.

"I remember them not—yet I seem to know they are to become my mother and father—why, I cannot tell."

"When we recognize father and mother it is reminiscence of a former association. There should be few strangers in earthly life," informed Tilak. "We will now visit the girl's parents."

Moving quickly with Tilak, Fronti and Tula passed over many hills and vales until they came to a distant city; a city in another country. They paused before a large tent, erected on a field near an army barracks.

As they watched a young and well-formed woman threw back the flap of the tent and stepped out onto the road. Across the lower part of the woman's face was a veil, concealing her mouth and chin from the too curious. The woman wore gold anklets. Her small feet were bare. Her bosom heaved as she glanced toward the barracks. Soon the woman saw a soldier riding toward her. The mane and tail of the horse waved in the wind like corn silk, as the soldier rode swiftly forward. The soldier dropped from the horse and took the woman in his arms: "My dear little wife—again I have kept you waiting."

"We will be married, my love!"

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"This very night, little wife."

"Your parents," said Tilak, turning to the maiden.

The girl's face saddened: "They live so far from Fronti's parents!"

Quietly Tilak said: "When two that are to be united enter earth life distance serves them as does aught else. Come, I will show you."

Tilak led them to a hill back of the barracks. A profusion of wild flowers covered the hill—trees, heavy with foliage, offered shade from the warm sun. Pointing to a pile of rocks that centuries before had been pushed up by an earthquake, Tilak said: "By that group of rocks you will meet one another. What comes after that meeting you already contain—the physical life will awaken it."

Tilak returned with the young man and maid to the Lane of Birth, and watched as they walked over the silver bridge to the city beyond. In the city they would wait and plan until they were called to become part of earth life.



Sitting cross-legged before the altar, with open palms resting on knees, Tilak meditated. His evening meditation was the day's summary. The earth planet whirling in space carries the forces and powers that give energy to all that dwell thereon. These forces and powers can be directed by the individual. Until the

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period arrives when the individual does direct these forces and powers the physical body is carried hither and thither, as a chip on the rapids. When these great forces and powers are directed by the individual, the individual is moving toward freedom.

Tilak held before the soul's eye Motive. All action is preceded by motive. It is this power that directs the life. If a man's motives are selfish, cruel, or bitter, the man is selfish, cruel, or bitter. The value of an individual's act is the motive thereof. The act may have long passed from the memory, but the motive remains. To change negative action, change motive. No act is ever committed that does not ultimately reveal the motive of the act. Often when motive is exposed the individual believes he is being punished. Such is not so, for then the individual is being taught.

If man could hide a single thing, it would be the thing he sought to hide that would weaken his entire structure. This would keep man ever seeking for a quietude; a quietude that only comes when an act has been motivated by good.


The cause of illness, unhappiness and misunderstanding should be sought in motive. If an individual gives to another that the individual receive in return the equivalent for that given, such an individual is ill prompted. The love of giving brings the fruit of good service.

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It was early morning. The city of Benares was languidly waking. On the roads leading to Benares could be seen ox carts bringing fresh vegetables and fruits to the city market. Many women were down by the river's edge washing clothes. Here and there a child's cry could be heard. In temples Brahmans and Buddhist priests were at prayer. A lover could be seen stealing from the lattice window of his mistress, fatigued from the amour of the night before. Child wives rose from beside their lords to prepare the morning meal. The day was becoming hot.

Tilak, from the Chamber of the Great Potential, viewed the changing colors that surrounded the city as a great scintillating globe. Tilak saw the deeper browns become tinged with red; the yellows streaked with vermillion; the dull blues appeared as muddy water. The colors blended and interblended. The kaleidoscopic changes were dependent only upon the people of the city.

The aura of the city dwellers blended with and contributed to the greater combination of colors that surrounded the great city. The great globe of color appeared to hold the people within its confines, as though by some secret attraction. Tilak could see a mother's aura blend with the aura of her child; could see the protecting colors of a mother's love. The auras

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of those in the market place blended with the fruits and vegetables they sold.

The chemistry of a city—the chemistry of the individual. The city's chemistry was composite; the individual's chemistry was distinctive and individualistic. The individual's chemistry gave him physical affinities and antipathies; gave him attachments to and detachments from all things. Although the bodily chemistry of the individual is changing constantly, the basic parts are the same during a physical life. These basic parts change slowly; change only as the individual changes.

When Tilak saw two individuals meet, with auras predominantly red, Tilak knew there would be dissension—a quarrel. The dark sluggish brown that permeated the city held many individuals to the earth and to their daily tasks. Violet and pink were all but absent from the great panorama of color. A gathering of friends would bring green into play; a gathering of priests blue. Green is personal; blue impersonal.

At noon the city underwent a change; a general lassitude set in. The colored globe seemed to contract; the colors lost vitality. The heat that brought the lassitude brought indifference. Individual auras drooped toward the ground as heavy-laden clouds. Many sought the shade and dozed into partial oblivion. Others waded into the river, seeking the damp comfort of water. The birds that so often flew over the city

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descended in flocks on wide roofs, as though obeying a command to relax.

By late afternoon the colored globe surrounding the city became brighter. Street musicians appeared. Boys and girls frolicked to the strings of instruments. Babes sought nourishment at breast of mother. To Benares this was the time for play. The day's tension had been broken and everything amused. Young lovers secretly planned the rendezvous for the night. The temple girls bathed in perfumed water to await the visitors of the evening. The dancing girls at the palace donned clean garments of silk, as they were to dance for the Rajah's guests.

Each life became distinct. Each individual carried forward his part, grudgingly, or with joy.

Expectancy makes the heart joyous. When expectancy is lacking everything done appears to be difficult—thankless labor. Expectancy is found, at some period, in the breast of every individual. Expectancy should be nourished. Expectancy moves toward better things.



Tilak consulted the power Sound.

A thousand rumblings filled the Chamber, as thunder meeting wildest cataract. The very earth shook. Out of the deafening roar came a voice: "I am Sound. I am found in everything. Release me at your peril. When I am sent forth by mortals I go on forever.

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[paragraph continues] The chords of the throat are so formed that I can issue therefrom. Man calls me—I am ever his servant or his master. I can be shaped, tempered, hardened—I can be lengthened or shortened—I can be sent to distant places—I can remain near—I am ever Sound. I slip easily into the mold of letters; into the mold of words. Once I am sent forth I cannot be recalled. I can cut or soothe. I can elevate or debase. I come when bidden. I depart when ordered, but never remain inactive. I am known to every form of life. Each uses me as best fits his end. I am present when axe meets block of wood, when fish leap in stream, when bow finds string. At birth of babe I appear heralding a new life. At death I appear heralding a new birth. I ride on the human voice. When a human tongue has lost its power to wound I am sweetest. The snapping buds are but carriers of me. I hold the falling waters in close embrace." WITHOUT SOUND NAUGHT WOULD BE.

In the Chamber of the Great Potential Tilak listened to sweet music. Invisible players had found his ear; invisible musicians that in millenniums past had laid aside their instruments. Sound had preserved the melody.

Before Tilak's vision appeared waving flowers. The flowers were numberless; the colors were brilliant. Tilak was in the field of thought. All wander in this great field. As a husbandman carefully gathers rare

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flowers, so should man gather thoughts. Would a gardener pluck an armful of weeds? Why then should man gather thoughts that cause him suffering. If a gardener finds a weed growing amid his rare plants, he plucks out the weed by the root, that it wither and die in the hot sun. Thus should man uproot thoughts whose growth would impair his best efforts.

Thoughts are prolific; they breed incessantly. Should man draw into his mind an alien that would but breed unhappiness and doubt? Thoughts that have long been with man often assume the cloak of infallibility, and yet they may have been thoughts that have threaded man's life with uncertainty. Harsh words are the heirs of harsh thoughts, and issue from an unguarded mind. Too many minds resemble a place where thoughts can be thrown and left. That which incites to lust belongs not to mind. Can we entertain poison and remain well?

When an individual is disturbed let him examine carefully that which has removed his peace. Will not the individual find that the disturber is an interloper; an interloper that subtly entered the mind's field, and is not needed, or ever will be needed? When the individual is a turmoil within himself his vigilance has been lacking, and he has permitted traitors to enter the palace of the king. Thoughts long held clothe the body, make the form.


Next: VIII. After Physical Death