The Lost Guide

By Momi Douglas

It`s common for people who live with animals to speak to them, however these conversations are usually one sided. It`s rare to have ones' beloved pet reply in manner that can be readily understood but it has been known to happen.  The South-West American Indians call these talkative animals 'pugu' and they believe that the animal is actually the embodiment of a great spirit, come to Earth to guide and instruct a worthy individual.

I had the great fortune to meet and communicate with a pugu in the form of a Dutch panda-patterned rabbit. His depth of knowledge in the fields of philosophy and astrophysics were amazing, but more so was his insistence that we had known each other for a long, long time.

Evidently I had forgotten this fact but through dreams night after night he reminded me that we are much more that just the physical body we wear.  I promised to write down and share this information and that is how the novel, "The Lost Guide" came into being.

The Lost Guide is a tale based on actual people and real events and written from the perspective of both astrophysics and metaphysics. 

The story is about Mr. Pebbles, a rabbit, who gets into trouble one evening after he hops into  an experimental teleportation device, and is transported to an ancient time and place.  Back in the present, his human professor friend`s invention is detected during a hack into a military supercomputer. Soon every government agency in North America is searching for the professor and anxious about what his time traveling `friend` is up to.  Meanwhile, Mr. Pebbles antics temporarily alter the time-scape in every place he visits; first in ancient Egypt, later in medieval Japan, and finally during the Chinese`s army invasion of Tibet.

Please enjoy

Momi Douglas

• Language: English
• Publisher: Douglas Fir
• Release date: Mar 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9784990601027

Book preview

Preface

My friend, for the next few hours I’d like you to put aside your beliefs and relax. Together we are going on a journey through the webs of time—a journey in which we will witness events concerning several inhabitants of planet Earth—a small stone, a young rabbit, and several humans.

First let us imagine we will travel back through time and space to a place we call home. Yes, the same planet you know as Earth, but at an ancient time. As our view zooms in from outer space, we notice the glaring sun strives to penetrate the thick, sulfurous clouds below. Near the surface, the heat sets the thin air a-dancing. Before us, craters lie scattered across the landscape, their gaping mouths facing the sky, waiting to catch the next inter-planetary meteoroid. Beyond their sandy lips, boulders the size of buildings pepper the plains. Nearby, hot multi-colored mud roils madly in pits, completing a scene Dante could truly appreciate.

And then, near the top of a steep ravine, a small black and white stone—a pebble actually—appears from out of nowhere. Judging by its shape, this smooth and well-worn stone looks out of place. It must have spent its whole life around water, repeatedly covered and uncovered, until some ancient river delivered its unique roundness to a distant shore.

The pebble’s sudden arrival nudges another small stone that shifts and slides down against a bigger rock. This rock has been teetering precariously on a ledge for years. Hesitating for a moment, the rock gives up its perch and surrenders to the force of gravity. It falls, accumulating speed and energy as it plummets sixty meters below, striking a boulder ten times its mass.

The boulder fails to absorb the impact, becomes dislodged, and starts rolling, bringing other nearby rocks and boulders along with it. The chain reaction continues, and the landslide grows in mass and energy as it cascades down into the chasm. As we move our focus back to the present, we catch one last glimpse of that little black and white pebble buried under a pile of debris surrounded by a golden light softly pulsating in the dark.

1

The Quest

Oct 17th, 1980

Some aromas linger. They work their way into the subconscious mind and latch onto memories both pleasant and not.

Ted, a young man approaching thirty, wandered towards an enormous stupa.¹ His mind recognized the complex scent of Tibetan incense though his brain failed to recall just where he had encountered it before. As his scientific reasoning sought an answer, he was sucked into the crowd streaming toward the front gate. In the alleyway between crumbling, brick-faced buildings, additional sensory stimuli affected his awareness. On his left, a silken sari worn by a sandalwood-scented Nepali lady grazed his bare arm. On his right, a Tibetan man’s wool jacket scratched him, leaving behind an odor of smoke and rancid butter.

Someone, it was hard to see who, kept pushing against his lower back. Ted reached reflexively for his money belt and was reassured to discover that it was intact. Experience had taught him that holy sites also attract individuals that are guided more by opportunity than by piety.

This place he arrived at was Boudhanath, a Nepali place of devotion, and unquestionably on the must-visit list in any pilgrim’s guide to Planet Earth, a site where both Buddhists and Hindus arrived in great numbers to circumambulate the stupa and pray for all sentient² beings. Ted drifted without thinking and moved into the crowds that milled clockwise around the sacred structure. He followed their lead, rotating prayer wheels, but hesitated to recite the simple mantra, Aum mani padme hum, that permeated the air and masked all but the loudest mundane noises.

Around the outer courtyard, there were many shops selling antiques, religious items, souvenirs, books, food, and even the opportunity to light a butter lamp as an offering. Ted finished the required three circuits and continued on his fourth, focused not on his inner spiritual work but upon the outer attractions. Coming to a shop displaying religious paintings, he noticed a Tibetan man standing out front making mysterious movements. Mesmerized, he stopped mid-step, his attention focused on the man’s hands. Ted drew closer, while his mind drifted to another place and time, a time when these actions were considered necessary for good health and a long life. The hands paused, and Ted returned to the present, gazing into a vaguely familiar face.

Hello, may I help you? the proprietor said in perfect English.

I…err…excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice what you were doing, and I found it so interesting, replied Ted.

Oh, this, the Tibetan said, gesturing again. "It’s called Chi Kung and is used for strengthening the vital energy. I learned it from a visiting lama doctor when I was a youth studying at the Kumbu monastery."

Kumbu monastery? In the Amdo region of Tibet?

That’s the one. How is it you know about Kumbu?

Oh…since I was a little boy I’ve been interested in that part of the world. I even used to draw pictures of an Asian man leading a horse laden with bundles through the tall mountains. I told my mother that it was my horse. Silly—I know, Ted said sheepishly.

Not at all, replied the Tibetan, carefully studying the Westerner’s face and hands. Perhaps you were just remembering a distant past time in which you traveled in that region.

Yes, err…well… Ted replied, not at all convinced. I must admit I’ve always have had an interest in herbal medicine, even though my present work is related to hard science. Detecting a slight change in the shop owner’s disposition, Ted quickly added, Excuse me, I didn’t mean to imply Tibetan medicine is not scientific.

The Tibetan man remained silent, eyes calm. After an awkward pause, Ted seized the moment as an opportunity to introduce himself. He moved closer to the Tibetan, stuck out his hand and said, By the way, my name is Ted Brandon.

The shopkeeper repeated the foreigner’s name, taking the offered hand gingerly. I’m called Gendun Norbu, he said.

Gendun Norbu? Have we met before? That name, your face, both seem so familiar.

Maybe we have once. Who can say? Gendun said with a mysterious smile, and then, remembering his manners, added, Ted, would you like a cup of tea? Noticing the American hesitate, Gendun added, English tea, that is. I know many foreigners prefer it over the salt-and-butter tea we drink here.

Yes, English tea would be fine, thank you, Ted said with relief.

Gendun made a request to a nearby teashop and motioned to Ted to have a seat on a carpeted bench nearby. They both sat in silence for a few minutes until their beverages arrived. After handing the foreigner his tea, Gendun politely inquired, So what brings you to Boudhanath, Ted?

Ted stirred the tea pensively and thought a little bit about the life he’d left behind, his dissatisfaction with work, and the recent loss he’d suffered. But these reasons, he decided, were reasons for leaving California, not for coming to Nepal.

Excuse me…so, you really don’t know, do you? Gendun remarked, the comment spoken like a father making a simple observation about his son’s lifestyle.

Ted smiled and replied, "I believe you’re correct, no specific reason. I came here because I felt I had to come. Now that I’m here, it all seems as if…"

As if you might have been here before? Gendun suggested.

Yes, like that, Ted replied, recalling the other ancient power spots he had visited recently in England, Egypt, and Sudan.

"Ted, being drawn here to this place is a common occurrence. Most of the people you see circling the stupa think that they simply came on a pilgrimage, but I believe that Boudhanath beckoned them here."

I guess you would know that because you’ve been here for a while, right?

Yes, since 1955. At that time I escaped from Tibet with my family and Kumbu monastery’s abbot across the Himalayas in the wintertime. Chinese soldiers pursued us the whole way. Many in my group didn’t make it…my mother, for one.

That’s a shame, Ted said, with empathy.

And you have lost someone dear to you, as well, haven’t you?

Ted remained quiet, unwilling to answer. Instead he gazed across the courtyard where an old woman, hunched over and barely able to walk, placed her weathered hand on a large prayer wheel and gave it a twirl. She hobbled to the next one and repeated the action, spinning the thousands of prayers contained within it out into the universe.

Ted looked back at the shop owner and changed the subject. "What is the meaning of Aum mani padme hum?"

"Well…the literal translation is Hail to the jewel in the lotus, but the real meaning is much deeper, hinting that within each of us lies the creative power of the universe."

And does it?

Does it what?

Does the creative power of the universe reside within each of us? "It does, but perhaps some can tap this force more easily than others. For example, a person like my teacher, Sonan Rinpoche.³ He was an amazing person. His insights and awareness allowed us to move hundreds of kilometers across the country undetected, although it was swarming with Chinese soldiers looking for us. Sometimes we hurried, but at other times we simply stopped and waited, as he instructed."

Sounds like timing was very important.

My point exactly. Our old abbot even timed his death perfectly, thus enabling the rest of us to escape.

I imagine you miss him, this Sonan Rinpoche, Ted said, feeling a strange fondness for a man he had never met.

Yes. I do…greatly…but we will meet again. Friends always do, Gendun said, again with that mysterious smile of his.

My wife died recently… Ted blurted out, regretting the words as soon as they passed his lips.

The Tibetan’s eyes softened with compassion. Ted took a breath and continued. Just before I left America…about six weeks ago. We’d been married for many years.

"Sorry to hear this, Ted. I’ll pray for her, as she is still in transition. In the bardo, we say."

Ted sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped, his mind unwilling to explore what his body was feeling. Say, is there a hotel around here?

Yes, just across the main road there are several guest houses. Shall I walk over there with you? You look tired.

No, that’s all right. I’ll be fine.

Mr. Brandon, please come again. I’ve something to tell you.

With grief tugging at his heartstrings, Ted failed to hear Gendun’s final words. He thanked his host for the tea and went in search of lodgings. In his room, he collapsed into a chair and was quickly sound asleep.

~

In the evening, feeling refreshed, Ted decided to take his meal at the rooftop garden restaurant to better view the stars. Sipping a soft drink after supper, he stared at the eastern sky and felt his heart open. Fumiko, I miss you. Where are you?

Just then, a meteor whizzed across the sky and disappeared near the Pleiades, one of her favorite celestial sights.

Later that night, still fully clothed and resting upon his bed, Ted recalled reading about the bardo, the forty nine days when a soul is between rebirths and could potentially be contacted by the living. Holding that thought in mind, he drifted, feeling Fumiko’s presence nearby.

Not yet asleep, but already entering a dream state, he noticed he was no longer in a hotel room at Boudhanath, but high in the Sierra Nevada mountains where Fumiko and he used to go camping. Fumiko, seated nearby, was speaking with someone, and with a shock Ted realized it was a younger version of himself. There in the wilderness on a rocky ridge, he heard his younger self ask. My love, where do you think we came from?

Without hesitation Fumiko pointed up at Sirius, the Dog Star, and replied, There, and related the tale of how the Earth came into being.

"Long ago, a group that called themselves the Gardeners traveled to Earth from their Sirius colony and proceeded to terraform Earth, seeding the planet with life forms brought from many different worlds. Originally, these organisms evolved rapidly into huge plants and monstrous beasts, only to be culled millions of years later by an asteroid impacting near where the Yucatan Peninsula is today.

In the Earth’s next revival, the Gardeners adhered to a policy of non-interference, but continued to monitor Earth’s progress from an outpost nearby. These actions allowed Earth to evolve complex symbiotic relationships among all of its inhabitants and thus the planet became sentient or self-aware. After this self-awakening event, the planet became known to many other entities around the universe who wished to visit and experience the wonders of such a large and intricate intelligence. To abide by the rules of quarantine, however, a visitor was required to inhabit one of Earth’s plant or animal life forms, thus becoming part of what we call Gaia. Influenced by these highly developed beings, Earth evolved more rapidly.

Under pressure from the huge influx of entities spellbound by the Earth’s beauty, and wishing for a more fulfilling experience with the global entity, the Gardeners broke their promise and introduced engineered humanoid bodies patterned after their own Pleiadian ancestors. Soon the Gardeners realized their mistake. Inter-stellar visitors became trapped in these human bodies that lacked an evolved connection with Gaia. True, humans had self-awareness, but they did not love the planet and never felt truly at home here. Over time, these lonely incarnate souls became both interdependent upon each other, and limited by their own beliefs of what they believed they were. And they began to believe their limitations were their own true nature. The paradox is: Only by becoming totally ONE with the Gaian mind can humans recognize their divinity and free their souls to travel again. Slowly over time some humans did make a bond with Gaia and came to cherish her.

Some individuals, like Buddha and Jesus, to name two of many, succeeded in this quest so well that they became self-aware, and tried to show others the path they took. When asked by common people from whence their powers emanated, Jesus pointed up, and Buddha touched the ground with his fingertips. They were both correct. Jesus was referring to what is known as the holy trinity, meaning his Oversoul, his physical body, and the spirit of creative consciousness that permanates the whole universe. Buddha was indicating that his knowledge came from being one with Gaia.

And so, because of the self-organizing energy imbuing this planet, simple patterns, whether of substance or thought, evolved into complex organisms as well as organizations— religion, for instance. The nature of truth, however, can be found via religion or experienced directly, as there are many guides both on the physical and spiritual planes that will help show us the way.

It has been said that we can taste an apple by going to a store and purchasing one that has been handled by many people and traveled a fair distance, or we can pick one directly from the tree. So which apple has the true nature?"

Fumiko stood up, her hair blowing in the wind, her body becoming transparent, with the stars in the night sky shining through. Turning to look directly into Ted’s dream-body’s eyes, she mouthed the words, Find me, and was gone. Ted gasped and woke up, feeling the jolt of a rough landing.

~

The next day, as he approached Gendun’s shop, Ted pondered Fumiko’s request, the ancient places he had visited recently, and their apparent orientation to the same Dog-Star system.

"Ta shi deleg! Good morning, the shopkeeper called out upon spying Ted. How are you feeling today?"

Ta shi deleg. Much better, thanks. Noticing some tourists walking away, Ted inquired. So, those were your first customers of the day?

Yes, and unfortunately it didn’t result in a sale. Bad luck for me the whole day, Gendun laughed.

Oh, I don’t know about that. Perhaps I can change your luck. I’m interested in purchasing at least one of these paintings, perhaps this one, Ted said, pointing to a painting of a seated figure holding a flaming sword.

"Ah, a wise choice. These paintings are called thangkas and that one depicts Manjushri, whose sword can cut through all illusions."

And what about that one near you?

Oh, this is Green Tara, representing a feminine aspect of Buddha’s nature.

Noticing Ted’s puzzled look, Gendun explained, Each thangka depicts an aspect of reality. They aren’t meant to be worshipped but contain valuable information for spiritual growth.

But only if you believe in the religious system behind them.

Partially true, but in my opinion it isn’t necessary to study Tibetan Buddhism to obtain merit from these paintings. They work on a subliminal level that appears to be beneficial to all people regardless of cultural background.

In the corner of the shop, an unfinished painting caught Ted’s eye. What intrigued him was the detail and precision with which the vertical and horizontal reference lines had been sketched with charcoal on the raw canvas.

And what about this one? I’m attracted to it for some reason, he said touching the temporary wooden frame. It looks familiar.

Well, that thankga is not yet finished, but it reveals the exacting proportions required to ensure an accurate layout for these paintings. I must add that these line layouts have been faithfully maintained since ancient times.

Well, Ted thought, remembering his scientific training, It almost looks like a star map representing a constellation.

Ted finished his tour of the shop and bought several finished paintings. He received the unfinished one as a gift. As Gendun was rolling up the thangkas and sliding them into protective coverings, Ted noticed a kitten strolling out of a nearby shop.

Oh, be careful with that one, Gendun warned. "He can be a little terror at times. I named him Dorji, which means thunderbolt, and he can strike almost as fast."

Come on, Dorji, Let’s see how fast you are, thought Ted kneeling down and wiggling his fingers. Dorji responded by crouching and pouncing immediately, paws and mouth encircling Ted’s hand.

Hey! Be nice, little fellow! he laughed, as he rolled the kitten over on its back and tickled its tummy.

Dorji, now angry at being manhandled, intensified the attack, repeatedly kicking at the human’s arm.

Ow! Ted yelled, shaking the kitten off and leaping to his feet. Dorji moved a few paces away and stood his ground, tail swishing, eyes riveted on the human’s bleeding hand. Ted realized that the kitten couldn’t help himself—that the predatory behavior was simply part of his nature.

That same type of predatory behavior was part of Ted’s subconscious as well; a nearby feminine giggle caused him to turn and seek out the source. A party of Tibetans dressed in fine clothes had just passed by. He and Gendun were all eyes.

They’re from Amdo, the Tibetan remarked.

How can you tell? Ted inquired.

"Many ways. Their dress, their faces, the way they walk, and especially the way she wears her hair," Gendun said, gesturing with his chin toward a tall young beauty.

Both men stared as the young lady from Amdo stole sideways glances at them. She covered her mouth, giggling again.

While Ted’s thoughts turned inward thinking of Fumiko, Gendun observed that, across the way, very little was escaping the attention of an elderly man. Walking alongside the Amdo girl, the old man gave a nearby prayer wheel a mighty turn, fired a stern glance at Ted and uttered several sharp words to the young girl. Reminded of her purpose there, she bowed her head and started reciting prayers. Ted quickly lost interest in the human drama and turned to face Gendun but before he could announce his intention to leave, the shopkeeper preempted his words.

Ted, I know you have to go now. Will you be staying long in Boudhanath?

I’m not sure. I’ll stay a few days at least, perhaps more. I really have no plans at this point in my life.

I see, said the Tibetan, scrutinizing the American’s face, looking for some sign that would confirm his hunch.

Oh, Ted, I want to ask one more question. Do you like rabbits?

Huh? Well, I guess so, Ted replied, while thinking, What a strange thing to ask!

Ted continued, I love all animals, but I’ve never actually had a pet rabbit. I was born in the year of the rabbit, though, if that means anything.

Gendun nodded, his smile subtle. Ted, please come and see me again before you leave Boudhanath. We can speak more about this subject, okay?

Sure, I’ll do that.

As Ted walked away, bewildered, Gendun cocked his head, thinking. I wonder if this Westerner understands who he really is?

¹ A Sanskrit word describing a structure that contains religious artifacts. Stupas range from a few feet in diameter to city-block size.

² Tibetan Buddhists believe there are many categories of sentient beings, which include humans, animals, demi-gods, hungry ghosts, and demons. All are considered to be unaware of their true nature.

³ Literally precious one in Tibetan, the term Rinpoche is an honorific title bestowed on reincarnated lamas, realized masters who leave clues so that their whereabouts in successive lifetimes may be discovered by qualified clergy.

2

Kopan

October 20th, 1980

A few days later, in a teashop, Ted was contemplating when to leave Nepal when a short, round Tibetan lama with a jovial face entered, walked directly up to him, and introduced himself.

Hello there, my name’s Lama Yeshe…I heard from a friend you were hanging out around here. Ted was taken aback. Tibetan faces have the ability to simultaneously project great presence as well as charm. And here he was, face-to-face with an unknown lama addressing him like a long-lost friend, and using California slang no less. Unnerving.

Pleased to meet you, stammered Ted, wondering why he was scared and yet also attracted to the lama. Would you like to sit down? he offered.

No, sorry, I’m on my way back to my monastery, Kopan, and I just stopped by to invite you up there. Every night we have lectures on Buddhist philosophy. You might find them particularly interesting.

Okay, thanks for the invitation, Ted replied, intrigued by the way the monk had emphasized the word particularly. He started to ask a question but the lama was already out the door, his simple robes flowing behind him.

And so, tentatively at first, Ted began coming to Kopan in the evenings to listen to the lectures. Soon he was spending afternoons there as well. Within a few weeks, he had moved in. This allowed him to partake of the morning meditations and to learn to quiet his mind and focus his attention.

His room was small, barely one meter wide by two long, with rough, wood planked walls and a rammed earth floor covered by a thin straw mat. The thangkas he purchased were hung on the walls with care while his mountaineering gear was piled in one corner. Ted was luckier than most residents. His cell had a window opening, and from there, at night, he could observe the whole eastern night sky.

The monastery itself was situated on a wooded hill a few kilometers along a winding path northwest of Boudhanath. It was isolated just enough to provide a safe environment, but close enough to town that village dogs could wander in. All sorts of spiritual seekers also wandered in, more than half of them foreigners. They came from the four corners of the world, attracted to Kopan in hopes of finding answers to the questions, Who am I? Where did I come from? Where am I going?

It could be argued that both the foreign devotees and the dogs had Buddha nature, but their purposes for being at Kopan were at odds with each other. The dogs scavenged for food in the mornings and slept during the day, but took their nocturnal guard duty seriously and barked at things humans could not perceive. For the locals, the canine noise was part of the ambient soundscape, and these people were more than likely to wake up when the dogs stopped barking.

In contrast, the foreign novices came from societies that considered nocturnal noise undesirable or downright unlawful. They resented the howls at night and especially during pre-dawn meditation sessions. The distractions, they believed, hindered their quest to attain inner peace by denying them a peaceful environment in which to practice. They failed to see what the local monks understood: distractions can be useful tools in learning to focus the mind.

The abbot, Lama Yeshe, soon created a simple, albeit temporary, solution to the dog problem. One night he instructed the Tibetan monks to round up the mutts, feed them well, and place them on the roof until he could figure out what to do with them.

Early one morning, while walking down the path below the main hall, and on the way to a meditation session, Ted noticed it was abnormally quiet. Great, they finally got rid of those darn dogs. A tingling sensation gave pause to his step, and another thought came to mind. Something’s about to happen. I can feel it. Maybe it’s an insight into the nature of reality. ‘Bout time, I’ve been here almost two months.

An instant later, a pile of poop appeared on the pathway a pace ahead. Huh? Where did that come from? In answer to the unspoken question, he felt compelled to look up. On the great hall’s roof, three stories above, he observed a dog’s butt hanging out over the edge. Ted’s face fell. Well, if I was looking for a sign, I guess this is a clear enough message. My spiritual development still has a ways to go.

Lama Yeshe felt the same about his own chances for quick enlightenment. After arriving late for an afternoon lecture, the lama, between bursts of laughter, stated the reason for his tardiness was an attachment to worldly pleasures like hot showers.

Despite claiming to be just a simple monk, the lama exhibited a broad knowledge of western religions and advanced physics, gained in part from a teaching stint at the University of California in Santa Cruz, but more so, from his twenty-two years at Sera Monastery near the Tibetan capital, Lhasa.

On one particular night, during a lecture, Ted was bursting with questions. Yet before he could ask them, Lama Yeshe answered them one by one, just moments after the question formed in his mind:

"…we come into this plane of existence and spend our lives trying to discover the rules of the game we call life. Only by giving up the fear of ending this game can we penetrate the illusion and realize we created the rules all along. Hasn’t it been said by different religions and cultures in different ways, that in order to change the world we have to first change ourselves? Ha, ha! People, I wish you could see your faces. You look so serious! Stop trying to act like you understand! The rational mind cannot perceive what I am talking about. You can only find this truth if you still the mind through meditation and seek the answers from within. You do have hidden within the English language numerous hints to describe reality, though. For instance: ‘We are the world.’ ‘Nothing is worth it.’ Hmm? Actually, Nothing does have great worth. Ponder that for a while…"

After the hour long lecture ended, Ted compared notes with fellow students in the dining hall. All agreed that the lecture was mind-boggling, and Lama Yeshe had answered each person’s deepest life questions in the same manner Ted experienced. What astounded everyone was that they had all recorded different information in their notebooks. The title of the lecture? The Nature of Reality.

A few weeks later, the learned lama touched on a subject that especially piqued Ted’s interest.

"…Metaphysically speaking, it is possible to focus pure thought and project it with a strong intent to any part of the universe. One can therefore witness the events unfolding at the point of attention. The same is true for matter, as thought and matter coexist. And isn’t the matter we call me created and fixed in reality by how we think about it?"

Ted timidly raised his hand and spoke. So, Lama Yeshe, are you saying we could travel over large distances in the wink of an eye?

I’ve heard it’s been done, the Lama said, grinning, "but we usually don’t speak about these things, as the novices will divert their attention away from learning the basics of spiritual growth and become infatuated with what the mind believes is a miracle. Miracles are perceived as being the manifestation of the impossible because the rational mind refuses to accept it is a creator. Or in your California lingo: You feel you are at effect. Actually, anywhere your intent is focused, that is where you reside."

In other lectures the manner in which the learned lama approached advanced physics was entirely novel to Ted’s way of thinking. Throughout his life, he had thought about the implications of teleportation, but it was only recently that he grasped a hint of how that could possibly happen. Ted opened his journal, which he had titled This Book Says Nothing, and made an entry.

October 28th, 1980, Kopan Monastery - Boudhanath, Nepal.

The brain is not us. It, along with the physical body, just experiences, records, and transmits information for the benefit of some higher self - an Oversoul, so to speak. So that makes us what? Biosensors? Then this Oversoul must know its parts intimately and have the ability to create and contact them at any time. This might happen without our conscious mind being aware that communication had taken place.

This Oversoul must also have a detailed knowledge of our molecular blueprint, the compiler software, of our vital essence so to speak. If we could contact our higher self with a clear intent of a destination, perhaps our molecular blueprint could be sent to another location with instructions for it to self assemble upon arrival. Since most of our bodies are similar in composition to star dust, it should be feasible to find enough suitable building blocks of material wherever we go in the universe. And because the majority of our atomic structure contains mostly free space that is in turn held together by magnetic force fields, collapsing these fields and recording the molecular arrangement should, in theory, be possible.

A few days later, Lama Yeshe approached Ted with a more down-to-earth question.

Hello, there. I heard you were having money troubles.

Yes, a little, Ted replied noticing that Lama Yeshe’s eyes were focused not on him but somewhere within him, reading his heart and unraveling his innermost feelings. Ted lowered his eyes and explained the situation.

I asked my friend to wire some money from my stateside account to a local bank, but it never arrived. I have enough funds to get home, but I was hoping to spend at least six months or perhaps longer studying here.

"Ted, that is good, very good, and you will attain great benefit from staying here. However, concerning your life work, I’m afraid it won’t happen here. It will happen there at your home in California. Noticing Ted’s face fall, the lama added warmly, Some people like yourself have a great talent and are meant to be out in the world creating, not sitting in the Himalayas meditating."

"I believe you’re