- Issue 100 -

Published by The Conscious Living Foundation


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Welcome to Conscious Living, our newsletter designed to share our current activities and growth, along with articles and information that we hope will be supportive and encouraging in your efforts to live each moment with more joy and satisfaction.

We are pleased to offer, for your entertainment and inspiration, a new kind of subject matter for our newsletter.  Beginning with this issue, we are offering an entire spiritual novel - chapter by chapter, in serial form.  Each consecutive issue of our newsletter will contain the next chapter in the book.  In fact, we liked the idea so much, we're offering two separate novels simultaneously.

First, we are excited to present "The Third Eye" by T. Lobsang Rampa, a fascinating, controversial and very popular account of the life and esoteric experiences of a Tibetian Monk.  Topics discussed include reincarnation, clairvoyance, yetis and the unknown early history of the earth.

In addition, we are offering "A Romance of Two Worlds" by Marie Corelli.  This best selling Victorian novel explores the relationship between the occult and Christianity, plus a discussion of guardian angels and life after death along with mystery, romance and tragedy.   The writing is beautiful and majestic and truly appealing to the inner soul.  We look forward to your comments about both novels.

On a practical level, we have responded to your requests for a simpler method of payment when making purchases from our product catalog.  We are now able to take telephone orders for those who do not want to order through the website (just call 818/502-9096).  In addition, we can now accept all major credit and debit cards directly through our website without the necessity of paying through PayPal.  Making purchases is now simpler and quicker!

We continue with our collection of essays by Ernest Holmes, with his thoughts on "Hold To The Good".  As always, Dr. Holmes' thoughts are empowering and encouraging.  Also, we're presenting an article by William Walker Atkinson entitled, "Mind Building".

In this issue we're focusing more deeply on the 12 Step Programs and their ability to support personal and spiritual transformation.  We're pleased to offer two articles for your consideration: 

First, "Understanding The Serenity Prayer"; most of us have heard and perhaps know the prayer.  However, this article, with great wisdom and compassion, looks below the surface and explores the deeper guidance and inspiration embedded within the prayer. 

Secondly, an explanation of the 11th step ("Through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God") by Bill Wilson, one of the founders of AA.   - This is a surprising and revealing essay that will give you a new perspective not only on the 11th step, but all the steps - set in a historical context that offers real insight.

In addition to an affirmation for recognizing your identity with Spirit, you'll also find a new spiritual poem in our newsletter, this one entitled, "God Bound".

The biggest news we have to share in this issue, is the completion of our first product in Chinese.  In addition to offering The Conscious Word in Spanish, we now offer Conscious Wisdom in Chinese.  With these two daily email products we hope to reach an ever larger portion of the world population who are hungry for spiritual support but could not find it in their native tongue. 

As usual, our newsletter also includes an article by one of our most thought-provoking writers, Steve Roberts and his new essay, "Celebrating Ignorance".  You'll have to read the article to know more...

Finally, starting with the next issue, we want to add a new recurring "Letter To the Editor" section to our newsletter.  So, now is the chance for you to share your thoughts, ideas, experiences, questions and opinions with us and the rest of our readers.  Just send an email to me at .   You'll probably find it in our next issue.  

As always, we are so grateful to all of you who visit our website, and contribute through your generous donations, purchases, emails and article submissions.  Thank you for letting us share this issue of our newsletter with you. 

William Simpson










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Serial:  The Third Eye by T. Lobsang Rampa


The autobiography of a Tibetan lama is a unique record of experience and, as such, inevitably hard to corroborate. In an attempt to obtain conformation of the Author's statements the Publishers submitted the MS. to nearly twenty readers, all persons of intelligence and experience, some with special knowledge of the subject? Their opinions were so contradictory that no positive result emerged.  Some questioned the accuracy of one section, some of another; what was doubted by one expert was accepted unquestioningly by another. Anyway, the Publishers asked themselves, was there any expert who had undergone the training of a Tibetan lama in its most developed forms? Was there one who had been brought up in a Tibetan family? Lobsang Rampa has provided documentary evidence that he holds medical degrees of the University of Chungking and in those documents he is described as a Lama of the Potala Monastery of Lhasa.  The many personal conversations we have had with him have proved him to be a Man of unusual powers and attainments. Regarding many aspects of his personal life he has shown a reticence that was sometimes baffling; but everyone has a right to privacy and Lobsang Rampa maintains that some concealment is imposed on him for the safety of his family in Communist occupied Tibet.  Indeed, certain details, such as his father's real position in the Tibetan hierarchy, have been intentionally disguised for this purpose. For these reasons the Author must bear and willingly bears a sole responsibility for the statements made in his book. We may feel that here and there he exceeds the bounds of Western credulity, though Western views on the subject here dealt with can hardly be decisive. None the less the Publishers believe that the Third Eye is in its essence an authentic account of the upbringing and training of a Tibetan boy in his family and in a lamasery. It is in this spirit that we are publishing the book.  Anyone who differs from us will, we believe, at least agree that the author is endowed to an exceptional degree with narrative skill and the power to evoke scenes and characters of absorbing and unique interest. 



I am a Tibetan. One of the few who have reached this strange Western world.  The construction and grammar of this book leave much to be desired, but I have never had a formal lesson in the English language. My “School of English” was a Japanese prison camp, where I learned the language as best I could from English and American women prisoner patients. Writing in English was learned by “trial and error”. Now my beloved country is invaded-as predicted-by Communist hordes. For this reason only I have disguised my true name and that of my friends. Having done so much against Communism, I know that my friends in Communist countries will suffer if my identity can be traced. As I have been in Communist, as well as Japanese hands, I know from personal experience what torture can do, but it is not about torture that this book is written, but about a peace-loving country which has been so misunderstood and greatly misrepresented for so long.  Some of my statements, so I am told, may not be believed. That is your privilege, but Tibet is a country unknown to the rest of the world. The man who wrote, of another country, that “the people rode on turtles in the sea” was laughed to scorn. So were those who had seen “living-fossil” fish. Yet the latter have recently been discovered and a specimen taken in a refrigerated airplane to the U.S.A. for study. These men were disbelieved. They were eventually proved to be truthful and accurate. So will I be.







    “Oe. Oe.  Four years old and can't stay on a horse!  You'll never  make a man!  What will your noble father say?”  With this, Old Tzu gave the pony-and luckless rider—a hearty thwack across the hindquarters, and spat in the dust.


    The golden roofs and domes of the Potala gleamed in the brilliant sunshine.  Closer, the blue waters of the Serpent Temple lake rippled to mark the passing of the water-fowl.  From farther along the stony track came the shouts and cries of men urging on the slow-moving yaks just setting out from Lhasa.  From near by Came the chest-shaking “bmmn, bmmn, bmmn” of the deep bass trumpets as monk musicians practiced in the fields away from the crowds.


    But I had no time for such everyday, commonplace things.  Mine was the serious task of staying on my very reluctant pony.  Nakkim had other things in mind.  He wanted to be free of his rider, free to graze, and roll and kick his feet in the air.


    Old Tzu was a grim and forbidding taskmaster.  All his life he had been stern and hard, and now as guardian and riding instructor to a small boy of four, his patience often gave way under the strain.  one of the men of Kham, he, with others, had been picked for his size and strength.  Nearly seven feet tall he was, and broad with it. Heavily padded shoulders increased his apparent breadth. In eastern Tibet there is a district where the men are unusually tall and strong.  Many were over seven feet tall, and these men were picked to act as police monks in all the lamaseries. They padded their shoulders to increase their apparent size, blackened their faces to look more fierce, and carried long staves which they were prompt to use on any luckless malefactor.


    Tzu had been a police monk, but now he was dry-nurse to a princeling !  He was too badly crippled to do much walking, and so all his journeys were made on horseback.  In 1904 the British, under Colonel Younghusband, invaded Tibet and caused much damage.  Apparently they thought the easiest method of ensuring our friendship was to shell our buildings and kill our people.  Tzu had been one of the defenders, and in the action he had part of his left hip blown away.


    My father was one of the leading men in the Tibetan Government.  His family, and that of mother, came within the upper ten families, and so between them my parents had considerable influence in the affairs of the country.  Later I will give more details of our form of government.


    Father was a large man, bulky, and nearly six feet tall.  His strength was something to boast about.  In his youth he could lift a pony off the ground, and he was one of the few who could wrestle with the men of Kham and come off best.


    Most Tibetans have black hair and dark brown eyes.  Father was one of the exceptions, his hair was chestnut brown, and his eyes were grey.  Often he would give way to sudden bursts of anger for no reason that we could see.



    We did not see a great deal of father.  Tibet had been having troublesome times.  The British had invaded us in 1904, and the Dalai Lama had fled to Mongolia, leaving my father and others of the Cabinet to rule in his absence.  In 1909 the Dalai Lama returned to Lhasa after having been to Peking.  In 1910 the Chinese, encouraged by the success of the British invasion, stormed Lhasa.  The Dalai Lama again retreated, this time to India. The Chinese were driven from Lhasa in 1911 during the time of the Chinese Revolution, but not before they had committed fearful crimes against our people.


    In 1912 the Dalai Lama again returned to Lhasa.  During the  whole time he was absent, in those most difficult days, father and the others of the Cabinet, had the full responsibility of ruling Tibet.  Mother used to say that father's temper was never the same after.  Certainly he had no time for us children, and we at no time had fatherly affection from him. I, in particular, seemed to arouse his ire, and I was left to the scant mercies of Tzu “to make or break”, as father said.


    My poor performance on a pony was taken as a personal insult by Tzu.  In Tibet small boys of the upper class are taught to ride   almost before they can walk.  Skill on a horse is essential in a country where there is no wheeled traffic, where all journeys have to be done on foot or on horseback.  Tibetan nobles practice horsemanship hour after hour, day after day.  They can stand on the narrow wooden saddle of a galloping horse, and shoot first with a rifle at a moving target, then change to bow and arrow.  Sometimes skilled riders will gallop across the plains in formation, and change horses by jumping from saddle to saddle.  I, at four years of age, found it difficult to stay in one saddle!


    My pony, Nakkim, was shaggy, and had a long tail.  His narrow head was intelligent.  He knew an astonishing number of ways in which to unseat an unsure rider.  A favourite trick of his was to have a short run forward, then stop dead and lower his head.  As I slid helplessly forward over his neck and on to his head he would raise it with a jerk so that I turned a complete somersault before hitting the ground.  Then he would stand and look at me with smug complacency.


    Tibetans never ride at a trot; the ponies are small and riders look ridiculous on a trotting pony.  Most times a gentle amble is fast enough, with the gallop kept for exercise.


    Tibet was a theocratic country.  We had no desire for the “progress” of the outside world.  We wanted only to be able to meditate and to overcome the limitations of the flesh.  Our Wise Men had long realized that the West had coveted the riches of Tibet, and knew that when the foreigners came in, peace went out.  Now the arrival of the Communists in Tibet has proved that to be correct. 


    My home was in Lhasa, in the fashionable district of Lingkhor, at the side of the ring road which goes all round Lhasa, and in the Shadow of the Peak.  There are three circles of roads, and the outer road, Lingkhor, is much used by pilgrims.  Like all houses in Lhasa, at the time I was born ours was two stories high at the side facing the road.  No one must look down on the Dalai Lama, so the limit is two stories. As the height ban really applies only to one procession a year, many houses have an easily dismantled wooden structure on their flat roofs for eleven months or so.


    Our house was of stone and had been built for many years.  It was in the form of a hollow square, with a large internal courtyard.  Our animals used to live on the ground floor, and we lived upstairs.  We were fortunate in having a flight of stone steps leading from the ground; most Tibetan houses have a ladder or, in the peasants’ cottages, a notched pole which one uses at dire risk to one's shins.  These notched poles became very slippery indeed with use, hands covered with yak butter transferred it to the pole and the peasant who forgot, made a rapid descent to the floor below.


In I910, during the Chinese invasion, our house had been partly wrecked and the inner wall of the building was demolished.  Father had it rebuilt four stories high.  It did not overlook the Ring, and we could not look over the head of the Dalai Lama when in procession, so there were no complaints.


    The gate which gave entrance to our central courtyard was heavy and black with age.  The Chinese invaders has not been able to force its solid wooden beams, so they had broken down a wall instead.  Just above this entrance was the office of the steward. He could see all who entered or left.  He engaged—and dismissed— staff and saw that the household was run efficiently.  Here, at his window, as the sunset trumpets blared from the monasteries, came

the beggars of Lhasa to receive a meal to sustain them through the darkness of the night.  All the leading nobles made provision for the poor of their district.  Often chained convicts would come, for there are few prisons in Tibet, and the convicted wandered the streets and begged for their food.


    In Tibet convicts are not scorned or looked upon as pariahs.  We realized that most of us would be convicts—if we were found out—so those who were unfortunate were treated reasonably.


    Two monks lived in rooms to the right of the steward; these were the household priests who prayed daily for divine approval of our activities.  The lesser nobles had one priest, but our position demanded two.  Before any event of note, these priests were consulted and asked to offer prayers for the favour of the gods.  Every three years the priests returned to the lamaseries and were replaced by others.


    In each wing of our house there was a chapel.  Always the butter-lamps were kept burning before the carved wooden altar. The seven bowls of holy water were cleaned and replenished several times a day. They had to be clean, as the gods might want to come and drink from them.  The priests were well fed, eating the same food as the family, so that they could pray better and tell the gods that our food was good.


    To the left of the steward lived the legal expert, whose job it was to see that the household was conducted in a proper and legal manner.  Tibetans are very law-abiding, and father had to be an outstanding example in observing the law.


    We children, brother Paljor, sister Yasodhara, and I, lived in the new block, at the side of the square remote from the road. To our left we had a chapel, to the right was the schoolroom which the children of the servants also attended. Our lessons were long and varied.  Paljor did not inhabit the body long.  He was weakly and unfit for the hard life to which we both were subjected.  Before  the seven he left us and returned to the Land of Many Temples.  Yaso was six when he passed over, and I was four.  I still remember when they came for him as he lay, an empty husk, and how the Men of the Death carried him away to be broken up and fed to the scavenger birds according to custom.


    Now Heir to the Family, my training was intensified.  I was four years of age and a very indifferent horseman.  Father was indeed a strict man and as a Prince of the Church he saw to it that his son had stern discipline, and was an example of how others should be brought up.     


In my country, the higher the rank of a boy, the more severe his training.  Some of the nobles were beginning to think that boys should have an easier time, but not father.  His attitude was : a poor had no hope of comfort later, so give him kindness and consideration while he was young.  The higher-class boy had all riches and comforts to expect in later years, so be quite brutal with him during boyhood and youth, so that he should experience hardship and show consideration for others.  This also was the official attitude of the country. Under this system weaklings did not survive, but those who did could survive almost anything.


    Tzu occupied a room on the ground floor and very near the main gate.  For years he had, as a police monk, been able to see all manner of people and now he could not bear to be in seclusion, away from it all.  He lived near the stables in which father kept his twenty horses and all the ponies and work animals.


     The grooms hated the sight of Tzu, because he was officious and interfered with their work. When father went riding he had to have six armed men escort him. These men wore uniform, and Tzu always bustled about them, making sure that everything about their equipment was in order.


    For some reason these six men used to back their horses against a wall, then, as soon as my father appeared on his horse, they would charge forward to meet him.  I found that if I leaned out of a storeroom window, I could touch one of the riders as he sat on his horse.  One day, being idle, I cautiously passed a rope through his stout leather belt as he was fiddling with his equipment.  The two ends I looped and passed over a hook inside the window.  In the bustle and talk I was not noticed.  My father appeared, and the riders surged forward.  Five of them.  The sixth was pulled backwards off his horse, yelling that demons were gripping him.  His belt broke, and in the confusion I was able to pull away the rope and steal away undetected.  It gave me much pleasure, later, to say “So you too, Ne-tuk, can't stay on a horse!”


    Our days were quite hard, we were awake for eighteen hours out of the twenty-four. Tibetans believe that it is not wise to sleep at all when it is light, or the demons of the day may come and seize one.  Even very small babies are kept awake so that they shall not become demon-infested.  Those who are ill also have to be kept awake, and a monk is called in for this.  No one is spared from it, even people who are dying have to be kept conscious for as long as possible, so that they shall know the right road to take through the border lands to the next world.      At school we had to study languages, Tibetan and Chinese.  Tibetan is two distinct languages, the ordinary and the honorific.  We used the ordinary when speaking to servants and those of lesser rank, and the honorific to those of equal or superior rank: The horse of a higher-rank person had to be addressed in honorific style!  Our autocratic cat, stalking across the courtyard on some mysterious business, would be addressed by a servant: “Would  honorable Puss Puss deign to come and drink this unworthy milk?”  No matter how “honourable Puss Puss” was addressed, she would never come until she was ready.


    Our schoolroom was quite large, at one time it had been used as a refectory for visiting monks, but since the new buildings were finished, that particular room had been made into a school for the estate.  Altogether there were about sixty children attending.  We sat cross-legged on the floor, at a table, or long bench, which was about eighteen inches high.  We sat with our backs to the teacher, so that we did not know when he was looking at us. It made us  work hard all the time.  Paper in Tibet is hand made and expensive, far too expensive to waste On children.  We used slates, large thin slabs about twelve inches by fourteen inches.  Our “pencils” were a form of hard chalk which could be picked up in the Tsu La Hills, some twelve thousand feet higher than Lhasa, which was already twelve thousand feet above sea-level.  I used to try to get the chalks with a reddish tint, but sister Yaso was very very fond of a soft purple.  We could obtain quite a number of colours : reds, yellows, blues, and greens.  Some of the colours, I believe, were due to the presence of metallic ores in the soft chalk base. Whatever the cause we were glad to have them.


    Arithmetic really bothered me.  If seven hundred and eighty-three monks each drank fifty-two cups of tsampa per day, and each cup held five-eighths of a pint, what size container would be needed for a week's supply?  Sister Yaso could do these things and think nothing of it. I, well, I was not so bright.


    I came into my own when we did carving. That was a subject which I liked and could do reasonably well.  All printing in Tibet is done from carved wooden plates, and so carving was considered to be quite an asset.  We children could not have wood to waste.  The wood was expensive as it had to be brought all the way from India.  Tibetan wood was too tough and had the wrong kind of grain. We used a soft kind of soapstone material, which could be cut easily with a sharp knife. Sometimes we used stale yak cheese!


    One thing that was never forgotten was a recitation of the Laws. These  we had to say as soon as we entered the schoolroom, and again ,just before we were allowed to leave. These Laws were :

       Return good for good.

       Do not fight with gentle people.

       Read the Scriptures and understand them.

       Help your neighbours.

       The Law is hard on the rich to teach them understanding and  equity.

       The Law is gentle with the poor to show them compassion.

       Pay your debts promptly.


    So that there was no possibility of forgetting, these Laws were carved on banners and fixed to the four walls of our schoolroom.


    Life was not all study and gloom though; we played as hard as we studied. All our games were designed to toughen us and enable us to survive in hard Tibet with its extremes of temperature.  At noon, in summer, the temperature may be as high as eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit, but that same summer's night it may drop to forty degrees below freezing.  In winter it was often very much colder than this.

    Archery was good fun and it did develop muscles.  We used bows mad of yew, imported from india, and sometimes we made crossbows from Tibetan wood.  As Buddists we never shot at living targets.  Hidden servants would pull a long string and cause a target to bob up and down—we never knew which to expect.  Most of the others could hit the target when standing on the saddle of a  galloping pony.  I could never stay on that long!  Long jumps were a different matter.  Then there was no horse to bother about.  We ran as fast a we could, carrying a fifteen-foot pole, then when our speed was sufficient, jumped with the aid of the pole.  I use to say that the others stuck on a horse so long that they had no strength in their legs, but I, who had to use my legs, really could vault.  It was quite a good system for crossing streams, and very satisfying to see those who were trying to follow me plunge in one after the other.


     Stilt walking was another of my passtimes.  We used to dress up and become giants, and often we would have fights on stilts—the one who fell off was the loser.  Our stilts were home-made, we could not just slip round to the nearest shop and buy such things.  We used all our powers of persuasion on the keeper of the Stores—usually the Steward— so that we could obtain suitable pieces of wood.  The grain had to be just right, and there had to be freedom from knotholes.  Then we had to obtain suitable wedge-shaped pieces of footrests.  As wood was too scarce to waste, we had to wait our opportunity and ask at the most appropriate moment.


    The girls and young women played a form of shuttlecock.  A small piece of wood had holes made in one upper edge, and feathers were wedged in.  The shuttlecock was kept in the air by using the feet.  The girl would lift her skirt to a suitable height to permit a free kicking and from then on would use her feet only, to touch with the hand meant that she was disqualified.  An active girl would keep the thing in the air for as long as ten minutes at a time before missing a kick.


    The real interest in Tibet, or at least in the district of U, which is the home country of Lhasa, was kite flying.  This could be called a national sport.  We could only indulge in it at certain times, at certain seasons.  Years before it had been discovered that if kites were flown in the mountains, rain fell in torrents, and in those days it was thought that the Rain Gods were angry, so kite flying was permitted only in the autumn, which in Tibet is the dry season.  At certain times of the year, men will not shout in the mountains, as the reverberation of their voices causes the super-saturated rain-clouds from India to shed their load too quickly and cause rainfall in the wrong place.  Now, on the first day of autumn, a long kite would be sent up from the roof of the Potala.  within minutes, kites of all shapes, sizes, and hues made their appearance over Lhase, bobbing and twisting in the strong breeze.


    I love kite flying and I saw to it that my kite was one of the first to sour upwards.  We all made our own kites usually with a bamboo framework, and almost always covered with fine silk.  We had no difficulty in obtaining this good quality material, it was a point of honour for the household that the kite should be of the finest class.  Of box form, we frequently fitted them with a ferocious dragon head and with wings and tail.


    We had battles in which we tried to bring down the kites of our rivals.  We stuck shards of broken glass to the kite string, and covered part of the cord with glue powdered with broken glass in the hope of being able to cut the strings of others and so capture the falling kite.


    Sometimes we used to steal out at night and send our kite aloft with little butter-lamps inside the head and body.  Perhaps the eyes would glow red, and the body would show different colours against the dark night sky.  We particularly liked it when the huge Yak caravans were expected from the Lho-dzong district.  In our childish innocence we thought that the ignorant natives from far distant places would not know about such “modern” inventions as our kites, so we used to set out to frighten some wits into them. 


    One device of ours was to put three different shells into the kite in a certain way, so that when the wind blew into them, they would produce a weird wailing sound.  We likened it to fire-breathing dragons shreiking in the night, and we hoped that its effect on the traders would be salutary.  We had many a delicious tingle along our spines as we thought of these men lying frightened in their bed-rolls as our kites bobbed above.


    Although I did not know it at this time, my play with kites was to stand me in very good stead in later life when I actually flew in them.  Now it was but a game, although an exciting one.   We had one game which could have been quite dangerous: we made large kites—big things about seven or eight feet square and with wings  projecting from two sides.  We used to lay these on level ground near a revine where there was a particularly strong updraught of air.  We would mount our ponies with one end of the cord looped round our waist, and then we would gallop off as fast as our ponies would move.  Up into the air jumped the kite and souring higher and higher until it met this particular updraught.  There would be a jerk and the rider would be lifted straight off his pony, perhaps ten feet in the air and sink swaying slowly to earth.  Some poor wretches were almost torn in two if they forgot to take their feet from the stirrups, but I, never very good on a horse, could always fall off, and to be lifted was a pleasure.  I found, being foolishly adventurous, that if I yanked at a cord at the moment of rising I would go higher, and further judicious yanks would enable me to prolong my flights by seconds.


    On one occasion I yanked most enthusiastically, the wind cooperated, and I was carried on to the flat roof of a peasant's house upon which was stored the winter fuel.


    Tibetan peasants live in houses with flat roofs with a small parapet, which retains the yak dung, which is dried and used as fuel.  This particular house was of dried mud brick instead of the more usual stone, nor was there a chimney: an aperture in the roof served to discharge smoke from the fire below.  My sudden arrival at the end of a rope disturbed the fuel and as I was dragged across the roof, I scooped most of it through the hole on to the unfortunate inhabitants below.


     I was not popular.  My appearance, also through that hole, was greeted with yelps of rage and, after having one dusting from the furious householder, I was dragged off to father for another dose of corrective medicine. That night I lay on my face!


    The next day I had the unsavory job of going through the stables and collecting yak dung, which I had to take to the peasant's house and replace on the roof, which was quite hard work, as I was not yet six years of age.  But everyone was satisfied except me; the other boys had a good laugh, the peasant now had twice as much fuel, and father had demonstrated that he was a

strict and just man.  And I?  I spent the next night on my face as well, and I was not sore with horse riding!


    It may be thought that all this was very hard treatment, but Tibet has no place for weaklings.  Lhasa is twelve thousand feet above sea-level, and with extremes of temperature.  Other districts are higher, and the conditions even more arduous, and weaklings could very easily imperil others.  For this reason, and not because of cruel intent, training was strict.


    At the higher altitudes people dip new-born babies in icy streams to test if they are strong enough to be allowed to live. Quite often I have seen little processions approaching such stream, perhaps seventeen thousand feet above the sea.  At banks the procession will stop, and the grandmother will take baby.  Around her will be grouped the family: father, mother, and close relatives.  The baby will be undressed, and grandmother will stoop and immerse the little body in the water, so that only the head and mouth are exposed to the air.  In the bitter cold the baby turns red, then blue, and its cries of protest stop. It looks dead  but grandmother has much experience of such things, and the little one is lifted from the water, dried, and dressed.  If the baby survives, then it is as the gods decree. If it dies, then it has been spared much suffering on earth.  This really is the kindest way in such a frigid country.  Far better that a few babies die then that they should be incurable invalids in a country where there is scant medical attention.


    With the death of my brother it became necessary to have my studies intensified, because when I was seven years of age I should have to enter upon training for whatever career the astrologers suggested.  In Tibet everything is decided by astrology, from the buying of a yak to the decision about one's career.  Now the time was approaching, just before my seventh birthday, when mother would give a really big party to which nobles and others of high rank would be invited to hear the forecast of the astrologers.





    Mother was decidedly plump, she had a round face and black hair.  Tibetan women wear a sort of wooden framework on their head and over this the hair is draped to make it as ornamental as possible.  These frames were very elaborate affairs, they were  frequently of crimson lacquer, studded with semi-precious stones and inlaid with jade and coral.  With well-oiled hair the effect was very brilliant.


   Tibetan women use very gay clothes, with many reds and greens and yellows.  In most instances there would be an apron of one colour with a vivid horizontal stripe of a contrasting but harmonious colour.  Then there was the earring at the left ear, its size depending on the rank of the wearer.  Mother, being a member of one of the leading families, had an earring more than six inches long.


   We believe that women should have absolutely equal rights with men, but in the running of the house mother went further than that and was the undisputed dictator, an autocrat who knew what she wanted and always got it.

    In the stir and flurry of preparing the house and the grounds for the party she was indeed in her element.  There was organizing to be done, commands to be given, and new schemes to outshine the the neighbors to be thought out.  She excelled at this  having travelled extensively with father to India, Peking, and Shanghai, she had a wealth of foreign thought at her disposal.     

The date having been decided for the party, invitations were carefully written out by monk-scribes on the thick, hand-made which was always used for communications of the highest imprtance.  Each invitation was about twelve inches wide by about two feet long: each invitation bore father's family seal, and as mother also was of the upper ten, her seal had to go on as well. Father and mother had a joint seal, this bringing the total to three Altogether the invitations were most imposing documents.  It frightened me immensely to think that all this fuss was solely about me.  I did not know that I was really of secondary impor- tance, and that the Social Event came first.  If I had been told that the magnificence of the party would confer great prestige upon my parents, it would have conveyed absolutely nothing to me, so I went on being frightened.     

We had engaged special messengers to deliver these invitations; each man was mounted on a thoroughbred horse.  Each carried a cleft stick, in which was lodged an invitation. The stick was surmounted by a replica of the family coat of arms.  The sticks were gaily decorated with printed prayers which waved in the wind. There was pandemonium in the courtyard as all the messengers got  ready to leave at the same time.  The attendants were hoarse with shouting, horses were neighing, and the huge black mastiffs were barking madly.  There was a last-minute gulping of Tibetan beer before the mugs were put down with a clatter as the ponderous main gates rumbled open, and the troop of men with wild yells galloped out.     

 In Tibet messengers deliver a written message, but also give an oral version which may be quite different.  In days of long ago bandits would waylay messengers and act upon the written message, perhaps attacking an ill-defended house or procession It became the habit to write a misleading message which often lured bandits to where they could be captured. This old custom of written and oral messages was a survival of the past.  Even now, sometimes the two messages would differ, but the oral version was always accepted as correct.                                                    

    Inside the house everything was bustle and turmoil.  The walls were cleaned and recoloured, the floors were scraped and the wooden boards polished until they were really dangerous to walk upon.  The carved wooden altars in the main rooms were polished and relacquered and many new butter lamps were put in use. Some of these lamps were gold and some were silver, but they were all polished so much that it was difficult to see which was which.  All the time mother and the head steward were hurrying around, criticizing here, ordering there, and generally giving the servants a miserable time. We had more than fifty servants at the time and others were engaged for the forthcoming occasion. They were all kept busy, but they all worked with a will.  Even the courtyard was scraped until the stones shone as if newly quarried. The spaces between them were filled with coloured material to add to the gap appearance.  When all this was done, the unfortunate servants were called before mother and commanded to wear only the cleanest of clean clothes.     

 In the kitchens there was tremendous activity; food was being prepared in enormous quantities. Tibet is a natural refrigerator, food can be prepared and kept for an almost indefinite time. The climate is very, very cold, and dry with it. But even when the temp- erature rises, the dryness keeps stored food good.  Meat will keep for about a year, while grain keeps for hundreds of years.     

Buddhists do not kill, so the only meat available is from animals which have fallen over cliffs, or been killed by accident. Our larders were well stocked with such meat. There are butchers in Tibet, but they are of an “untouchable” caste, and the more orthodox families do not deal with them at all.     

 Mother had decided to give the guests a rare and expensive treat. She was going to give them preserved rhododendron blooms. Weeks before, servants had ridden out from the courtyard to go to the foothills of the Himalaya where the choicest blooms were to be found.  In our country, rhododendron trees grow to a huge size, and with an astonishing variety of colours and scents.  Those blooms which have not quite reached maturity are picked and most carefully washed.  Carefully, because if there is any bruising, the preserve will be ruined.  Then each flower is immersed in a mixture of water and honey in a large glass jar, with special care to avoid trapping any air. The jar is sealed, and every day for weeks after the jars are placed in the sunlight and turned at regular intervals, so that all parts of the flower are adequately exposed to the light.  The flower grows slowly, and becomes filled with nectar manufactured from the honey-water. Some people like to expose the flower to the air for a few days before eating, so that it dries and becomes a little crisp, but without losing flavour or appearance These people also sprinkle a little sugar on the petals to imitate snow.  Father grumbled about the expense of these preserves : “We could have bought ten yak with calves for what you have spent on these pretty flowers,” he said.  Mother's reply was typical of women: “Don't be a fool!  We must make a show, and anyhow, this is my side of the house.”     

 Another delicacy was shark's fin.  This was brought from China sliced up, and made into soup.  Someone had said that “shark's fin soup is the world's greatest gastronomic treat”.  To me the stuff tasted terrible; it was an ordeal to swallow it, especially as by the time it reached Tibet, the original shark owner would not have recognized it.  To state it mildly, it was slightly “off”.  That, to some, seemed to enhance the flavour.     

 My favorite was succulent young bamboo shoots, also brought from China. These could be cooked in various ways, but I preferred them raw with just a dab of salt.  My choice was just the newly opening yellow-green ends.  I am afraid that many shoots, before cooking, lost their ends in a manner at which the cook could only guess and not prove!  Rather a pity, because the cook also preferred them that way.     

 Cooks in Tibet are men; women are no good at stirring tsampa; or making exact mixtures.  Women take a handful of this, slap in a lump of that, and season with hope that it will be right.  Men are more thorough, more painstaking, and so better cooks.  Women are all right for dusting, talking, and, of course, for a few other things.   Not for making tsampa, though.     

 Tsampa is the main food of Tibetans.  Some people live on tsampa and tea from their first meal in life to their last.  It is made from barley which is roasted to a nice crisp golden brown.  Then the barley kernels are cracked so that the flour is exposed, then it is roasted again. This flour is then put in a bowl, and hot buttered tea is added.  The mixture is stirred until it attains the consistency of dough.  Salt, borax, and yak butter are added to taste.  The result —tsampa—can be rolled into slabs, made into buns, or even molded into decorative shapes.  Tsampa is monotonous stuff alone, but it really is a very compact, concentrated food which will sustain life at all altitudes and under all conditions.     

 While some servants were making tsampa, others were making butter. Our butter-making methods could not be commended on hygienic grounds.  Our churns were large goat-skin bags, with the hair inside.  They were filled with yak or goat milk and the neck was then twisted, turned over, and tied to make it leakproof.  The whole thing was then bumped up and down until butter was  formed.  We had a special butter-making floor  which had stone protuberances about eighteen inches high. The bags full of milk were lifted and dropped on to these protuberances, which had the effect of “churning” the milk.  It was monotonous to see and hear perhaps ten servants lifting and dropping these bags hour after hour.  There was the indrawn “uh uh” as the bag was lifted, and the squashy “zunk” as it was dropped.  Sometimes a carelessly handled or old bag would burst.  I remember one really hefty fellow who was showing off his strength.  He was working twice as fast as anyone else, and the veins were standing out on his neck with the exertion.  Someone said: “You are getting old, Timon, you are slowing up.”  Timon grunted with rage and grasped the neck of the bag in his mighty hands; lifted it, and dropped the bag down.  But his strength had done its work.  The bag dropped, but Timon still had his hands—and the neck—in the air.  Square on the stone protuberance dropped the bag.  Up shot a column of half-formed butter.  Straight into the face of a stupefied Timon it went.  Into his mouth, eyes, ears, and hair.  Running down his body, covering him with twelve to fifteen gallons of golden slush.     

 Mother, attracted by the noise, rushed in.  It was the only time I have known her to be speechless.  It may have been rage at the loss of the butter, or because she thought the poor fellow was choking; but she ripped off the torn goat-skin and thwacked poor Timon over the head with it.  He lost his footing on the slippery floor, and dropped into the spreading butter mess.     

 Clumsy workers, such as Timon, could ruin the butter.  If they were careless when plunging the bags on to the protruding stones, they would cause the hair inside the bags to tear loose and become mixed with the butter.  No one minded picking a dozen or two hairs out of the butter, but whole wads of it was frowned upon. Such butter was set aside for use in the lamps or for distribution to beggars, who would heat it and strain it through a piece of cloth. Also set aside for beggars were the “mistakes” in culinary preparations.  If a household wanted to let the neighbors know what a high standard was set, really good food was prepared and set before the beggars as “mistakes”.  These happy, well-fed gentlemen would then wander round to the other houses saying how well they had eaten.  The neighbors would respond by seeing that the beggars had a very good meal.  There is much to be said for the life of a beggar in Tibet.  They never want; by using the “tricks of their trade” they can live exceedingly well.  There is no disgrace in begging in most of the Eastern countries.  Many monks beg their way from lamasery to lamasery.  It is a recognized practice and is not considered any worse than is, say, collecting for charities in other countries.  Those who feed a monk on his way are considered to have done a good deed.  Beggars, too; have their code.  If a man gives to a beggar, that beggar will stay out of the way and will not approach the donor again for a certain time.     

 The two priests attached to our household also had their part in the preparations for the coming event.  They went to each animal carcass in our larders and said prayers for the souls of the animals who had inhabited those bodies. It was our belief that if an animal was killed—even by accident—and eaten, humans would be under a debt to that animal.  Such debts were paid by having a priest pray over the animal body in the hope of ensuring that the animal reincarnated into a higher status in the next life upon earth.  In the lamaseries and temples some monks devoted their whole time praying for animals. Our priests had the task of praying over the horses, before a long journey, prayers to avoid the horses becoming too tired.  In this connection, our horses were never worked for two days together.  If a horse was ridden on one day, then it had to be rested the next day.  The same rule applied to the work animals. And they all knew it.  If, by any chance a horse was picked for riding, and it had been ridden the day before, it would just stand still and refuse to move. When the saddle was removed, it would turn away with a shake of the head as if to say: “Well, I'm glad that injustice has been removed!”  Donkeys were worse. They would wait until they were loaded, and then they would 1ie down and try to roll on the load.     

 We had three cats, and they were on duty all the time.  One lived in the stables and exercised a stern discipline over the mice. They had to be very wary mice to remain mice and not cat-food. Another cat lived in the kitchen.  He was elderly, and a bit of a simpleton. His mother had been frightened by the guns of the Younghusband Expedition in 1904, and he had been born too soon and was the only one of the litter to live.  Appropriately, he was called “Younghusband”.  The third cat was a very respectable, matron who lived with us.  She was a model of maternal duty, and did her utmost to see that the cat population was not allowed to fall. When not engaged as nurse to her kittens, she used to follow mother about from room to room.  She was small and black, and in spite of having a hearty appetite, she looked like a walking skeleton.  Tibetan animals are not pets, nor are they slaves, they are beings with a useful purpose to serve, being with rights just as human beings have rights.  According to Buddhist belief, all animals, all creatures in fact, have souls, and are reborn to earth in successively higher stages.     

 Quickly the replies to our invitations came in. Men came galloping up to our gales brandishing the cleft messinger-sticks. Down from his room would come the steward to do honour to the messenger of the nobles.  The man would snatch his message from the stick, and gasp out the verbal version.  Then he would sag at the knees and sink to the ground with exquisite histrionic art to indicate that he had given all his strength to deliver his message to the House of Rampa. Our servants would play their part by crowding round with many clucks: “Poor fellow, he made a wonderfully quick journey.  Burst his heart with the speed, no doubt.  Poor, noble fellow!”  I once disgraced myself completely by piping up : “Oh no he hasn't.  I saw him resting a little way out so that he could make a final dash.” It will be discreet to draw a veil of silence over the painful scene which followed.     

 At last the day arrived. The day I dreaded, when my career was to be decided for me, with no choice on my part. The first rays of the sun were peeping over the distant mountains when a servant dashed into my room.  “What? Not up yet, Tuesday Lobsang Rampa?  My, you are a lie-a-bed!  It's four o'clock, and there is much to be done. Get up!”  I pushed aside my blanket and got to my feet.  For me this day was to point the path of my life.     

 In Tibet, two names are given, the first being the day of the week on which one was born.  I was born on a 'Tuesday, so Tuesday was my first name.  Then Lobsang, that was the name given to me by my parents. But if a boy should enter a lamasery he would be given another name, his “monk name”.  Was I to be given another name?  Only the passing hours would tell.  I, at seven, wanted to be a boatman swaying and tossing on the River Tsang-po, forty miles away.  But wait a minute; did I?   Boatmen are of low caste because they use boats of yak hide stretched over wooden formers.  Boat- man!  Low caste?  No!  I wanted to be a professional flyer of  kites. That was better, to be as free as the air, much better than being in a degrading little skin boat drifting on a turgid stream.  A kite flyer, that is what I would be, and make wonderful kites with huge heads and glaring eyes.  But today the priest-astrologers would have their say.  Perhaps I'd left it a bit late, I could not get out of the window and escape now.  Father would soon send men to bring me back.  No, after all, I was a Rampa, and had to follow the steps of tradition.  Maybe the astrologers would say that I should be a kite flyer.  I could only wait and see.

Tuesday Lobsang Rampa was a very popular writer who claimed to have been a Lama in Tibet before spending the second part of his life in the body of a British man, Cyril Henry Hoskin, who described himself as the "host" of T. Lobsang Rampa.

To many, Dr. Rampa was a revolutionary of his time, one of the first of the Eastern teachers to bring Buddhism and metaphysics to the West in a popular fashion. He wrote many books about spiritual matters, beginning with "The Third Eye".

Lobsang Rampa attempts to teach the timeless universal truths, pointing along the spiritual path. Dr. Rampa's books also discuss the state of humanity's progress and he shows how we can be a positive force for good, thus improving ourselves and helping our fellow humans and all sentient beings.

Look for the next chapter in The Third Eye by T. Lobsang Rampa in the next edition of our newsletter.  To read other books by T. Lobsang Rampa, visit our free Ebook section by clicking  Here.



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News:  Respecting and Supporting Your Financial Confidentiality
We have received emails and telephone calls from several visitors to our website asking if they could make a purchase by telephone.   Some do not feel confident providing credit card information on the Internet.  In response to this request, The Conscious Living Foundation is proud to announce that we are now able to accept your credit card payments by calling us at 818/502-9096.  If you call during non-office hours, please leave your phone number and we'll call you back.

In addition, in the past it was necessary to go through PayPal in order to make purchases from our website.  This is no longer the case.  If you prefer using PayPal to make your purchases, that option is still available.  However, we are now able to process all major credit and debit cards directly through our website without going through PayPal.  This increases the simplicity and decreases the time involved in making a purchase through us.  We now accept Visa, Mastercard, Discover and American Express.

Our goal is to make your shopping experience as relaxing and simple as possible.  Thank you for your continuing suggestions! 

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Essay:  Hold To The Good                                    by Ernest Holmes                                  



All Manifestation of Life is from and invisible to a visible plane; and it is a silent, effortless process of spiritual realization. We must unify, in our own mentalities, with Pure Spirit. To each of us, individually, God, or Spirit, is the Supreme Personality of the Universe; the Supreme Personality of that which we, ourselves, are. It is only as the relationship of the individual to this Deity becomes enlarged that he has a consciousness of power.

There should always be a recognition in treatment of the Absolute Unity of God and man; the Oneness, Inseparability, Indivisibility, Changelessness; God as the Big Circle, and man as the little circle. Man is in God and God is in man; just as a drop of water is in the ocean, while the ocean is in the drop of water. This is the recognition Jesus had when He said: "I and my Father are One." There is a Perfect Union; and to the degree that we are conscious of this Union we incorporate this consciousness in our word, and our word has just as much power as we put in it, no more and no less.

Within this Infinite Mind each individual exists, not as a separated, but as a separate, entity. We are a point in Universal Consciousness, which is God, and God is our Life, Spirit, Mind and Intelligence. We are not separated from Life, neither is It separated from us; but we are separate entities in It, Individualized Centers of God's Consciousness.

We came from Life and are in Life, so we are One with Life; and we know that Instinctive Life within, which has brought us to the point of self-recognition, still knows in us the reason for all things, the purpose underlying all things; and we know that there is nothing in us of fear, doubt or confusion which can hinder the flow of Reality to the point of our recognition. We are guided, daily, by Divine Intelligence into paths of peace wherein the soul recognizes its Source and meets It in joyful Union, in complete At-one-ment.


Such is the power of clear thought that it penetrates things; it removes obstructions, the reason being that there is nothing but consciousness, nothing but Mind. The only instrument of Mind is idea. See with perfect clearness and never become discouraged nor overcome by a sense of limitation. Know this:—that the Truth with which you are dealing is absolute. All of God, all of Truth, all there is, is at the point of man's recognition; and every time you give a treatment, and all the way through it, keep bringing this back to your remembrance.

Never struggle; say, "There is nothing to struggle over; everything is mine by Divine Right; Infinite Intelligence is my Intelligence; Divine Love is my Love; Limitless Freedom is my Freedom; Perfect Joy is my Gladness; Limitless Life is my Energy."

Let us BLIND OURSELVES TO NEGATION, as far as we are mentally able to. LET US NOT TALK, THINK, OR READ ABOUT ANYTHING DESTRUCTIVE, whether it be war, pestilence, famine, poverty, sickness, or limitation of any kind. Looking at this from a practical standpoint, there is all to win and nothing to lose. The rapid progress we would make if we should do this would be wonderful.

We are always dealing with First Cause. Nothing else can equal the satisfaction that comes to one when he perceives himself, from the silence of his own soul and the activity of his own thought, actually bringing about a condition without the aid of visible instrumentalities. There is nothing else as satisfying as to heal some disease purely by the power of thought; this shows that we are dealing with First Cause.

We must definitely neutralize confusion and doubt. We should take time, daily, to conceive of ourselves as being tranquil, poised, powerful,—always in control of every situation; as being always the highest concept of the Divine which we can imagine. We should never hesitate to think of ourselves in this way. The Ancients used to teach their pupils to say to themselves—"Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful me!"—until they lost sight of themselves as Mary Smith or John Jones, and perceived themselves as Divine Realities. Then, when they came

back to the objectivity of Mary Smith and John Jones, they brought with them that subtle power which distinguishes Spiritual Growth,—the Atmosphere of Reality.



Who is man? He is the Christ. Who is the Christ? The Son, begotten of the only Father;—not the only begotten Son of God. Christ means the Universal Idea of Sonship, of which each is a Member. That is why we are spoken of as Members of that One Body; and why we are told to have that Mind in us "which was also in Christ Jesus." Each partakes of the Christ Nature to the degree that the Christ is revealed through him, and to that degree he becomes the Christ. We should turn to that Living Presence within, Which is the Father in Heaven, recognize It as the One and Only Power in the Universe, unify with It, declare our word to be the presence, power and activity of that One, and speak the word as if we believed it; because the Law is the servant of the Spirit.

If we could stand aside and let the One Perfect Life flow through us, we could not help healing people. This is the highest form of healing.

We have gone through all of our abstract processes of reasoning and have found out what the Law is and how It works; now we can forget all about It, and know that there is nothing

but the Word; the Law will be working automatically. We must forget everything else, and let our word be spoken with a deep inner realization of love, beauty, peace, poise, power, and of the great Presence of Life at the point of our own consciousness.


We do not dare to throw ourselves with abandonment into a seeming void; but if we did, we would find our feet planted firmly on a rock, for there is a place in the mentality, in the heights of its greatest realizations, where it throws itself with complete abandonment into the very center of the Universe. There is a point in the supreme moment of realization where the individual merges with the Universe, but not to the loss of his individuality; where a sense of the Oneness of all Life so enters his being that there is no sense of otherness; it is here that the mentality performs seeming miracles, because there is nothing to hinder the Whole from coming through. We can do this only by providing the great mental equivalents of Life, by dwelling and meditating upon the immensity of Life; and yet as vast, as immense, as limitless as It is, the whole of It is brought to the point of our own consciousness.

We comprehend the Infinite only to the degree that It expresses Itself through us, becoming to us that which we believe It to be. And so we daily practice in our meditations the realizations of Life:—"Infinite, indwelling Spirit within me, Almighty God within me, Perfect Peace within me, Complete Satisfaction within me, Real Substance within me; that which is the Truth within me." "I am the Truth," Jesus said. He said: "I am the way; I am the Life; no man cometh unto the Father but by Me." How true it is! We cannot come unto the Father Which art in Heaven except through our own nature.

Right here, through our own nature, is the gateway and the path that gradually leads to illumination, to realization, to inspiration, to the intuitive perception of everything.

The highest faculty in man is intuition, and it comes to a point sometimes where, with no process of reasoning at all, he realizes the Truth intuitively. So we should daily meditate, particularly if we are practicing right along.


The Conscious Living Foundation is proud to offer its recording of one of Ernest Holmes most famous books, "Creative Mind and Success".  To learn more about the recording and hear several FREE selections on such topics as:

- How to attract friends
- An affirmation on love
- The power of words
     - Old age and opportunity
      - Money as a spiritual idea
                                               - How to know just what to do
                                  - Developing Intuition
                                   - What we will attract

Just click Here.

We are also pleased to announce the recent release of "Affirmations of Ernest Holmes" - a collection of 20 of Dr. Holmes' most powerful and effective affirmations and treatments.  Each of the affirmations was designed by him to create the best mental attitude and sense of feeling that will promote positive change according to the subject matter of the affirmation.

The affirmations cover a wide range of topics from healing and excellent health, to increased abundance and prosperity, to a greater sense of uni8ty and oneness with Spirit.  These affirmations have been practiced by hundreds of thousands of people for decades and have been found to work with great effectiveness.

To hear several free samples from this wonderful recording, please click Here.

If you enjoy our inspirational stories and articles, be sure to visit our website for more:
Articles on Personal Growth, Health and Positive Change - Click Here.
Inspiring Stories - Click Here.
Affirmations - Click Here.
Spiritual Poems - Click Here.


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Affirmation:  (Selection from The Conscious Word Daily Affirmation)                       


God is truly mine

And I am becoming

An inlet and an outlet

For all that is in God.

I claim the inheritance that

God wants me to have in my daily life.



(The preceding is a selection from our daily affirmation, emailed directly to you each morning, called The Conscious Word.  You can obtain more information by clicking Here.) 


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To visit the Bath and Body section of our catalog, which contains a wide variety of Bath Gift Sets, Perfumes, Women's Pajamas, Bathroom Decor Sets, Pillows, Head and Hair products and Cosmetics - please click Here.



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Essay:  Celebrating Ignorance               by Steve Roberts

I recall an anecdote about a father who boarded a subway train with his two young sons, ages eight and 10 in my mind’s eye.  The boys were especially unruly, racing around, screaming, throwing themselves on the floor and on each other.  This annoyed other passengers no end.  One of them finally sniffed to the dad, you should learn to control your children; there’s no call for them to bother everyone else.  The dad said, yes, I wish I could.  The thing is, we are on our way home from the hospital where their mother just died, and neither they nor I know what to do with all the pain we feel.

The lesson of history I celebrate most is that everything we know is wrong.  Not wrong the opposite of right; but wrong incomplete, short-sighted.  In St. Mike’s grammar school we kids were told that to be safe should a Russian nuclear missile hit our playground we needed to hide under our desks.  Life, I find, includes one reminder after another that whatever we “know for sure” will, in all likelihood, sooner or later—in this incarnation or another—be reclassified somewhere along the continuum from “not quite the whole story” to “nutty as hell.” 

Why is this worth celebrating?  Because of its ability to deepen our appreciation of that rarest and most valuable of human activities: not taking ourselves seriously. 

As I write this, there’s a reasonable chance that our next president will be either a woman or an African-American man—which, I have on good authority, has prompted more than a few of us to bet the cookie jar that hell has frozen over.

Our ignorance isn’t an absence of mental horsepower, goodness knows.  If we put our mind to it we could clone a chicken and a pig and cut the work of making ham & eggs by half.  We could also meaningfully reverse global warming; improve our rapport with other cultures to the point of lessening violent conflict; and see to it that no one is financially devastated because of his or her health…to name three of countless opportunities we have the smarts to meet—but not, so far, the collective maturity.  And maturity, to me, is measured by the extent to which our actions are rooted in the awareness that our well-being and the well-being of others are one.  (A tall order, my own track record suggests.) 

Remember that sign: “Teenagers: Leave home now while you still know everything”?  I feel that’s who we are as a species: relatively immature and so full of ourselves we’re blind to it.  Which is really good news when you think about it.  It means we’re growing up.  Imagine who we’ll be five thousand years from now.  In fact, I see our descendants in 7008 being awestruck that we 21st century stewards of spaceship earth managed to survive while holding so many wild beliefs.  Such as: there are things more important than kindness; it’s possible to be superior or inferior to another; forces outside myself are responsible for my happiness—and of course no woman in her right mind would be seen in public without her nails done.  

Celebrating ignorance is not so much about letting go of our convictions as it is about holding them more lightly: giving ourselves a break that, just maybe, believe it or not, astonishing as it may be, there’s more to life than we perceive.

The Dalai Lama was once asked what he would do if science proved that his Buddhist beliefs were erroneous.  He didn’t say impossible.  He didn’t say, why these teachings are eternal verities unassailable by logic.  No.  Instead, not missing a beat, His Holiness laughed and said, “I’d change my mind.” 

How easily could we answer the same?


To find out more about Steve, see examples of his stone sculptures or read a chapter from his book, click Here.

 Steve Roberts is the author of Cool Mind Warm Heart, a collection of essays, stories, and photographs of stone sculptures he builds on his Vermont farm.  He can be found on the web at CoolMindWarmHeart.com and at TheHeartOfTheEarth.com.

If you enjoy our inspirational stories and articles, be sure to visit our website for more:
Articles on Personal Growth, Health and Positive Change - Click Here.
Inspiring Stories - Click Here.

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News:  The Conscious Word and Conscious Wisdom are Now Available With A 2 Week FREE Trial

The Conscious Word is an email newsletter sent directly to you each day.  Each issue contains an inspirational affirmation designed to help uplift your spirits and support your conscious efforts at personal and spiritual growth and development.

By practicing the affirmation which we email to you, for 3 to 4 minutes a day, you create an effective tool that will help you experience an ongoing positive change in your life. 

We all “know” many things.  However, “knowing” something, in and of itself, does not make it “true” to us.  We can read all about oranges; we can look at pictures of oranges and we can talk to people who have eaten oranges.  But, until we taste the orange ourselves, we do not truly understand the full truth about what an orange is. 

Likewise, we can experience the “truth”, the real nature, of many more subtle and essential concepts by “tasting” them.  One of the capabilities of an affirmation is to provide us with a “taste” of the subject matter of the affirmation.

However, something else is also at work in an affirmation.  One of the secrets of the universe is that when a human believes something is so, it becomes what he or she believes.

Jesus said “Verily I say unto you, if ye have faith and doubt not, ye shall not only do this which is done to the fig tree, but also if ye shall say unto this mountain, `Be thou removed and be thou cast into the sea,' it shall be done.  And all things whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive.”  (Book of Matthew verses 21 and 22)

The key words in this quote are “If ye have faith and doubt not..” and “all things whatsoever ye shall ask believing..”

Jesus is describing this receptivity of the universe to human belief.  However, there are requirements for this belief to be effective.  Jesus says we must have “faith” without doubt and that we must “believe” as we ask.

James Allen’s famous premise “As a man Thinketh, so it is” expresses this same truth.

In essence, when we become utterly convinced of the truth of something, which means we have absolutely no doubts about it, the universe will be molded and shaped to match our conviction.  The challenging part is to find a way to become convinced of something that is not yet actualized.  To cultivate our faith.  This is where affirmations can help.

By taking a thought or collection of thoughts and impressing them deeply upon the mind with persistence and concentration,  a conviction can be cultivated.  Developing our own personal convictions, especially about ourselves, and then deepening and persisting in those convictions is a major key to our health, happiness and success in life.

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Serial:  A Romance of Two Worlds          by Marie Corelli                      


We live in an age of universal inquiry, ergo of universal scepticism. The prophecies of the poet, the dreams of the philosopher and scientist, are being daily realized--things formerly considered mere fairy-tales have become facts--yet, in spite of the marvels of learning and science that are hourly accomplished among us, the attitude of mankind is one of disbelief. "There is no God!" cries one theorist; "or if there be one, _I_ can obtain no proof of His existence!" "There is no Creator!" exclaims another. "The Universe is simply a rushing together of atoms." "There can be no immortality," asserts a third. "We are but dust, and to dust we shall return." "What is called by idealists the SOUL," argues another, "is simply the vital principle composed of heat and air, which escapes from the body at death, and mingles again with its native element. A candle when lit emits flame; blow out the light, the flame vanishes--where? Would it not be madness to assert the flame immortal? Yet the soul, or vital principle of human existence, is no more than the flame of a candle."

If you propound to these theorists the eternal question WHY?--why is the world in existence? why is there a universe? why do we live? why do we think and plan? why do we perish at the last?--their grandiose reply is, "Because of the Law of Universal Necessity." They cannot explain this mysterious Law to themselves, nor can they probe deep enough to find the answer to a still more tremendous WHY--namely, WHY, is there a Law of Universal Necessity?--but they are satisfied with the result of their reasonings, if not wholly, yet in part, and seldom try to search beyond that great vague vast Necessity, lest their finite brains should reel into madness worse than death. Recognizing, therefore, that in this cultivated age a wall of scepticism and cynicism is gradually being built up by intellectual thinkers of every nation against all that treats of the Supernatural and Unseen, I am aware that my narration of the events I have recently experienced will be read with incredulity. At a time when the great empire of the Christian Religion is being assailed, or politely ignored by governments and public speakers and teachers, I realize to the fullest extent how daring is any attempt to prove, even by a plain history of strange occurrences happening to one's self, the actual existence of the Supernatural around us; and the absolute certainty of a future state of being, after the passage through that brief soul-torpor in which the body perishes, known to us as Death.

In the present narration, which I have purposely called a "romance," I do not expect to be believed, as I can only relate what I myself have experienced. I know that men and women of to-day must have proofs, or what they are willing to accept as proofs, before they will credit anything that purports to be of a spiritual tendency;-- something startling--some miracle of a stupendous nature, such as according to prophecy they are all unfit to receive. Few will admit the subtle influence and incontestable, though mysterious, authority exercised upon their lives by higher intelligences than their own-- intelligences unseen, unknown, but felt. Yes! felt by the most careless, the most cynical; in the uncomfortable prescience of danger, the inner forebodings of guilt--the moral and mental torture endured by those who fight a protracted battle to gain the hardly- won victory in themselves of right over wrong--in the thousand and one sudden appeals made without warning to that compass of a man's life, Conscience--and in those brilliant and startling impulses of generosity, bravery, and self-sacrifice which carry us on, heedless of consequences, to the performance of great and noble deeds, whose fame makes the whole world one resounding echo of glory--deeds that we wonder at ourselves even in the performance of them--acts ofheroism in which mere life goes for nothing, and the Soul for a brief space is pre-eminent, obeying blindly the guiding influence of a something akin to itself, yet higher in the realms of Thought.

There are no proofs as to why such things should be; but that they
are, is indubitable. The miracles enacted now are silent ones, and
are worked in the heart and mind of man alone. Unbelief is nearly
supreme in the world to-day. Were an angel to descend from heaven in the middle of a great square, the crowd would think he had got
himself up on pulleys and wires, and would try to discover his
apparatus. Were he, in wrath, to cast destruction upon them, and
with fire blazing from his wings, slay a thousand of them with the
mere shaking of a pinion, those who were left alive would either say that a tremendous dynamite explosion had occurred, or that the
square was built on an extinct volcano which had suddenly broken out into frightful activity. Anything rather than believe in angels--the nineteenth century protests against the possibility of their
existence. It sees no miracle--it pooh-poohs the very enthusiasm
that might work them.

"Give a positive sign," it says; "prove clearly that what you say is
true, and I, in spite of my Progress and Atom Theory, will believe."
The answer to such a request was spoken eighteen hundred years and more ago. "A faithless and perverse generation asketh for a sign, and no sign shall be given unto them."

Were I now to assert that a sign had been given to ME--to me, as one out of the thousands who demand it--such daring assurance on my part would meet with the most strenuous opposition from all who peruse the following pages; each person who reads having his own ideas on all subjects, and naturally considering them to be the best if not the only ideas worth anything. Therefore I wish it to be plainly understood that in this book I personally advocate no new theory of either religion or philosophy; nor do I hold myself answerable for the opinions expressed by any of my characters. My aim throughout is to let facts speak for themselves. If they seem strange, unreal, even impossible, I can only say that the things of the invisible world must always appear so to those whose thoughts and desires are centred on this life only.




In the winter of 1887, I was afflicted by a series of nervous ailments, brought on by overwork and over-worry. Chief among these was a protracted and terrible insomnia, accompanied by the utmost depression of spirits and anxiety of mind. I became filled with the gloomiest anticipations of evil; and my system was strung up by slow degrees to such a high tension of physical and mental excitement, that the quietest and most soothing of friendly voices had no other effect upon me than to jar and irritate.

Work was impossible; music, my one passion, intolerable; books became wearisome to my sight; and even a short walk in the open air brought with it such lassitude and exhaustion, that I soon grew to dislike the very thought of moving out of doors. In such a condition of health, medical aid became necessary; and a skilful and amiable physician, Dr. Moore of great repute in nervous ailments, attended me for many weeks, with but slight success. He was not to blame, poor man, for his failure to effect a cure. He had only one way of treatment, and he applied it to all his patients with more or less happy results. Some died, some recovered; it was a lottery on which my medical friend staked his reputation, and won. The patients who died were never heard of more- -those who recovered sang the praises of their physician everywhere, and sent him gifts of silver plate and hampers of wine, to testify their gratitude. His popularity was very great; his skill considered marvelous; and his inability to do me any good arose, I must perforce imagine, out of some defect or hidden obstinacy in my constitution, which was to him a new experience, and for which he was unprepared. Poor Dr. Moore!  How many bottles of your tastily prepared and expensive medicines have I not swallowed, in blind confidence and blinder ignorance of the offences I thus committed against all the principles of that Nature within me, which, if left to itself, always heroically struggles to recover its own proper balance and effect its own cure; but which, if subjected to the experimental tests of various poisons or drugs, often loses strength in the unnatural contest and sinks exhausted, perhaps never to rise with actual vigor again.

Baffled in his attempts to remedy my ailments, Dr, Moore at last resorted to the usual plan adopted by all physicians when their medicines have no power. He recommended change of air and scene, and urged my leaving London, then dark with the fogs of a dreary winter, for the gaiety and sunshine and roses of the Riviera. The idea was not unpleasant to me, and I determined to take the advice proffered. Hearing of my intention, some American friends of mine, Colonel Everard and his charming young wife, decided to accompany me, sharing with me the expenses of the journey and hotel accommodation. We left London all together on a damp foggy evening, when the cold was so intense that it seemed to bite the flesh like the sharp teeth of an animal, and after two days' rapid journey, during which I felt my spirits gradually rising, and my gloomy forebodings vanishing slowly one by one, we arrived at Cannes, and put up at the Hotel de Louvre.  It was a lovely place, and most beautifully situated; the garden was a perfect wilderness of roses in full bloom, and an avenue of orange-trees beginning to flower cast a delicate fragrance on the warm delicious air.

Mrs. Everard was delighted.



"If you do not recover your health here," she said half laughingly to me on the second morning after our arrival, "I am afraid your case is hopeless. What sunshine! What a balmy wind! It is enough to make a cripple cast away his crutches and forget he was ever lame. Don't you think so?" 

I smiled in answer, but inwardly I sighed. Beautiful as the scenery, the air, and the general surroundings were, I could not disguise from myself that the temporary exhilaration of my feelings, caused by the novelty and excitement of my journey to Cannes, was slowly but surely passing away. The terrible apathy, against which I had fought for so many months, was again creeping over me with its cruel and resistless force.

I did my best to struggle against it; I walked, I rode, I laughed and chatted with Mrs. Everard and her husband, and forced myself into sociability with some of the visitors at the hotel, who were disposed to show us friendly attention. I summoned all my stock of will-power to beat back the insidious physical and mental misery that threatened to sap the very spring of my life; and in some of these efforts I partially succeeded. But it was at night that the terrors of my condition manifested themselves. Then sleep forsook my eyes; a dull throbbing weight of pain encircled my head like a crown of thorns; nervous terrors shook me from head to foot; fragments of my own musical compositions hummed in my ears with wearying persistence--fragments that always left me in a state of distressed conjecture; for I never could remember how they ended, and I puzzled myself vainly over notes and harmonies that never would consent to arrange themselves in any sort of finale.

So the days went on; for Colonel Everard and his wife, those days were full of merriment, sight-seeing, and enjoyment. For me, though outwardly I appeared to share in the universal gaiety, they were laden with increasing despair and wretchedness; for I began to lose hope of ever recovering my once buoyant health and strength, and, what was even worse, I seemed to have utterly parted with all working ability. I was young, and up to within a few months life had stretched brightly before me, with the prospect of a brilliant career. And now what was I? A wretched invalid--a burden to myself and to others--a broken spar flung with other fragments of ship wrecked lives on the great ocean of Time, there to be whirled away and forgotten. But a rescue was approaching; a rescue sudden and marvelous, of which, in my wildest fancies, I had never dreamed.

Staying in the same hotel with us was a young Italian artist, Raffaello Cellini by name. His pictures were beginning to attract a great deal of notice, both in Paris and Rome: not only for their faultless drawing, but for their wonderfully exquisite coloring. So deep and warm and rich were the hues he transferred to his canvases, that others of his art, less fortunate in the management of the palette, declared he must have invented some foreign compound whereby he was enabled to deepen and brighten his colors for the time being; but that the effect was only temporary, and that his pictures, exposed to the air for some eight or ten years, would fade away rapidly, leaving only the traces of an indistinct blur. Others, more generous, congratulated him on having discovered the secrets of the old masters. In short, he was admired, condemned, envied, and flattered, all in a breath; while he himself, being of a singularly serene and unruffled disposition, worked away incessantly, caring little or nothing for the world's praise or blame.

Cellini had a pretty suite of rooms in the Hotel de Louvre, and my friends Colonel and Mrs. Everard fraternized with him very warmly. He was by no means slow to respond to their overtures of friendship, and so it happened that his studio became a sort of lounge for us, where we would meet to have tea, to chat, to look at the pictures, or to discuss our plans for future enjoyment. These visits to Cellini's studio, strange to say, had a remarkably soothing and calming effect upon my suffering nerves. The lofty and elegant room, furnished with that "admired disorder" and mixed luxuriousness peculiar to artists, with its heavily drooping velvet curtains, its glimpses of white marble busts and broken columns, its flash and fragrance of flowers that bloomed in a tiny conservatory opening out from the studio and leading to the garden, where a fountain bubbled melodiously--all this pleased me and gave me a curious, yet most welcome, sense of absolute rest. Cellini himself had a fascination for me, for exactly the same reason.

As an example of this, I remember escaping from Mrs. Everard on one occasion, and hurrying to the most secluded part of the garden, in order to walk up and down alone in an endeavor to calm an attack of nervous agitation which had suddenly seized me. While thus pacing about in feverish restlessness, I saw Cellini approaching, his head bent as if in thought, and his hands clasped behind his back. As he drew near me, he raised his eyes--they were clear and darkly brilliant--he regarded me steadfastly with a kindly smile. Then lifting his hat with the graceful reverence peculiar to an Italian, he passed on, saying no word. But the effect of his momentary presence upon me was remarkable--it was electric. I was no longer agitated. Calmed, soothed and almost happy, I returned to Mrs. Everard, and entered into her plans for the day with so much alacrity that she was surprised and delighted.

"If you go on like this," she said, "you will be perfectly well in a month."

I was utterly unable to account for the remedial influence Raffaello Cellini's presence had upon me; but such as it was I could not but be grateful for the respite it gave me from nervous suffering, and my now daily visits to the artist's studio were a pleasure and a privilege not to be foregone. Moreover, I was never tired of looking at his pictures. His subjects were all original, and some of them were very weird and fantastic. One large picture particularly attracted me. It was entitled "Lords of our Life and Death." Surrounded by rolling masses of cloud, some silver-crested, some shot through with red flame, was depicted the world, as a globe half in light, half in shade. Poised above it was a great angel, upon whose calm and noble face rested a mingled expression of deep sorrow, yearning pity, and infinite regret. Tears seemed to glitter on the drooping lashes of this sweet yet stern spirit; and in his strong right hand he held a drawn sword--the sword of destruction-- pointed forever downwards to the fated globe at his feet.

Beneath this angel and the world he dominated was darkness--utter illimitable darkness. But above him the clouds were torn asunder, and through a transparent veil of light golden mist, a face of surpassing beauty was seen--a face on which youth, health, hope, love, and ecstatic joy all shone with ineffable radiance. It was the personification of Life -- not life as we know it, brief and full of care--but Life Immortal and Love Triumphant. Often I found myself standing before this masterpiece of Cellini's genius, gazing at it, not only with admiration, but with a sense of actual comfort. One afternoon, while resting in my favorite low chair opposite the picture, I roused myself from a reverie, and turning to the artist, who was showing some water-color sketches to Mrs. Everard, I said abruptly:

"Did you imagine that face of the Angel of Life, Signor Cellini, or had you a model to copy from?"

He looked at me and smiled.

"It is a moderately good portrait of an existing original," he said.

"A woman's face then, I suppose? How very beautiful she must be!"

"Actual beauty is sexless," he replied, and was silent. The expression of his face had become abstracted and dreamy, and he turned over the sketches for Mrs. Everard with an air which showed his thoughts to be far away from his occupation.

"And the Death Angel?" I went on. "Had you a model for that also?"

This time a look of relief, almost of gladness, passed over his features.

"No indeed," he answered with ready frankness; "that is entirely my own creation."

I was about to compliment him on the grandeur and force of his poetical fancy, when he stopped me by a slight gesture of his hand.

"If you really admire the picture," he said, "pray do not say so. If it is in truth a work of art, let it speak to you as art only, and spare the poor workman who has called it into existence the shame of having to confess that it is not above human praise. The only true criticism of high art is silence--silence as grand as heaven itself."

He spoke with energy, and his dark eyes flashed. Amy (Mrs. Everard) looked at him curiously.

"Say now!" she exclaimed, with a ringing laugh, "aren't you a little bit eccentric, signor? You talk like a long-haired prophet! I never met an artist before who couldn't stand praise; it is generally a matter of wonder to me to notice how much of that intoxicating sweet they can swallow without reeling. But you're an exception, I must admit. I congratulate you!"

Cellini bowed gaily in response to the half-friendly, half-mocking curtsey she gave him, and, turning to me again, said:

"I have a favor to ask of you, mademoiselle. Will you sit for me to paint your portrait?"

"I!" I exclaimed, with astonishment. "Signor Cellini, I cannot imagine why you should wish so to waste your valuable time. There is nothing in my poor physiognomy worthy of your briefest attention."

"You must pardon me, mademoiselle," he replied gravely, "if I presume to differ from you. I am exceedingly anxious to transfer your features to my canvas. I am aware that you are not in strong health, and that your face has not that roundness and color formerly habitual to it. But I am not an admirer of the milkmaid type of beauty. Everywhere I seek for intelligence, for thought, for inward refinement--in short, mademoiselle, you have the face of one whom the inner soul consumes, and, as such, may I plead again with you to give me a little of your spare time? You will not regret it, I assure you." 

These last words were uttered in a lower tone and with singular impressiveness. I rose from my seat and looked at him steadily; he returned me glance for glance, a strange thrill ran through me, followed by that inexplicable sensation of absolute calm that I had before experienced. I smiled--I could, not help smiling.

"I will come tomorrow," I said.

"A thousand thanks, mademoiselle! Can you be here at noon?"

I looked inquiringly at Amy, who clapped her hands with delighted enthusiasm.

"Of course! Any time you like, signor. "We will arrange our excursions so that they shall not interfere with the sittings. It will be most interesting to watch the picture growing day by day. What will you call it, signor? By some fancy title?"

"It will depend on its appearance when completed," he replied, as he threw open the doors of the studio and bowed us out with his usual ceremonious politeness.

"Au revoir, madame! A demain, mademoiselle!" and the violet velvet curtains of the portiere fell softly behind us as we made our exit.

"Is there not something strange about that young man?" said Mrs. Everard, as we walked through the long gallery of the Hotel de Louvre back to our own rooms. "Something fiendish or angelic, or a little of both qualities mixed up?"

"I think he is what people term peculiar, when they fail to understand the poetical vagaries of genius," I replied. "He is certainly very uncommon."

"Well!" continued my friend meditatively, as she contemplated her pretty mignonne face and graceful figure in a long mirror placed attractively in a corner of the hall through which we were passing; "all I can say is that I wouldn't let him paint my portrait if he were to ask ever so! I should be scared to death. I wonder you, being so nervous, were not afraid of him."

"I thought you liked him," I said.

"So I do. So does my husband. He's awfully handsome and clever, and all that--but his conversation! There now, my dear, you must own he is slightly odd. Why, who but a lunatic would say that the only criticism of art is silence? Isn't that utter rubbish?"

"The only true criticism," I corrected her gently. 

"Well, it's all the same. How can there be any criticism at all in silence? According to his idea when we admire anything, very much we ought to go round with long faces and gags on our mouths. That would be entirely ridiculous! And what was that dreadful thing he said to you?"

"I don't quite understand you," I answered; "I cannot remember his saying anything dreadful."

"Oh, I have it now," continued Amy with rapidity; "it was awful! He said you had the face of one whom the soul consumes. You know that was most horribly mystical! And when he said it he looked--ghastly! What did he mean by it, I wonder?" 

I made no answer; but I thought I knew. I changed the conversation as soon as possible, and my volatile American friend was soon absorbed in a discussion on dress and jewelry . That night was a blessed one for me; I was free from all suffering, and slept as calmly as a child, while in my dreams the face of Cellini's "Angel of life" smiled at me, and seemed to suggest peace.

Marie Corelli was the most widely read author of fiction of her time.  Her works were collected by members of the British Royal Family and by Winston Churchill.  A recurring theme throughout her books was her attempt to reconcile Christianity with reincarnation, astral projection and other mystical topics.

Her books were a very important part of the foundation of today's New Age and New Thought movements.

Look for the next chapter in A Romance of Two Worlds by Marie Corelli in the next edition of our newsletter.  To read other books by Marie Corelli, visit our free Ebook section by clicking  Here.

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News:  Exploring The Free Downloads Library of The Conscious Living Foundation


One of the most popular sections of our website is our Free Downloads Library.  It is made up of several sections which are updated on a continuous basis (Click on any underlined words to go directly to that section):



One of our most popular sections of our website is our free E-Book section, which is divided into two general areas:  Inspirational, Philosophical and Metaphysical E-Books and Literature and Light Entertainment E-Books.  Our collection now contains several hundred E-Books in a variety of popular formats.  We add new selections on a continuous basis.


Titles include works by:  James Allen, Emilie Cady, Catherine Ponder, Walter Lanyon, Charles Filmore, Wallace Wattles, Mary Baker Eddy, Florence Scovel Shin, Ernest Holmes, William Atkinson, Confucius, Aristotle, Henry David Thoreau, Herman Hesse, Signmund Freud, Ralph Waldo Trine, Thomas A Kempis, Rabindranath Tagore, Lao Tze, Paramahansa Yogananda, Krishnamurti, Kahlil Gibran, Buddha, Patanjali, Napoleon Hill, Mahatma Gandhi plus Literature by authors such as:  Jules Verne, Mark Twain, Robert Louis Stevenson, a Sherlock Holmes Collection, Edgar Rice Burroughs, P.G. Wodehouse, Alexander Dumas, H.G. Wells, a Wizard of Oz Collection and hundreds of other titles!


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Our Spoken Word Audio section currently includes recordings made by Mahatma Gandhi, Rabbi Michael Laitman, Billy Graham, Amee Semple McPherson, Kathryn Kulman, William Simpson, Krishnamurti and The Dalai Lama.


In addition, it contains recordings of works such as:  The Book of Proverbs, The Game of Life by Florence Scovel Shin, The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, The Imitation of Christ by Thomas A' Kempis, Practicing The Presence of God by Brother Lawrence, Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan, The Science of Getting Rich by Wallace Wattles, The Dialogs of St. Catherine of Siena and As a Man Thinketh and Byways To Blessedness by James Allen.



(Music and sounds from a variety of sources, styles and historical periods)


Our Music and Audio section contain a wide range of musical styles from various historical periods, but all "spiritual" in nature.  They currently include selections from such albums as:  Yoga Heart Healing, MasterPeace, Harmony in Disarray, Siddartha, Hush and Feel, Gospel Music, Tara Mantras, Soul Calls, The Kyoto Connection, Daughter of Love, Dream World, Buddhist Chanting, Songs For The Soul, Mind Sailing, Timeless Vibrations, Heart of the Mother, Yosemite Suite, Connected, The Cosmic Chants of Paramahansa Yogananda, Marti Walker, Hindu Chants, The Reflecting Pool, Winter Snow and Strings and Root Road Flute.



(Large variety of films and videos, historic and modern, documentary and talks)


Our Video section currently contains:  The Ocean At Dusk - Guided Relaxation, A Biography of Mother Teresa, Meditation and Movement, Imagination Meditation, Laughter Meditation, Music for Meditation and Healing, A CNN Report on the Health Benefits of Meditation, A Biography of Mary Baker Eddy, A Man of God - An Interview with Leonard Ravenhill, Paramahansa Yogananda & Sri Yukteswar, Paramahansa Yogananda & Ramana Maharshi, Paramahansa Yogananda at Mt. Washington, Paramahansa Yogananda on a Walk In New York, Paramahansa Yogananda Demonstrating How To Sleep, Krishnamurti Talks on Freedom, Krishnamurti Talks on Life and Death, Krishnamurti  Talks on Meditation and Krishnamurti Talks on World Suffering.


Still Images

(Nature Pictures, Saints, Sages, Gurus, Mandalas, Chakras, Fine Art)


Our collection of pictures is too large to list in detail, but we promise that you will browse for quite some time in order to see them all.


Complete Audio Classics

(Complete Plays, Radio Dramatizations, Books Read Aloud

and Stories To Entertain The Entire Family

- With a special collection for children)


Our audio classics are dramatic portrayals designed to primarily entertain, but with wholesome content that expresses positive values and that are suitable for the entire family to experience together.  They include such titles as:


The Importance of Being Earnest, Treasure Island, A Tale of Two Cities, War of the Worlds, Abraham Lincoln, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Immortal Sherlock Holmes, Around The World In 80 Days, Pickwick Papers, Julius Caesar and Jane Eyre.


In addition, there is a special Children's Section containing dramatizations and readings especially created for younger children.  They include such titles as:  The Little Mermaid, Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp, Jack and The Bean Stalk, Puss and Boots, Blue Beard, Thumbelina, Cinderella, Twas the Night Before Christmas, Snowdrop and the 7 Dwarves, Robin Hood, The Golden Fleece, Beauty and The Beast, Rapunzel, King Arthur, Hansel and Gretel, Sleeping Beauty, The Emperor's New Clothes, The Magic Carpet and many, many more!


Wall Paper

(Large Beautiful Pictures with Inspirational Quotes Suitable To Place on The Background of Your Computer Desktop or Screensaver Program.)


The images in this section of the newsletter are a few of the selections contained in our Wall Paper Download Library.  To read the inspirational inscriptions, visit us by clicking "Wall Paper" above.



Let's share the gifts for which we are most grateful:
 joy, wisdom, love and the means to increase them in our lives. 
Click Here for our special discounts.

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Article:  Mind Building      by William Walker Atkinson

MAN can build up his mind and make it what he wills. In fact, we are mind-building every hour of our lives, either consciously or unconsciously. The majority of us are doing the work unconsciously, but those who have seen a little below the surface of things have taken the matter in hand and have become conscious creators of their own mentality. They are no longer subject to the suggestions and influences of others but have become masters of themselves.
They assert the "I," and compel obedience from the subordinate mental faculties. The "I" is the sovereign of the mind, and what we call WILL is the instrument of the "I." Of course, there is something back of this, and the Universal Will is higher than the Will of the Individual, but the latter is in much closer touch with the Universal Will than is generally supposed, and when one conquers the lower self, and asserts the "I," he becomes in close touch with the Universal Will
and partakes largely of its wonderful power. The moment one asserts the "I," and "finds
himself," he establishes a close connection between the Individual Will and the Universal Will. But before he is able to avail himself of the mighty power at his command, he must first effect the Mastery of the lower self.

Think of the absurdity of Man claiming to manifest powers, when he is the slave of the lower parts of his mental being, which should be subordinate. Think of a man being the slave of his moods, passions, animal appetites and lower faculties, and at the same time trying to claim the benefits of the Will. Now, I am not preaching asceticism, which seems to me to be a confession of weakness. I am speaking of Self-Mastery - the assertion of the "I" over the subordinate parts of oneself. In the higher view of the subject, this "I" is the only real Self, and the rest is the non-self; but our space does not permit the discussion of this point, and we will use the word "self' as meaning the entire man. Before a man can assert the "I" in its full strength he must obtain the complete mastery of the subordinate parts of the self. All things are good when we learn to master them, but no thing is good when it masters us. Just so long as we allow the lower portions of the self to give us orders, we are slaves. It is only when the "I" mounts his throne and lifts the scepter, that order is established and things assume their proper relation to each other.

We are finding no fault with those who are swayed by their lower selves - they are in a lower grade of evolution, and will work up in time. But we are calling the attention of those who are ready, to the fact that the Sovereign must assert his will, and that the subjects must obey. Orders must be given and carried out. Rebellion must be put down, and the rightful authority insisted upon. And the time to do it is Now.

You have been allowing your rebellious subjects to keep the King from his throne. You have been allowing the mental kingdom to be misgoverned by irresponsible faculties. You have been the slaves of Appetite, Unworthy Thoughts, Passion and Negativeness. The Will has been set aside and Low Desire has usurped the throne. It is time to re-establish order in the mental kingdom. You are able to assert the mastery over any emotion, appetite, passion or class of thoughts by the assertion of the Will. You can order Fear to go to the rear; Jealousy to leave your presence; Hate to depart from your sight; Anger to hide itself; Worry to cease troubling you; Uncontrolled Appetite and Passion to bow in submission and to become humble slaves instead of masters - all by the assertion of the "I." You may surround yourself with the glorious company of Courage, Love and Self-Control, by the same means. You may put down the rebellion and secure peace and order in your mental kingdom if you will but utter the mandate and insist upon its execution. Before you march forth to empire, you must establish the proper internal condition - must show your ability to govern you own kingdom. The first battle is the conquest of the lesser self by the Real Self.


I AM Asserting the Mastery of My Real Self.

Repeat these words earnestly and positively during the day at least once an hour, and particularly when you are confronted with conditions which tempt you to act on the lines of the lesser self instead of following the course dictated by the Real Self. In the moment of doubt and hesitation say these words earnestly, and your way will be made clear to you. Repeat them several times after you retire and settle yourself to sleep. But be sure to back up the words with the thought Inspiring them, and do not merely repeat them parrot-like. Form the mental image of the Real Self asserting its mastery over the lower planes of your mind - see the King on his Throne. You will become conscious of an influx of new thought, and things which have seemed hard for you will suddenly become much easier. You will feel that you have yourself well in hand, and that YOU are the master and not the slave. The thought you are holding will manifest itself in action, and you will steadily grow to become that which you have in mind.


Fix the mind firmly on the higher Self and draw inspiration from it when you feel led to yield to the promptings of the lower part of your nature. When you are tempted to burst into Anger - assert the "I," and your voice will drop. Anger is unworthy of the developed Self. When you feel vexed and cross, remember what you are, and rise above your feeling. When you feel Fearful, remember that the Real Self fears nothing, and assert Courage. When you feel Jealousy inciting, think of your higher nature, and laugh. And so on, asserting the Real Self and not allowing the things on the lower plane of mentality to disturb you. They are unworthy of you, and must be taught to keep their places. Do not allow these things to master you - they should be your subjects, not your masters. You must get away from this plane, and the only way to do so is to cut loose from these phases of thought which have been "running things" to suit themselves. You may have trouble at the start, but keep at it and you will have that satisfaction which comes only from conquering the lower parts of our nature. You have been a slave long enough - now is the time to free yourselves. If you will follow these exercises faithfully you will be a different being by the end of the year, and will look back with a pitying smile to your former condition. But it takes work. This is not child's play but a task for earnest men and women, Will YOU make the effort?



For a collection of affirmations, click Here.
For a large variety of inspiring quotations, click Here.

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Let's share the gifts for which we are most grateful:
 joy, wisdom, love and the means to increase them in our lives. 
Click Here for our special discounts.

Essay:  There is a Science of Getting Rich       by Wallace D. Wattles

THERE is a Science of getting rich, and it is an exact science, like algebra or arithmetic. There are certain laws which govern the process of acquiring riches; once these laws are learned and obeyed by any man, he will get rich with mathematical certainty.

The ownership of money and property comes as a result of doing things in a certain way; those who do things in this Certain Way, whether on purpose or accidentally, get rich; while those who do not do things in this Certain Way, no matter how hard they work or how able they are, remain poor.

It is a natural law that like causes always produce like effects; and, therefore, any man or woman who learns to do things in this certain way will infallibly get rich.

That the above statement is true is shown by the following facts:

Getting rich is not a matter of environment, for, if it were, all the people in certain neighborhoods would become wealthy; the people of one city would all be rich, while those of other towns would all be poor; or the inhabitants of one state would roll in wealth, while those of an adjoining state would be in poverty.

But everywhere we see rich and poor living side by side, in the same environment, and often engaged in the same vocations. When two men are in the same locality, and in the same business, and one gets rich while the other remains poor, it shows that getting rich is not, primarily, a matter of environment. Some environments may be more favorable than others, but when two men in the same business are in the same neighborhood, and one gets rich while the other fails, it indicates that getting rich is the result of doing things in a Certain Way.

And further, the ability to do things in this certain way is not due solely to the possession of talent, for many people who have great talent remain poor, while other who have very little talent get rich.

Studying the people who have got rich, we find that they are an average lot in all respects, having no greater talents and abilities than other men. It is evident that they do not get rich because they possess talents and abilities that other men have not, but because they happen to do things in a Certain Way.

Getting rich is not the result of saving, or "thrift"; many very penurious people are poor, while free spenders often get rich.

Nor is getting rich due to doing things which others fail to do; for two men in the same business often do almost exactly the same things, and one gets rich while the other remains poor or becomes bankrupt.

From all these things, we must come to the conclusion that getting rich is the result of doing things in a Certain Way.

If getting rich is the result of doing things in a Certain Way, and if like causes always produce like effects, then any man or woman who can do things in that way can become rich, and the whole matter is brought within the domain of exact science.

The question arises here, whether this Certain Way may not be so difficult that only a few may follow it. This cannot be true, as we have seen, so far as natural ability is concerned. Talented people get rich, and blockheads get rich; intellectually brilliant people get rich, and very stupid people get rich; physically strong people get rich, and weak and sickly people get rich.

Some degree of ability to think and understand is, of course, essential; but in so far natural ability is concerned, any man or woman who has sense enough to read and understand these words can certainly get rich.

Also, we have seen that it is not a matter of environment. Location counts for something; one would not go to the heart of the Sahara and expect to do successful business.

Getting rich involves the necessity of dealing with men, and of being where there are people to deal with; and if these people are inclined to deal in the way you want to deal, so much the better. But that is about as far as environment goes.

If anybody else in your town can get rich, so can you; and if anybody else in your state can get rich, so can you.

Again, it is not a matter of choosing some particular business or profession. People get rich in every business, and in every profession; while their next door neighbors in the same vocation remain in poverty.

It is true that you will do best in a business which you like, and which is congenial to you; and if you have certain talents which are well developed, you will do best in a business which calls for the exercise of those talents.

Also, you will do best in a business which is suited to your locality; an ice-cream parlor would do better in a warm climate than in Greenland, and a salmon fishery will succeed better in the Northwest than in Florida, where there are no salmon.

But, aside from these general limitations, getting rich is not dependent upon your engaging in some particular business, but upon your learning to do things in a Certain Way. If you are now in business, and anybody else in your locality is getting rich in the same business, while you are not getting rich, it is because you are not doing things in the same Way that the other person is doing them.

No one is prevented from getting rich by lack of capital. True, as you get capital the increase becomes more easy and rapid; but one who has capital is already rich, and does not need to consider how to become so. No matter how poor you may be, if you begin to do things in the Certain Way you will begin to get rich; and you will begin to have capital. The getting of capital is a part of the process of getting rich; and it is a part of the result which invariably follows the doing of things in the Certain Way. You may be the poorest man on the continent, and be deeply in debt; you may have neither friends, influence, nor resources; but if you begin to do things in this way, you must infallibly begin to get rich, for like causes must produce like effects. If you have no capital, you can get capital; if you are in the wrong business, you can get into the right business; if you are in the wrong location, you can go to the right location; and you can do so by beginning in your present business and in your present location to do things in the Certain Way which causes success.

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News:  Conscious Money Circulation "Abundant Blessings"

Would you like to have a greater feeling of being in the flow of abundance?   Is the activity of paying your bills a time of stress and anxiety for you?  The meditation, affirmations and background music on this CD were created to provide an uplifting and expansive experience of abundance and prosperity while paying bills.

Abundant Blessings © contains a meditation and affirmations for Conscious Money circulation. The meditation guides you within, to a place of centered calm. Affirmations of abundance and gratitude play in the background while you pay your bills or any time that you would like to be uplifted.

Play this CD and transform the mundane into the miraculous as you pay bills with gratitude and JOY!

To find out more about Abundant Blessings, click Here.



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News:  First Spanish Products - Conscious Word, Conscious Wisdom and E-books

The Conscious Living Foundation is proud to announce the translation of our website into Spanish.  The entire website, with all of our articles, poems, inspiring stories, affirmations, previous newsletters, quotations and affirmations are now available.  We are excited about the prospect of being able to reach others who were unable to share in all of the resources of the site because they didn't read English.  To visit the Spanish language version of our site, click Here.


In addition, we have begun creating our first products for those who prefer to read in Spanish.  The Conscious Word and Conscious Wisdom are both now available in a Spanish version. 


We have also translated 14 wonderful, inspirational masterpieces and are offering them as E-books in Spanish.  The titles include:

As A Man Thinketh by James Allen
Prosperity by Charles Filmore
The Science of Mind by Ernest Holmes
The Tao Te Ching
A Lamp Unto My Feet by Walter Lanyon
The Science of Getting Rich  by Wallace D. Wattles
Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda (2 volumes)
Above Life's Turmoil by James Allen
An Introduction to Yoga by Annie Besant
Teach Us To Pray by Charles Filmore
The Power of Thought by Thomas Hamblin
The Secret Door To Success by Florence Scovel Shin
The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali by Charles Johnson
Your Word is Your Wand by Florence Scovel Shin


This E-book collection in Spanish can be purchased for $7.00 by clicking  Here.


He desterrado el pasado

Ahora vivo en el maravilloso presente

Donde regocijantes sorpresas

Llegan envolviendome

Todos los dias.


If you have any suggestion on other titles which we should translate, or other languages we should support, we would love to hear from you.  You can email us at: 


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News:  Destiny Designer - A Practical Aid To Organize Your Life

Even when we read spiritual books; even when we exercise; even when we practice affirmations and positive thinking;
even when we pray and meditate - it is not enough until we undertake these actions - consistently every day. 

If we aren't organized, we aren't committed.

Virtually all organized, responsible business professionals carry them. They are essential.  They are the omnipresent symbols of our busy, complicated lives. They are, of course…day planners. And until now they have performed just two functions, where to be or what to do next: the next meeting, the next event, the next task, the next party, the next phone call...

Now there is the Destiny Designer,™ a breakthrough personal calendar/planner that demands your focus on enhancing the fullness and richness of your life as much as it does managing your daily routine. If you use this one-of-a-kind tool every day, you will create the life you most passionately desire!

In our busy lives we often do that which screams for our attention first, not what truly moves our lives forward in a real and fulfilling way. Destiny Designer™ is designed to keep you centered on what is actually important in your life - not merely what you must get done in your profession.  Find Out More - Click Here.


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A Poem by William Simpson -

God Bound


Circling whirlwinds dash against the rusty cliffs

Flashing - entrancing electric sounds usher the winds,

Outward and onward,

Misty shadows dissolving edge to line.


Alone sit I,

Juxtaposed on eternity and the sea.

Filtered light diffusing any difference.


Within this being

Within this earth mystery

Within the infinity of the dusk-night sky

Journeys my soul.


I am God bound!


(From the collection, "From The Path - Verses On The Mystic Journey" click Here for more)

Copyright 2004 by The Conscious Living Foundation, All Rights Reserved

Let's share the gifts for which we are most grateful:
 joy, wisdom, love and the means to increase them in our lives. 
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News:  Two New Music CDs:  "Soul Calls" and "Yoga Heart Healing"


Spirituality is a quiet inner quality that eclipses all boundaries of land, caste, profession, and religion, - and it manifests in many ways. For those whose spirituality seeks an ever deepening personal peace, the music of the SOUL CALLS provides a peaceful, soothing vibrational environment for the heart and mind of the listener. For those who are actively engaged in the interior life of loving God, the lyrics of the SOUL CALLS affirm the longing for and the presence of the Divine Beloved. Touching the heart of the peace-giver, the spiritual seeker and the devotee alike, the SOUL CALLS take the consciousness within ~ to the place of peace.   Click Here




YOGA HEART HEALING was created from the need to heal Anahata, the fourth chakra, considered the seat of universal love.   Anahata is the color green.  Our recording was created to support your practice of yoga, massage and other nurturing and healing activities.


Inspired by Dharma teachings from both Hindu and Buddhist wisdom, Yoga Heart Healing will open your heart chakra with its rich vibrant textures of soothing melodic transitions.  - just click Here!


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Essay:  Understanding The Serenity Prayer   by Edna

God, Grant me the Serenity
To accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And Wisdom to know the difference.

Many folks do not understand the meanings of the Serenity Prayer, and of
consequence are left in a limbo of constant confusion as they continue to
battle the conditions of life.

Let us examine this marvelous Prayer of Supplication to the Higher Power,
which speaks to all human beings from deep down within.......

God.... A name and concept of this Higher Power, which most folks
erroneously conceive to be outside themselves, separate from and alien to
themselves, a "Santa Claus" god which is supposed to fulfill their dreams,
their wishes and wants, to "make" the conditions of Life comply with their
desire and their idea of "religious correctness"... Sorry about that, it
just doesn't happen that way.... The Big Book of AA, on Page 55, establishes
the conditions and locale of our relationship and understanding which we are
to acquire of "Our" Higher Power.....

"We finally saw that faith in some kind of God was a part of our make-up,
just as much as the feeling we have for a friend. [[ But of a much greater
friend, for in fact it is our own self, Our Own True Self, that portion of
localized divinity that He has given to each of His Children. ]] Sometimes
we had to search fearlessly, but He was there. He was as much a fact as we
were. We found the Great Reality deep down within us. In the last analysis
it is only there that He may be found. It was so with us." ..... We are
never separate from God. Separation from God is only an illusion that we
have created.

Grant...to assure (in its original meaning) a knowingness of the orderliness
of God's eternity, a prized condition that we earn through our efforts of
learning to apply the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous to our lives, not an
undeserved gift" as we hear so many times around the tables of AA.
Me... The I Am, of self, the True Self, that portion of self which knows
that it is, in all instances.

Serenity... Again a word that is misunderstood, that most folks take to mean
a quiet, unruffled, calm, undisturbed, tranquil condition in the
circumstances of life about us. In truth what it really means is Presence of
Mind in the Here and Now, viewing the Reality of whatever conditions and
circumstances that may be occurring ... Not fighting Reality with illusions
of how things should or should not be.

To Accept... To acknowledge the Truth of Reality, to take what is offered or
given, to receive willingly... As we are given Life, one moment, one
condition, one circumstance, one happening at a time...God's Life for God's
Kids has to be a happening. It can't be any other way.

The things I cannot change....Reality, period...Reality cannot be changed.
It simply is. And no amount of mind bending illusion creating will change it
 The Truth is the Truth and it needs no defense. The only thing we humans
can do with Reality is change our point of view, our perspective. Reality
itself will remain unchanged.


Courage... The ability to make the Responsible Decisions Necessary and take
Action to DO the things we already know need to be done in the face of
unknown outcomes and consequences.. Our Life is determined by the decisions
and actions that we take and the thoughts that we hold, by no other forces.
We must in all cases live with the consequences of our decisions or our lack
of decision. Life cannot be lived any other way.

To change the things I can...The only thing that we can change is our
perspective as we view Reality, learning to make better Responsible
Decisions, living our way to better thinking each moment.

And Wisdom to Know the Difference... Wisdom, an acquired trait through the
experience of life, a recognition and remembrance of the things which do or
do not coincide with Reality, which do or do not work, of the things which
are true, which are honest, for that is the meaning of Truth, Rigorously

It has been said that a Wise Man's education toward understanding his own
universe and reality (and to some extent yours) will embrace as much folly
as he can afford. It is only to the degree that he can afford it, that he
will be able to laugh at himself. If he embraces more folly than he can
afford, he will cry.

The wise man knows that success in life is achieved by simply putting a
whole lot of mistakes together in a way that works.
"Wisdom is not something you think, Wisdom is something you DO!!"


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News:  New Audio CD - Embracing The Stillness - Lessons In Meditation


Embracing The Stillness is a collection of meditation techniques explained and practiced with the Director of The Conscious Living Foundation, William Simpson.

It contains the following tracks:

  1. Discovering The Purpose of Our Lives  (2:29)
  2. How To Meditate  (3:22)
  3. Meditation on a Devotional Phrase  (11:01)
  4. Affirmation for Relaxation and Happiness  (6:45)
  5. Learning the Technique of Meditating on Om  (5:46)
  6. Meditation on Chanting Om  (6:25)
  7. Affirmation for Health, Wealth and Wisdom  (8:28)
  8. Sitting in the Stillness  (3:31)
  9. Affirmation for Perfection, Immortality and Light  (11:25)
  10. Visualization and Prayer for Others  (2:44)
  11. What We Believe  (1:31)

"There is an essential part of our being which exists beyond thought and feeling - pure awareness.  When we can remain present, alert and calm, we discover the fertile ground upon which we can plant the seeds of immediate growth, positive change and joy". 

William Simpson -
from "Embracing The Stillness"

To hear some sample selections from this new recording, click Here.

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or given to any other organization or individual.  We respect your privacy.


Let's share the gifts for which we are most grateful:
 joy, wisdom, love and the means to increase them in our lives. 
Click Here for our special discounts.


Essay:  Step 11 of the 12 Steps - An Explanation  by Bill Wilson  (Co-Founder of Alcoholics Anonymous)



If you enjoy our inspirational stories and articles, be sure to visit our website for more:

Articles on Personal Growth, Health and Positive Change - Click Here.
Inspiring Stories - Click Here.



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Let's share the gifts for which we are most grateful:
 joy, wisdom, love and the means to increase them in our lives. 
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All Contents Copyrighted, 2008, The Conscious Living Foundation