I Am Ramtha
I am Ramtha, the Ram. In the ancient language of my times it means “the God.” I am the great Ram of the Hindu people, for I was the first man born of the womb of woman and the loins of man who ever ascended from this plane. I learned how to ascend not through the teachings of any man but through an innate understanding of the God that lives in everything. I was also a man who hated and despised, who slew and conquered and ruled right into my enlightenment.
I was the first conqueror this plane knew. I began a march that lasted sixty-three years, and I conquered three-quarters of the known world. But my greatest conquest was of myself, coming to terms with my own existence. When I learned to love myself and embrace the whole of life, I ascended with the wind into forever.
I ascended in front of my people on the northeast side of the mount called Indus. My people, who numbered more than two million, were a mixture of Lemurians, the people from Ionia — later to be termed Macedonia — and the tribes-people escaping from Atlatia, the land you call Atlantis. It is my people’s lineage that now makes up the populace of India, Tibet, Nepal, and Southern Mongolia.
I lived but one lifetime upon this plane, what is called in your understanding of time 35,000 years ago. I was born in ignorance and desperation to an unfortunate people, pilgrims from the land called Lemuria living in the slums of Iona, the greatest port city of Atlatia in its southern sphere. I came to Atlatia during what is called the last hundred years, before the continent broke up and great waters covered its land.
At that time Atlatia was a civilization of people with great intellect, whose endowment for scientific understanding was superb. Their science was even greater than what you have at this time in your scientific community, for the Atlatians had begun to understand and use the principles of light. They knew how to transform light into pure energy through what you term lasers. They even had aeroships that traveled on light, a science provided to them through an intercommunication with entities from other star systems. Though their ships were very primitive, they were nonetheless mobile and airborne. Because of the Atlatians’ great involvement with technology, they worshiped the intellect. Thus intellectual science became the religion of the Atlatians.
The Lemurians were quite different from the Atlatians. Their social system was built upon communication through thought. They had not the advancement of technology, only a great spiritual understanding, for my forefathers were great in their knowingness of unseen values. They worshiped and revered that which was beyond the moon, beyond the stars. They loved an essence that could not be identified. It was a power they called the Unknown God. Because the Lemurians worshiped only this God, the Atlatians despised them, for they despised anything that was not progressive.
In the days of the Ram when I was a little boy, life was destitute and very arduous. At that particular point in time Atlatia had already lost its technology, for its scientific centers in the north had been destroyed long ago. In their experiments with traveling on light, the Atlatians had pierced the cloud cover that completely surrounded your planet, much as it surrounds Venus today. When they pierced the stratosphere, great waters fell and a freeze occurred, which put most of Lemuria and the northern parts of Atlatia under great oceans; thus the people from Lemuria and the north of Atlatia fled to the southern regions of Atlatia.
Once technology was lost in the north, life gradually became primitive in the south. During the hundred years before all of Atlatia was submerged, the southernmost region was a primitive Atlatia that had degenerated into the rule of tyrants. The tyrants governed the people not through a republic but through irrefutable law. In the government of irrefutable law, the Lemurians were considered the dung of the earth, less than a dog in the street.
Contemplate for a moment being spat upon, urinated upon, and allowed to wash it away only with your tears. Contemplate knowing that the dogs in the streets have greater nourishment than you who hunger for anything to kill the agony in your belly.
In the streets of Onai, it was common to see the brutalization of children and the beating and rape of women. It was common to see Atlatians pass a starving Lemurian on the road and hold their noses with kerchiefs of fine linen dipped in jasmine and rose water, for we were considered stinking, wretched things. We were the no-things, the soulless, mindless wastes of intellect because we were without the scientific understanding of such things as gases and light. Because we did not possess an intellectual bent, as it were, we were turned into slaves to work the fields.
That was when I was born upon this plane. That was my time. What sort of dream was I in? The advent of man into the arrogance and stupidity of intellect.
I did not blame my mother that I did not know who my father was. I did not blame my brother that our fathers were not the same, nor did I blame my mother for our absolute poverty. As a little boy I watched as my mother was taken into the streets and had her sweetness taken from her. After my mother was taken, I watched a child grow inside her belly and I knew whose it was. And I watched my mother weep, for would there be another child in the streets to suffer as we had suffered in this promised land?
Because my mother was too weak to bear the child alone, I helped her give birth to my little sister. I scrounged in the streets for food, killed dogs and wildfowl, and stole grain from proprietors late in the evening, for I was very deft on my feet. I fed my mother, who in turn suckled my little sister.
I did not blame my little sister for the death of my beloved mother, for the little girl suckled away all of my mother’s strength. My sister became diarrhetic and could not hold what was going into her body, and so she too lost all the life in her body.
I laid my mother and sister together and went to gather timbers. I put the timbers on top of them and stole away into the night to gather fire. I said a prayer to my mother and my sister, whom I loved greatly. Then I lit the timbers swiftly so that the stench from their bodies would not disturb the Atlatians, for if it did the Atlatians would fling their bodies into the desert where the hyenas would prey upon them and tear them apart.
As I watched my mother and sister burn, my hatred for the Atlatians increased within my being to where it became like venom from a great viper. And I was only a little boy.
As the stench and smoke from the fire spread throughout the valley, I thought about the Unknown God of my people. I could not understand the injustice of this great God or why he would create the monsters that hated my people so. What did my mother and little sister ever do to deserve the wretched deaths they experienced?
I did not blame the Unknown God for his inability to love me. I did not blame him for not loving my people. I did not blame him for the death of my mother and my little sister. I did not blame him; I hated him.
I had no one left, for my brother was kidnapped by a satrap and taken into subserviency into the land that would later be called Persia. There he was abused for the pleasure of the satrap and his need for what is called loin gratification.
I was a lad of fourteen with no meat upon my bones and a great bitterness inside me. So I decided to do battle with the Unknown God of my forefathers, the only thing I felt worthy of dying by. I was determined to die, but as an honorable man. And I felt that dying at the hands of man was a dishonorable way to perish.
I saw a great mountain, a very mysterious place that loomed on the distant horizon. I thought that if there were a God, he would live there, above us all, just as those who governed our land lived above us. If I could climb there, I thought, I would get in touch with the Unknown God and proclaim my hatred for him at his unfairness to humanity.
I left my hovel and journeyed for many days to reach this great mountain, devouring locusts and ants and roots along the way. When I reached the mount I climbed into the clouds, which now veiled its whitened peak, in order to do battle with the Unknown God. I called out to him, “I am a man. Why have I not the dignity of one?” And I demanded that he show me his face, but he ignored me.
I fell upon my haunches and wept heartily, until the whiteness iced itself from my tears. When I looked up, I beheld what seemed to be a wondrous woman holding a great sword before me. She spoke to me saying, “O Ram, O Ram, you who are broken in Spirit, your prayers have been heard. Take this sword and conquer yourself.” And in but a blink of my eye she was gone.
Conquer myself? I could not turn the blade around and hack off my own head; my arms would not reach the hilt of the sword. Yet I found honor in this great sword. No longer did I shiver against the great cold but found warmth instead. And when I looked again where my tears had fallen, there grew a flower of such sweet aroma and color that I knew the flower was of hope.
I came down from the mountain with the great sword in my hand, a day which was recorded in the history of the Hindu people as the terrible day of the Ram. A boy had gone to that mountain, but a man returned. No longer frail or weak of bodily movement, I was a Ram in every sense of the word. I was a young man with a terrible light about me and a sword that was larger than I was. Sometimes I think I was very slow to understand in that existence, for I never fully realized why the wondrous sword was so light that I could carry it, yet it was so large that nine hands together could hold the hilt of it.
I returned from the mountain to the city of Onai. In the fields outside the city I saw an old woman stand up and shade her eyes to look at me a’coming. Soon all stopped their labors. Carts stopped. Donkeys squealed. Everything became quiet. When the people ran up to look upon my countenance, they must have been persuaded because every one of them took up his meager tool and followed me into the city.
We destroyed Onai because the Atlatians spat in my eye when I demanded they open the granaries to feed our people. So unprepared were the Atlatians for this that they were easily overtaken, for they did not know of battle.
I opened the granaries to our poor people, and then we burned Onai to the ground. It never occurred to me that I couldn’t do that, for I did not care if I lived or died at that point; I had nothing left to live for.
When the slaughter and burning were finished, a great hurt was still within my being, for my hatred had not been satisfied. So I ran from the people to hide in the hills, but they followed me in spite of all my cursing and throwing stones and spitting at them.
“Ram, Ram, Ram, Ram,” they chanted, carrying their tools of the field and grain tied in linens, and herding sheep and goats before them. I shouted at the people to leave me alone and go home. But still they came, for they no longer had a home. I was their home.
Since they insisted on following after me wherever I went, I gathered together all these soulless creatures of different denominations, and they became my army, my people. And great people were they indeed. But soldiers? Hardly. But from then on, the great army of the Ram assembled itself. Its number in the beginning was close to ten thousand.
From that time I was a driven entity, a barbarian, who despised the tyranny of men. I hated man and fought, fully expecting to die. I did not have the fear of dying that many of my people did because I wanted to die honorably. I never knew fear. I only knew hate.
When you lead a charge and you are the one in front, with no one on either side of you, you have to be crazy. A person who would do that is filled with a powerful drive called hate. So I was very much a spectacle to be hewed down by the noblest of foe, if they would only do me the honor. And I picked the worthiest opponents to be my demise. But, you know, when there is an absence of fear, there is a presence of conquering. Thus I became a great conqueror. Before my time there was no such thing as a conqueror, only tyrants.
I created war. I was the first conqueror this plane ever knew. Until my time there was no warring faction against the arrogance of the Atlatians. None. I created it. In my anger and hostility and my desire to be noble and honorable to what I felt, I became what you would term a great entity. Know you what a hero is? Well, I was one indeed. The hero salvages life and puts an end to the wrongs of life, not realizing that in doing so, he is also creating a wrong. I desired to do away with all forms of tyranny and I did, only to become the very thing I despised.
Thereafter I was driven to slay tyranny and to make the color of my skin more respectable. And from all the sieges and battles we put forth — the lands that we crossed and all the people we freed along the way — one by one my army grew, and great became the legend of the Ram and his army.
I was an imbecile, a barbarian, a buffoon, an ignorant entity of savage acclaim. And for ten years into my march, I warred upon innocents and hacked and burned my way across many lands until I was run through with a great sword. Had they left it in me, I might have been all right, but they pulled it out to make sure that I would bleed to death. I saw the river of life ebbing from my being onto a snowy, marble floor that seemingly was perfect, only to see that the river of scarlet had found a crack in it.
As I lay there on the cold, marble floor, watching the blood issue forth from my being, there came a voice. It spoke to me and it said, “Stand up.” It said, “Stand up.”
I pulled up my head and put forth my palms. Then I began to pull under me the knees of my being. As I raised my countenance so that my head was erect and even, I pulled up my left foot and stabilized it. Then gathering all of my strength, I put my hand upon my knee, my fist into my wound, and I stood up.
As I stood there — with blood issuing from my mouth, flowing through my fingers, and running down my legs — my assailants, who were now certain that I was immortal, fled from me. My soldiers laid siege to the city and burned it to the ground.
I would never forget the voice that made me stand up, that kept me from dying. In the years to come I would seek to find the face of that voice.
I was given to the court of women in my march to be cared for. And I had to endure the stinking poultices of vulture grease that were put upon my chest. I had to be bossed by the women and undressed before their eyes. I could not even urinate or spill dung from my anus in private but had to do it in front of them, a most humiliating experience. I have acclaimed even to this day that the vulture grease was not to heal me but was so wretched that when I breathed it, it kept life in me. During my healing, much of my pride and hate had to give way to survival.
While I was recovering from my ghastly wound and couldn’t do anything else, I began to contemplate everything around me. One day I watched an old woman pass from this plane, clutching heartily the crudely woven linen she had made for her son who had perished long ago. I saw the woman pass in the light of the noonday sun, life ebbing from her body in choking strokes of weeping. As I watched the old woman shrivel in the light, her mouth opened to an aghast expression and her eyes became glazed, unaffected by the light. Nothing moved, save the breeze and her old hair.
I thought about the woman and her son who had perished, and I thought about their great intelligence. Then I looked back at the sun, which never perished. It was the very same sun the old woman had seen through a crack in the roof of her hovel when she first opened her eyes as a babe, and it was the last thing she saw when she died.
I looked again at the sun. You know, it was oblivious that she had died. I watched it as we buried the old woman under a tall poplar tree by the river.
As the sun set that evening, I cursed it. I watched it set upon the mantle of the mountains like a great fiery jewel, scarlet-eyed. I looked upon the purpled mountains and the valley, already shrouded in mist, and saw rods of the sun’s light gild all things and make them illusionarily beautiful. I saw clouds, once the pallor of blue, become vividly alive in hues of scarlet, fire-rose, and pink.
I continued to watch the great light as it retired behind the mountains, now looming like piercing teeth on the horizon, until the last rods of its beauty had descended behind the last mount. I heard a night bird cry above me, and I looked into the heavens to see the pale moon waxing against a darkening sky. A breeze came up and as it blew my hair and dried my tears it made me sick in my being.
You know, I was a great warrior. With a sword I could cleave a man in half in a moment. I had beheaded, hacked, and butchered. I had smelled blood and burned people. But why did I do all of that? The sun set in its magnificence anyway. The bird cried in the night anyway. And the moon came up in spite of it all.
That is when I began to ponder the Unknown God. The only thing I truly wanted was to understand that which seemed so awesome, so mysterious, and so very far away. And what was man? What was he? Why was he not greater than the sun? Why couldn’t the old woman live? Why was man — though the teeming multitude upon the plane, the creating force, the unifying force — the most vulnerable of all creation? If man was so important, as my people told me, why wasn’t he important enough that when he died, the sun stood still to mourn his passing, or the moon turned purple, or the fowl ceased to fly? Man was very unimportant, it seemed, for all these things continued in spite of his peril.
All I wanted was to know.
I did not have a teacher to teach me of the Unknown God, for I did not trust any man. I had seen and lost so much through the wickedness of man and his altered thinking. I had seen man despise man and think him to be soulless. I had seen innocents gutted and burned out of fear. I had seen children, naked on slave blocks, examined by perverted souls who plucked from them their hairs of adolescence so they would still have the image of young children as they were raped. I had seen priests and prophets invent, through their hatred for mankind, creatures of great torment and ugliness so they could govern and enslave people through the rule of religious forms.
There was no man living that I would have as my teacher, for any man living had altered thinking, had taken that which was really pure and innocent and altered it through his own limited understanding. So I wanted nothing to do with a God created through man’s understanding, for if man created the God, the God was fallible.
It was life’s elements, the truest teachers of all, that taught me of the Unknown God. I learned from days. I learned from nights. I learned from tender, insignificant life that abounded even in the face of destruction and war.
I contemplated the sun in its advent of glory upon the horizon. I watched its journey through the heavens, ending up in the western sphere and passing into its sleep. I learned that the sun, though mute, subtly controlled life, for all who were brave and gallant and warring with one another ceased their warring when the sun went down.
I watched the beauty of the moon in her pale light as she danced across the heavens, illuminating the darkness in mysterious and wonderful ways. I saw the fires from our encampment and how they lit up the evening sky. I listened to the wildfowl landing on the water, birds rustling in their night nest, and children and their laughter. I observed falling stars, nightingales, the frost on the reeds, and the lake silvered with ice to create the illusion of another world. I saw the leaves of olive trees turn from emerald to silver as the wind blew through them.
I observed women standing in the river as they gathered water in their urns, their clothing tied up in knots to reveal their alabaster knees. I listened to the clatter of the women’s gossip and the teasing in their laughter. I smelled the smoke from distant fires and the garlic and wine on the breath of my men.
It was not until I observed and pondered life and its ongoingness that I discovered who the Unknown God truly was. I reasoned that the Unknown God was not the Gods created through the altered thinking of man. I realized that the Gods in men’s minds are only the personalities of the things they fear and respect the most; that the true God is the ongoing essence that permits man to create and play out his illusions, however he chooses, and that will still be there when man returns yet again another spring, another life. I realized that it is in the power and the ongoingness of the life force where the Unknown God truly lies.
Who was the Unknown God? It was me, and the birds in their night nest, the frost on the reeds, the morning dawn, and evening sky. It was the sun and the moon, children and their laughter, alabaster knees and running water, and the smell of garlic and leather and brass. This understanding took a long time for me to grasp, though it had been right in front of me all the time. The Unknown God wasn’t beyond the moon or the sun. It was all around me. And with this new birth of reasoning, I began to embrace life, to hold that dear to me, and to find a reason to live. There was more than blood and death and the stench of war. There was life, far greater than we had ever perceived it to be.
It was through this realization that I would understand in the years to come that man is the greatest of all things; that the only reason the sun is ongoing, while man dies, is the sun never even contemplates death. All it knows is to be.
When I realized through contemplative thought who the Unknown God was and what it was, I did not wish to wither and die, as the old woman had died. There must be a way, I thought, to be as ongoing as the sun.
Once I had healed from the dire wound to my body, I had little to do but to sit upon a plateau and watch my army grow fat and lazy. One day as I looked to the horizon to see the vague outline of ghostly mountains and valleys yet uncharted, I wondered what would it be like to be the Unknown God, the life element. How could I be part of this essence that is ongoing?
That is when the wind played a jest upon me and insulted me beyond my means. It blew up my cloak, which was long and regal, and dumped it on top of my head, a most embarrassing thing. Not a very noble position for a conqueror. Then the wind caused a wonderful pillar of saffron-colored dust to form a column beside me all the way up into the heavens. Then when I was not paying enough attention, the wind ceased, allowing all the dust to fall upon me.
Then the wind went whistling down the canyon, down to where the river flowed, and on through the wonderful olive orchards, turning the leaves from emerald to silver. And it blew a beautiful maiden’s skirt up around her waist, with all the giggling that went on from that. And then it blew the hat from a little child’s head and the child went racing after it, laughing gleefully.
I demanded that the wind come back to me, but it only laughed in its gales in the canyon. Then when I was blue in the face from shouting orders, I sat back down upon my haunches and it came and blew in my face softly. That is freedom.
While there was no man I would have as my ideal, the wind performed itself to be very much an ideal for me. You cannot see the wind, yet when it comes upon you in a fury, you are assailed. And no matter how grand and powerful you are, you cannot declare war upon the wind. What can you do to it? Cleave it with your broadsword? Hack it with your ax? Spit upon it? It will only throw it back in your face.
What else could man be, I thought, that would give him such free movement, such power; that could never be captivated by the limited nature of man; that would permit him to be in all places at all times and, unlike man, never dies?
To me the wind was an ultimate essence, for it is ongoing, free-moving, all-consuming. It has no boundaries and no form. It is magical, exploratory, and adventurous, and that indeed is the closest resemblance there is to the God essence of life. And the wind never judges man. The wind never forsakes man. The wind, if you call it, will come to you through love. Ideals should be like that.
So I desired to become the wind. And I contemplated on it for years and years. That became my ideal. That was what I wanted to be. That was what all my thoughts were bent on becoming. I contemplated the wind and aligned myself with its elusiveness and lightness and contours that are indefinable. And as I contemplated the wind, it was the wind that I became in my search for becoming.
The first occurrence was not until six years after I had been run through. Every evening I would go and sit upon my solitary plateau, gaze into the moon with her soft pallor, and contemplate the wind. And there came a time, much to my surprise, when I found myself aloft in the heavens and did not know who I was when I turned to look down.
In but a moment I realized that I was far away from my simple speck of a body down on the plateau. When I looked down upon my embodiment, I felt fear for the first time since I was run through. It was fear that brought me back to the body.
I opened my eyes to a cold/hot sweat over the realization that I had been elsewhere, outside of the prison of my embodiment. I was in paradise because I was sure that I had become the wind. I flung myself to the ground and praised God: the Source, the Power, the Cause, the Wind. I would never forget that splendid moment when I became the grace and beauty and bountiful life of the wind. And I reasoned that what allowed me to become that was my complete determination to become my ideal, always holding clear in thought the vision of what I wanted to become.
The next eve I went to my place of solitary movement, contemplated the wind with exuberant joy, and I became nothing. I tried again and again and again. I knew that my experience was not simply my imagination. I had seen a different perspective. I had been in the air as a dove or a hawk and had seen my pitiful self below me.
Nothing did I want, nothing did I desire — nothing — except the one thought of becoming that freedom. But no matter how hard I struggled and how much sweat broke out upon my body and how much cursing followed thereafter, I didn’t go anywhere. I stayed — and much heavier than before — because I had become more aware, mind you, of how heavy I was. But I never lost sight of my ideal, nor did I ever forget that moment of feeling when I first looked down upon my pitiful body.
It was a long time before I became the wind again, two years in your time, reckoning from the first event. This time it happened not upon contemplating the wind but upon going into a restful sleep. I had praised the Source, the sun, life, saffron dust, the moon, the stars, the sweet smells of jasmine. I praised them all. And ere I closed my lids, I was in the heavens again as the wind.
Once I had perfected my ability to leave my body, it took me a long time to reckon how to go places. Then it happened one day that one of my men came into a most perilous position. He had fallen from his horse with his foot still lodged in a stirrup. The moment I put my thought with him, I was with him, and I released his heel. I stood over him and wished him well, but he thought I was a dream.
For many years I traveled in thought into other kingdoms and to other entities. I visited civilizations in the birth of their future and lives yet unseen. I learned to travel in moments, for I learned that wherever the thought is, so is the entity. And how did I conquer thereafter? I was an awesome foe, for I knew my enemies’ thinking; thus I outwitted them all. No longer did I besiege kingdoms; I let them besiege themselves.
Slowly over many years — as the thought of becoming my ideal became the very life force in the cells of my embodiment — my soul gradually changed the programming in every cellular structure to increase the vibratory rate within them, my desire was that strong. The more peaceful I became with life, the more that emotion carried through my entire physical arrangement until I became lighter and lighter and lighter. People would look at me and say, “Alas, there is a glow about the master.” There was, for my body was vibrating at a faster rate of speed, going from the speed of matter into the speed of light. That is what emanated a glow from my being.
In time my body became fainter and fainter by the light of the moon. Then one night I became where the moon was. No longer did I simply travel in thought. I had raised my bodily vibrations into light and had taken my entire embodiment with me. I was gleeful and mirthful, for that which I had done was unheard of. Yet I came back, but only to see if I could do it again. And I did, again and again and again, sixty-three times before my final ascension. It became an expectancy, as breathing is to you.
When I became the wind, I realized how truly limited I had been and how free the elements were. When I became the wind, I became an unseen power that has no form, that is pulsating light, indivisible. In that, I could move with freedom through valleys and dales and glens, through mountains and oceans and stratums, and none could see me. And, like the wind, I had the power to turn leaves from emerald to silver, to move trees that are unshakable, to go into the lungs of a babe, into the mouth of a lover, and back into the clouds to push them away. When I became the wind, I became the height of a moving power that can never be tamed, a wild movement that is free: free of weight, free of measure, free of time.
When I became the wind, I realized how small and helpless man is in his ignorance about himself and how great he becomes when he extends himself into knowledge. I learned that whatever man contemplates long enough, merely by desire he will become. If man tells himself long enough that he is wretched, soulless, powerless, he will believe it and become it. If he calls himself lord of the wind, he will be lord of the wind, as I became lord of the wind. And if he calls himself God, he is going to become God.
Once I had learned these things, I began to teach my beloved brothers about the Unknown God, the Source of all life. There came a day when I was an old man, when all I had set out to accomplish in my being had been accomplished. I made a journey across the River Indus and there, on the side of the mountain called Indus, I communed with all of my people for one hundred and twenty days. I urged them to know that these understandings were a truth, that the source of their divine guidance was not through me or any other man but through the God that had created us all. For their belief — and to their surprise — I elevated myself quite nicely above them. Women screamed and became aghast. Soldiers dropped their broadswords in wonderment. I saluted them all farewell and urged them to learn as I had learned, to become as I had become in their own way.
Through learning how to comprehend life elements that I found more forceful than man — elements that I found more intelligent than man, that live in a peaceful coexistence beside and in spite of man — did I discover the Unknown God.
If you ask man, “How should I look? What should I believe in? How should I live?” — if you do that, you will die. That is a truth. Go and ask the wind: “Give me knowledge, wind. Open me up and let me know,” and it will turn you from olive to silver and take you into the hollows of the canyons and laugh with you blatantly free.
I was most fortunate in being taught by life’s elements. The sun never cursed me and the moon never said I must be a certain way. And the elements never reflected failure to me. The frost and the dew, the smell of grass, the insects going to and fro, the cry of the nighthawk, they are all unfailing things whose essence is simple. And a wonderful thing about them in their simplicity and steadfastness, they asked nothing of me. The sun did not look down and say, “Ramtha, you must worship me in order to know me.” The moon did not look down and say, “Ramtha, wake up. It is time to look upon my beauty.” They were there whenever I looked to see them.
I learned from something that is constant, without judgment, and easily understood if a man puts his mind to it. Because of that, I was not at the hands of the altered thinking of man with his hypocrisy, dogma, superstitious beliefs, and multifaceted Gods that you must try to appease. That is why it was easy for me to learn in one existence on this plane what most have yet to understand because they look for God in another man’s understanding. They look for God in governmental rule, in church rule, in a history which they have yet to question who wrote it or why it was written. Man has based his beliefs, his understandings, his thought processes, his lives on something that life after life after life has proven itself a failure. Yet man, stumbling over his own altered thinking, imprisoned by his own arrogance, continues the steadfast hypocrisy that only leads to death.
After I ascended is when I knew everything I wanted to know because I went out of the density of flesh and into the fluidness of thought and, in so doing, I was not inhibited by anything. Then I knew that man truly was, in his essence, God. Before I ascended I did not know there was such a thing as a soul, nor did I understand the mechanics of ascending the embodiment. I only knew that I was at peace with what I had done and I was at peace with life. I was no longer an ignorant barbarian anxious for battle. I was no longer overwrought and overworked. I embraced life and the wonderfulness that I saw in the heavens day after day and night after night. That was my life.
I learned to love myself when I compared myself with something great and majestic. My life became fulfilled when I took hold of all my understanding and focused it on myself. That is when peace came. That is when I began to know more. That is when I became one with the Unknown God.
It was not the wind that I became but the ideal that the wind represented to me. I am now the lord over it, for I became the unseen principle that is free and omnipresent and one with all life. It was when I became that principle that I understood the Unknown God and all that it is — and all that it isn’t — because that is what I wanted to understand. I found the answers within me that allowed me to expand into a grander understanding.
I was Ram the Conqueror. I am now Ram the God. I was a barbarian who became God through the simplest and yet the most profound of things. What I teach you is what I learned.
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For more great books and Ramtha's teaching video presentations, you can also visit Ramtha's School of Enlightenment
The classic work on Ramtha, that Ramtha himself has referred to as "The Great White Book". A brilliant book designed to inform the general public as to the nature of Ramtha's teachings along with a rich sampling of his wisdom on many topics.
An accurate description of A Beginner's Guide to Creating Reality has to be that it is a mass of information and logic that offers guidance and a philosophy to attain that manifestation of acceptance. Ramtha says, "O my beloved God,/ I do decree/ that that which I focus upon/ I surely want./ Manifest it straightaway./So be it./ To life."
The Plane of Bliss is a teaching which was given to advanced students at the Ramtha School of Enlightenment.