In 1989, at the age of 24, I moved from Paris to start a job in the restaurant of the Watergate Hotel, in Washington, D.C. The day I left, I had just a small bit of French currency with me, which I opted to use before I boarded the plane to America. I walked to one of the newsstands at de Gaulle Airport and spotted Playboy. Nearby, there were some inexpensive pocket books, and one of them, an adventure about Tibetan monks, caught my attention. I was already fascinated by Tibetan culture and thought it might be interesting to learn more. Nevertheless, I picked up the Playboy and headed to the line to pay. Then, for some reason, in a quick-decision moment, I put back the Playboy and bought the book instead. I've never regretted that choice.
The book, The Rampa Story, by T. Lobsang Rampa, was not a reference source, but it made me want to learn more. Once in Washington, I sought out additional books about Buddhism. Because I couldn't read English, I would call my mother and ask her if she could find the same titles for me in French. Before long, the Dalai Lama became a strong meditative figure for me. I went to see him whenever he was in New York.
Simultaneously, I started to work on my anger through meditation, and my personality went from being aggressive and abusive to quite the contrary. The more I practiced, the more Buddhism taught me how to like myself first and then to like others. Now I don't let my temper rise. In case I have a crisis, I keep a small Buddha in one pocket and a Hindu Ganesh in the other. The Buddha represents wisdom, and Ganesh represents strength. So I can touch wisdom in one leg and strength in the other.
Longtime fans of C&S and Skeptical Inquirer magazine will remember T. Lobsang Rampa as a plumber from the West Country named Cyril Henry Hoskin.
But then wasn't Jesus Christ actually a carpenter from Ruislip named Keith Murchison?
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