by David Elliott

Created on: November 30, 2007   Last Updated: December 01, 2007

I first read the so-called Tibetan Book of the Dead', in the acclaimed 1927 Evans-Wentz translation, some twenty years ago and found it pretty heavy going. At the same time, I appreciated that it was packed with the wisdom of the ages and wished that it could have been more accessible, rather than reading like an early twentieth century German academic tract by a von-someone at Heidelberg University. So after stumbling upon Rinpoche's book recently I was delighted to find that it was written in the clear and informative style I wanted, and was moreover endorsed by such luminaries as John Cleese and Joanna Lumley. In the field of religion it's sometimes reassuring to know that you're not reading something completely obscure and loopy. You have to be eased gently into these things; otherwise you'll find yourself on a tide of introversion that might land you in a psychiatric hospital. Browse the surface for nutritious plankton, but avoid the cold and murky deep, is my approach. Dig out the cockles, by all means, but at the same time keep an eye on the treacherous tides.

Anyway, to get back to the book, the first few chapters especially are a grand meditation on death. Rinpoche very gently and simply points out where we're going wrong in our Western materialism, and you can't really argue with what he says. Very occasionally you come across a book that puts into words what nobody else seems to say but what has been blindingly obvious to you for as long as you can remember: Yes! That's it, exactly!' you feel like shouting. Where have you been all my life?' Well, this is one of those books.

As I say, the first few chapters about attitudes to death in the West and where we are going wrong are fascinating, although the later chapters on yoga and meditation did not really take my fancy. I find the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer fascinating reading as well, but when they start saying things such as you have to go to church to be saved and all the rest of it I tend to switch off. You have to devote your life to something like yoga, and there's not much chance of me finding a master', so I'm happy, with Samuel Beckett, to be left alone with my books to make of them what I can, without the organisational superstructure. I don't like groups.

And Buddhism does make a great deal of sense. I can well imagine, for example, that the soul on death becomes surrounded by objectifications of the person's actions and desires when alive, so that what you do in life comes back at

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