mong the larger body of LRH manuscripts, are the few but fascinating pages from an unfinished novel entitled, The Mountain. That many an author leaves an incomplete manuscript or unrealized outline is typical; for true authorship is generally a lifelong pursuit and not a career from which one retires. Consequently, we come upon the notes and first pages of the LRH work-in-progress as of his passing in 1986.
A charming fable for all ages, the story tells of a cruel and materialist mountain anxious to recount his considerable history before the onslaught of bulldozers and the laying of pavement. That history is, in turn, passed to a sleeping author worn with ink-stained fingers through the medium of dream. Thus unfolds a four-billion-year tale of geological and biological development. Hes always thought that he himself was God, reads an LRH note on the character of that mountain, but finally comes to suspect there might be some other God that has just been using him. There is also much on the emergence of increasingly complex cellular life forms a deeply resented encroachment in the mountains materialist view and a final affirmation of things spiritual which runs through the finest LRH.