The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Power of Meow (13 page)

His Holiness returned that afternoon, and within minutes of his arrival was receiving a visitor. His guest was a very senior executive from one of the best-known social media organizations in the world. Being a cat of immense discretion, let me just say that name of the company where the visitor was a high flier is reminiscent of the sound made by birds in the trees. By way of a further, very subtle clue, the corporate brand is not a million miles away from rhyming with that essential cat bathroom provision: litter.

“Your Holiness,” began the visitor. He had a balding head, dark-rimmed glasses, and a radiant intelligence. “The reason I'm here today is to invite you to address a conference of the world's leading consumer electronic companies in Silicon Valley next year.”

As I eavesdropped from my place on the sill, he went on to explain how every year there was a big conference offering a forum for social media networks, consumer product manufacturers, and mindfulness teachers.

After the visitor had finished his explanation, the Dalai Lama reached over and took his hand. “Tell me,” he said as he looked deep into his eyes, “do you yourself meditate?”

“Oh yes, Your Holiness!”

“And you encourage others in your organization to do so?”

The visitor nodded. “It's an important part of what I do. Of course, you can't force someone to meditate. But we have daily sessions, dedicated quiet rooms, and at certain meetings, like brainstorms, we always begin with two minutes of meditation.”

His Holiness was intrigued.

“Can I ask why?”

It was as though he had pressed a Play button in the mind of the Californian businessman.

“We operate in the most ferociously competitive markets of the world. And the fastest-moving!” His eyes lit up, and his face became animated. “By the time any new product becomes available, it is already six, twelve months out-of-date. In our business environment, one thing matters more than anything else: innovation! We need to be creative. We need to unleash our employees' talent to work out what's going to matter to consumers a year from now, and to develop the perfect application for them before anyone else does.

“We find,” he said, his voice lowered to a sacramental tone, “that when people meditate, they are more innovative.”

The Dalai Lama was nodding seriously.

“By contrast, if their minds are agitated, they can't see what might be staring them in the face.”

This was a theme I'd often heard His Holiness talk about. “Like a glass of storm water scooped out of the gutter,” the Dalai Lama said. “Very murky. But rest the glass on a flat surface for a while, and the sediment settles. You have clear water—you can see right through it.”

“A wonderful metaphor!” chimed the visitor. “I will definitely be sharing that one when I get home. We also find that when people meditate they are more relaxed. It's easier for them to be more playful and creative, to optimize innovation—which is critical for our business.”

The Dalai Lama considered this carefully before saying, “It is very interesting to hear the different purposes to which meditation is being put.”

“We attribute half our NPD—sorry, New Product Development—to mindfulness practice.”

“Very impressive.” His Holiness was smiling.

“And that's only the start of it. There's now plenty of research showing that when people meditate, their focus improves. It's a highly transferable skill. Whether you're sitting on a meditation cushion concentrating on the breath or in front of a computer screen concentrating on an e-mail, you become more productive, less easily distracted, and your memory recall improves.”

“Good for the employer,” observed the Dalai Lama with his trademark chuckle. “More profit.”

“The bottom line is always important,” agreed the visitor. “That's not a problem, is it? It's not like we're subverting the practice of meditation.”

His Holiness pondered this question for a moment. “Generally speaking, motivation always comes first, yes? When encouraging your staff to meditate, if your motivation is to help them be more useful, happier, more functional for their own benefit and for others—well, no problem.”

“There is a growing debate about whether companies should encourage meditation,” said his guest. “The purists are arguing that it is unethical to ‘use' a practice designed for spiritual progress in the pursuit of profit.”

“If profit is the only goal, then there is a problem,” the Dalai Lama continued. “But if profit arises from better creativity, and more fulfillment, better job satisfaction then . . . meditation is helpful. In Tibet we have a saying about meditation and ethics. For a non-meditator, an unethical action is like a hair falling on the hand. For a meditator, the same action is like a hair falling on the eyeball—big problem. When people meditate regularly, greater ethical awareness quite naturally develops. What could be better for the world's biggest companies than if all their employees were to meditate? I would like to see this: all the largest global organizations encouraging people to meditate. This would be a very big step toward world peace.”

“These are some of the themes that our Wisdom Conferences explore!” said the visitor. “The role of social engagement and how happier employees make for happier communities. There are some very exciting studies showing how meditation improves job satisfaction and staff retention at the same time as reducing stress and burnout.

“For me, the biggest benefit of all has been changes in the way that people get along with one another at work, in their emotional regulation. It is usually possible to find solutions to technical problems or financial problems. But people problems? They are the most difficult to manage. Fortunately, we have discovered that when people meditate regularly, especially as a team, they don't get so hung up on small things.”

“Less attachment.” The Dalai Lama was nodding. “More openness.”

“Exactly. In fact we've come up with this phrase: A company that sits together, knits together.”

His Holiness laughed as he reached over to take his visitor's hand again. “You are a very good advertisement for meditation,” he said, still chuckling. Then his expression turned serious. “But if you really want me to speak at your conference, I will have to talk about my concerns, too.”

“Concerns?”

The Dalai Lama pretended to hunch over a cell phone, his thumbs moving over an imaginary screen. “Too much activity. Mindless distraction. This creates great agitation. It destroys inner peace. If people get too caught up with their phones they are robbed of contentment.”

No one could deny the point the Dalai Lama was making. I saw it myself every day down at the Himalaya Book Café where, instead of enjoying the wonderful surroundings and experiencing the novelty of the place, tourists from all over the world would sit huddled over their mobile devices, utterly absorbed in what was happening on the other side of the world or frustrated by the lack of network speed that slowed down message exchange.

Stirring on the sill, I reached out both front paws for a languid stretch before hopping down from my usual place and making my fluffy way over the carpet to where the two men were sitting.

“These are valid points,” the visitor was saying. “Whenever new technology emerges we must question the best uses to which it can be put.”

“Motivation,” summarized His Holiness.

“Of course.” The other man seemed unsure of how to respond to my evidently unexpected appearance while also trying to find a more positive response to His Holiness.

“I have a Buddhist friend who has created an app for his cell phone. At random times of the day, it makes a special sound. He calls it his ‘bodhisattva alert.' It's a reminder to question his actions at that moment.”

The Dalai Lama raised his eyebrows.
Bodhisattva
is a Tibetan Buddhist term that translates as “enlightened being.” The idea of setting alerts as spiritual reminders throughout the day was hardly new, although the phone application was a novelty.

At that moment I decided it was time I had some attention myself. With a gentle chirrup, I launched myself from the floor onto His Holiness's lap.

The visitor glanced over, surprised, as I circled on the Dalai Lama's lap and kneaded his red robes contemplatively for a few moments before settling down.

Looking at his visitor, His Holiness said, “This is my ‘bodhi
cat
va alert.'” His expression was mischievous. “Very effective. The best thing is, she is also
sem-chen
, a mindhaver. She is, how do you call it . . . interactive!”

As both of them chuckled, I looked up at the Dalai Lama and purred loudly.

“Nice alert tone,” the litter man said as he smiled.

After the litter chief had left the office, I made my early-evening sweep of the building. Tail held high as I walked past the executive assistants' office, I noticed Tenzin talking to his computer. There had been much anticipation of a Skype call with the Vatican and, naturally, I was curious to see what was happening. Hopping onto the desk opposite his, I padded over toward where he was sitting. A disembodied voice sounded from the sides of his computer screen.

“I can get his calendar now to start looking at dates,” a man in a suit was saying. “But I'll have to go down the corridor for it.”

“As it happens, I need to attend to the call of nature,” replied Tenzin. “Shall we resume in five minutes?”

Watching the screen intently, I noted that the man on the screen sat at a desk much the same as Tenzin's. This detail wouldn't have held my attention for more than a few seconds except for one thing: a snout had appeared at the bottom of the screen. Long, shaggy tufts of fur hung untidily from each side of it. A large, pink tongue lolled beneath. It was indisputably canine.

My whiskers tingled.

“Sì, sì!”
the other man agreed, pushing back his seat and stepping away from the desk.

I moved to occupy the center of the screen, staring closely at the snout. Within moments, it had loomed up to become the whole head of a dog as close to its screen as I was to mine. Its large, brown eyes held a mischievous glint.

There had been a time not so long ago when my reaction to any large dog would have been fear or disdain, depending how far away I was from it. But I had come to learn that nothing was more disarming to a dog than a cat who, instead of blindly obeying her instincts, remained calmly cordial.

Plus there was the still-new knowledge that, also not so long ago, I had been a dog myself.

“Who are you?” I asked the great, shaggy beast in a pleasant tone.

He replied in a baritone voice that was as rich as the gravy of Mrs. Trinci's goulash and with a curiously musical accent I found hard to place: “A being of many names.”

“What?” I was taken aback.

“A being of many names” was
my
line. What was this imposter doing trying to hijack it?

“But you must have . . . an official name?” I pressed.

“HHD,” he said, eyes a-sparkle.

“Don't be silly. It can't be!”

“Whyever not?” He sounded genuinely bewildered.

“Because that's like
my
title. HHC. His Holiness's Cat.”

“To be sure?” he yelped with excitement. “And I'm His Holiness's Dog.”

There was something about the jaunty demeanor of the dog I found maddening as well as curiously entertaining.

“His Holiness doesn't have a dog,” I said, knowing I was on firm ground.

“'Course he does,” growled the other amiably. “I am he!”

What was I to make of this wild-haired apparition?

“You don't have to take my word for it,” he continued. “Put on the TV tonight. They just filmed a segment where I made an appearance, so they did.”

“But he hasn't done any media today.”

“Yes, he has.”

“No, he hasn't.”

“How would you know, anyway?”

“I ought to know what the Dalai Lama does—I'm his cat!”

“Who's the Dalai Lama?”

Was he trying to play mind games? Was this some canine attempt at humor?

Fixing him with the full power of my sapphire-blue gaze, I told him simply, “The Dalai Lama
is
His Holiness.”

“No he isn't! The pope is.”

We arrived at the same aha moment at the same time.

“So,” I said after a pause. “
Your
Holiness lives in Rome?”

“Naturally. Where does yours live?”

“India.”

“You don't look very Indian to me.”

“That's because I'm Himalayan. For that matter, you don't seem very Italian.”

“That's because I'm Irish. A wolfhound.”

“I'm pleased we've cleared that up.”

There was a pause while we both stared at our screens.

“So . . .” The other cocked his head with a waggish look on his face. “What's your Holiness like?”