The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Power of Meow (4 page)

That particular evening, I noticed a curiously beguiling new scent carried on the breeze. It wasn't a fragrance I had ever detected before, and there was something powerfully compelling about it. My nostrils flared. I had no doubt that its origin was a flower or plant of some kind. But where was it coming from exactly? And why had I never noticed it before? As I lifted my face to the wind, I knew it was a mystery that deserved further investigation.

But not just yet. Just then, His Holiness returned to the room. Seeing me sitting in the darkness, I think he, too, sensed something of the magic of that moment. Instead of turning on the light, he came over to where I sat looking out the open window to the brightly lit temple. He eased himself down next to me, and for a few moments the two of us became watchful observers.

Snatches of conversation rose from the courtyard as monks made their way from the temple back to their residence, where orange squares of light flickered to life. A cooling breeze stirred, bringing with it ribbons of night jasmine—along with that enchanting new scent. Over at the temple, the lights were being turned off one by one. First the roof and the auspicious symbols that decorated it suddenly fell into darkness. Then the steps leading up to the entrance and the intricately colored doorway became instantly monochrome.

For a moment, all that remained lit was a solitary gold lotus flower—the Buddhist symbol of transcendence, renunciation, and hope—on the front of the temple. It floated on the unseen surface of an ocean of shadow.

“A good reminder, my little Snow Lion,” murmured the Dalai Lama. “Lotus plants grow in poor conditions. Their roots are in the mud, sometimes dirty swamps. But they rise above that. Their flowers are very beautiful. Sometimes when we have problems we, too, can use our difficulties to create something we may not even have considered before. We can turn our suffering into the cause of extraordinary growth.”

Like so much else of what His Holiness said, his words could be understood in different ways. I knew he was making not only a general observation but offering a deeply personal message—one that referred not only to my own recent challenges but to Mrs. Trinci's, too. And, more important, to the fresh direction in which they could propel us. Instead of believing my infestation to be a cause of nothing but biting misery, I was beginning to see that it seemed it could become fuel for personal growth.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

Something happens to cats after we have enjoyed a delicious meal. Call it a feline sugar hit. A rush of good feeling. Abandoning our usually sedentary nature, we transform into crazed beasts who thunder down corridors, spring from one piece of furniture to another, or pounce from behind half-closed doors to attack the shoelaces of unsuspecting passersby. It is as though we are temporarily possessed.

That, at least, is my excuse, dear reader—and the only explanation I can offer for my entirely unplanned global TV debut.

To be fair, I had no way of knowing that His Holiness was receiving visitors that particular afternoon. Nor that he was being interviewed, let alone by one of America's most famous media moguls.

All I knew was that, a few minutes after gorging myself on a favorite treat of diced chicken liver, I felt that sudden, primal explosion of energy. Having made my way back to the suite of rooms I shared with the Dalai Lama, I was driven by an overpowering compulsion to do something completely mad. To run amok like the rabid jungle cat that, at that particular moment, I felt I was.

Bursting through the door of the room in which His Holiness received visitors, I tore up the carpet as I raced toward the sofa opposite where he was sitting. I ripped into its fabric as I scrambled up its side, a savage creature clawing its way up a perilous cliff. Then with a final, frenzied burst, I launched myself off one arm of the sofa, leaping toward the other.

It was only at this point that I realized the sofa was occupied by a beautiful blond-haired woman. She was halfway through a sentence, and my unscheduled, airborne appearance caught His Holiness's guest completely by surprise.

You know how, when something truly unexpected happens, time can seem to slow down? Well, that's how it was. As I flew past the woman's face, her expression turned from one of calm engagement to total surprise.

As she pushed back in her seat to avoid me, the shock etched on her features could not have been more stark.

But she was no more shaken, dear reader, than me. I hadn't been expecting anyone on the sofa, let alone a TV celebrity, nor one who was mid-interview. As I headed toward the opposite end of the sofa, for the first time I observed the lighting. The cameras. The crew watching the action from the shadows. By the time I landed, all the demonic energy that had propelled me from the other end of the sofa was gone.

I was, no longer, a Snow Lion possessed.

She looked at me. I looked at her. Both of us were taking in what had just happened. It was only then that I remembered conversations in the executive assistants' office during recent weeks about her expected visit. As a feline of considerable experience in diplomatic circles, I am not one to name-drop about the Dalai Lama's visitors. Let me just say that the woman concerned was an American of Greek descent. One who founded an online media outlet that went on to become one of the fastest growing in the world. An author herself, one of her most recent books concerns what it means to thrive.
There
, that's as many hints as I'm willing to disclose.

As the woman and I regarded each other closely, from across the coffee table there came a gentle chuckle.

“She likes to do this, sometimes,” said His Holiness. “Especially if I spend too much time at my desk.”

“
This
is HHC?” asked the Dalai Lama's guest, her voice sonorous and merry. To give credit where it is due, she seemed to have landed on her feet just as quickly as I had.

His Holiness was nodding.

“Well,” she said, glancing over at where I sat, blue-eyed and looking so innocent that you would not even believe a clot of cream would melt in my pink mouth. “I didn't think I'd be welcoming
two
celebrities to the show.”

“You like cats?” the Dalai Lama asked, gesturing in my direction.

“Oh yes!” There was genuine warmth in her accented voice. “I believe that pets can teach us in many ways. Just like you say, they can be wonderful reminders to us to get out of our heads and live in the moment.”

His Holiness was nodding with enthusiasm. “Yes, yes. They can bring us back to here and now. Not be caught up in too much thinking.”

“Which brings us back to mindfulness,” she continued in a seamless segue back to what had evidently been the subject of their interview. “We hear so much about mindfulness these days. But is it the same as meditation, or is there a difference?”

The Dalai Lama was nodding. “This is a very good question,” he said. “There is much confusion. You see, when we practice mindfulness we are present to this moment, here and now, on purpose and without judgment. We pay attention to what is coming through our sense doors. What we hear”—he pointed toward his ears—“what we taste. And so on.”

His Holiness paused, a sparkle appearing in his eyes. “There is a famous story about a novice monk who asks an enlightened master, ‘Tell me, what is the secret of happiness?' The master tells him, ‘I eat and I walk and I sleep.'” His Holiness chuckled. “This makes the novice confused. He has to confess, ‘I also eat and walk and sleep.' So the master has to spell it out for him. ‘Yes, and when I eat, I eat. When I walk, I walk. And when I sleep, I sleep.' Mindfulness is when we focus on the present moment, instead of being caught up in our thoughts.”

She nodded, smiling warmly. “I came across a recent survey showing that there is a direct correlation between happiness and paying attention to what we are doing. Being in direct mode instead of narrative mode.”

“Exactly!” The Dalai Lama sat forward in his seat. “When we meditate, we choose to focus on just one object of meditation for a period of time. For example, we may focus on the breath. Or a mantra. For ten minutes, one hour.” He shrugged. “Whatever period is useful. When we concentrate like this, it supports our practice of mindfulness all the time.”

“So you might say that meditation helps us become more mindful in the same way that an exercise program helps keep us more physically fit?” confirmed the interviewer.

His Holiness was nodding. “Yes. Very good. When we are mindful we have more peace, more happiness. Greater freedom.”

The Dalai Lama went on to explain how even very busy people could create more space and contentment in their lives by mindfully drinking a cup of coffee or mindfully enjoying a shower, instead of being caught up in mental agitation. How even chores such as walking to work from the train station or ironing clothes could become opportunities to practice mindfulness.

Putting their advice to immediate action, I mindfully licked my left paw before giving both my ears a good wash. Grooming dispensed with, I walked over to the interviewer, raised my right paw, and gently prodded her thigh. This is one of the ways that we cats test unfamiliar humans to find out whether they are willing to receive that most feline of blessings—an occupied lap.

As a poised and graceful interviewer, she was hardly going to shove me away. But a subtle hand-blocking gesture or a crossing of her legs in the opposite direction was all I would have needed to take my cue.

As it happened, she did neither of those things. Instead, she lifted some notes off her lap, thereby issuing the equivalent of a gilt-edged invitation. Without further ado I climbed onto her lap and circled it a few times contemplatively before settling down.

How would I describe the lap of one of the world's most influential digital media owners? Not too firm. Not too soft. Just right. The Goldilocks of laps, you might say. There was a warm sturdiness about that lap; it offered a nurturing safety, a safe harbor from the world beyond the lights and cameras. In many ways it seemed almost the perfect lap—except for one thing. I saw a few fine strands of dog fur, which signaled to me that felines didn't have an exclusive place in the interviewer's affections.

“So we tune into our five senses . . .” The interviewer resumed the conversation, but then His Holiness leaned forward, hand held up.

“In Buddhism, we have six,” he said. Then, responding to her expression of surprise, he added, “Along with visual and auditory consciousness, and so on, we also include mental consciousness. What goes on in the mind. We can be mindful of that, too.”

“That's not the same as having thoughts, right?”

“Oh no!” The Dalai Lama's eyes glinted mischievously. “If that were the case, we could all be very mindful with no effort!”

The two of them laughed. His Holiness adjusted his glasses. “Being mindful of the mind is when we are aware of thoughts without becoming engaged with them. We see a thought merely as a thought. An act of cognition. Something temporary that arises, abides, and passes. Like a cat jumping from one side of the sofa to the other,” he said, beaming. “This is a very useful kind of mindfulness. We cultivate the awareness behind thoughts and feelings. We become the observers of our thoughts, not their slaves. Little by little, over time, we can take control of our mind-stream and let go of mental patterns that don't serve us well.”

As often happens when people speak to the Dalai Lama, the simplest turn of conversation led to an observation so profound, so insightful, I could feel the effect on his visitor as a visceral force. It was as though a thrill of understanding passed through her.

At that same moment, I began to purr directly into her lapel microphone, broadcasting subtle yet contented sound waves into the homes of the show's viewers. For a short while it felt as though time was somehow suspended, and we were all absorbed into a state of understanding that transcended space and time.

Then the famous interviewer smiled and said, “Well, I can't think of a better moment to meditate for just a few minutes. Your Holiness, would you like to lead this meditation?”

The Dalai Lama gave a short invocation to all those joining in the global session. He asked that the session be a direct cause for all living being to have happiness, to be free from suffering, and to attain complete and perfect enlightenment.

A time of quiet followed.