The Secret of Shambhala: In Search of the Eleventh Insight (7 page)

I just looked at him, trying to take it all in.

“Don’t try to understand everything now,” the Lama said. “Just know that the integration of all religious truth is important
if the force of prayer-energy is to grow large enough to resolve the dangers posed by those who fear. Also remember that the
dakini are real.”

“What makes them act to help us?” I asked.

The Lama took a deep breath, thinking deeply. The question seemed to be a point of frustration for him.

“I have worked my whole life to understand this question,” he said finally, “but I must admit that I do not know. I think
that it is the great secret of Shambhala and will not be understood until Shambhala is understood.”

“But you think,” I interjected, “that the dakini are helping me?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “And your friend Wil.”

“What about Yin? How does he figure in all this?”

“Yin met your friend Wil at this monastery. Yin has also dreamed of you, but in a different context from myself or the other
lamas. Yin was educated in England and is very familiar with Western ways. He is to be your guide, although he is very reluctant,
as you have no doubt seen. This is only because he does not want to let anyone down. He will be your guide and take you as
far as he can go.”

He paused again and looked at me expectantly.

“And what about the Chinese government?” I asked. “What are they doing? Why are they so interested in what is happening?”

The Lama lowered his eyes. “I do not know. They seem to sense that something is happening with Shambhala. They have always
tried to suppress Tibetan spirituality, but now they seem to have discovered our sect. You must be very careful. They fear
us greatly.”

I looked away for a moment, still thinking about the Chinese.

“Have you decided?” he asked.

“You mean whether to go?”

He smiled compassionately. “Yes.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I have the courage to risk losing everything.”

The Lama just kept looking at me and nodded.

“You said some things about the challenge of my generation,” I said. “I still don’t understand this.”

“World War II, as well as the cold war,” the Lama began, “was the previous generation’s challenge to face. The great advances
in technology had placed massive weapons in the hands of nations. In their nationalistic fervor, the forces of totalitarianism
were attempting to conquer the democratic countries. This threat would have prevailed had not ordinary citizens fought and
died in defense of freedom, ensuring the success of democracy in the world.

“But your task is different from that of your parents. The mission of your generation is different in its very nature from
that of the World War II generation. They had to fight a particular tyranny with violence and arms. You must fight against
the concepts of war and enemies altogether. But it takes just as much heroism. Do you understand? There was no way your parents
could have done what they did, but they persevered. So must you. The forces of totalitarianism have not gone away; they are
just not expressing themselves any longer through nations seeking empire. The forces of tyranny now are international and
much more subtle, taking advantage of our dependence on technology and credit and a desire for convenience. Out of fear, they
seek to centralize all technological growth into the hands of a few, so that their economic positions can be safeguarded and
the future evolution of the world controlled.

“Opposing them with force is impossible. Democracy must be guarded now with the next step in freedom’s evolution. We must
use the power of our vision, and the expectations that flow out from us, as a constant prayer. This power is stronger than
anyone now knows, and we must master it and begin to use it before it is too late. There are signs that something is changing
in Shambhala. It is opening, shifting.”

The Lama was looking at me with steely determination. “You must answer the call to Shambhala. It is the only way to honor
what your forefathers have done before you.”

His comment filled me with anxiety.

“What do I do first?” I asked.

“Complete the extensions of your energy,” the Lama replied. “This will not be easy for you because of your fear and anger.
But if you persist, the gateway will present itself to you.”

“The gateway?”

“Yes. Our legends say that there are several gateways into Shambhala: one in the eastern Himalayas in India, one to the northwest
on the border of China, and one in the far north in Russia. The signs will guide you to the right one. When all seems lost,
look for the dakini.”

As the Lama was talking, Yin walked outside with our packs.

“Okay,” I said, feeling increasingly terrified. “I’ll try.” Even as I spoke, I couldn’t believe the words were coming from
my mouth.

“Don’t worry,” Lama Rigden said. “Yin will help you. Just remember that before you can find Shambhala, you must first extend
the level of energy that emanates from you and goes out into the world. You can’t have success until you do. You must master
the force of your expectations.”

I looked at Yin and he half smiled.

“It’s time.” he said.

W
e walked outside, and I noticed a brown, hardtop Jeep, perhaps ten years old, sitting beside the road. As we walked closer,
I could tell it was filled with ice chests, boxes of dried food, sleeping bags, and heavier jackets. Several external gas
tanks were strapped to the rear.

“Where did all this stuff come from?” I asked.

He winked at me. “We have been preparing for this journey for a long time.”

From Lama Rigden’s monastery, Yin headed north for a few miles and then turned the Jeep from the wide gravel road onto a narrow
tract, barely wider than a foot path. We continued driving for several miles without saying anything.

The truth was, I didn’t know what to say. I had agreed to go on this journey purely because of the Lama’s words and because
of what Wil had done for me in the past, but now the angst over the decision was beginning to set in. I tried to shake off
the fear and to retrace in my mind all that Lama Rigden had told me. What did he mean by mastering the force of my expectations?

I looked over at Yin. He was staring intently at the road.

“Where are we heading?” I asked.

Without looking at me, he said, “This is a shortcut to the Friendship Highway. We must go southwest to Tingri, near Mount
Everest. The drive will take most of the day. We will also be going up in altitude.”

“Is that area safe?”

Yin glanced at me. “We will be very careful. We’re going to find Mr. Hanh.”

“Who is he?”

“He knows the most about the First Extension of prayer-energy you must learn. He is from Thailand, and he is very educated.”

I shook my head and looked away. “I’m not sure I understand these extensions. What are they?”

“You know that you have an energy field, correct? A prayer-field flowing out from you all the time.”

“Yes.”

“And you know that this field has an effect on the world, on what happens? You know it can be either small and weak or extensive
and strong.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Well, there are precise ways to extend and expand your field so that you can become more creative and powerful. The legends
say that eventually all humans will know how to do this. But you must do it now if you expect to get to Shambhala and find
Wil.”

“Can you already perform these extensions?” I asked.

Yin frowned. “I did not say that.”

I just looked at him. This was great. How was I supposed to learn to do this if even Yin had trouble?

For hours we drove without talking, eating nuts and vegetables as we rode along, stopping only once at a truck stop for gas.
Well after dark, we passed through Tingri.

“We must be very careful here,” Yin said. “We are near the Rongphu monastery and the Everest base camp, and there will be
Chinese soldiers observing the tourists and climbers. But we will also be able to see incredible views of the north face of
Everest.”

Yin made several turns until he came to an area of old wooden buildings. Beyond them was a simple mud-brick house.

The yard around Hanh’s dwelling was immaculate, with carefully planted beds and rock gardens. As we drove up, a large man
in a colorful, hand-embroidered robe walked out on the stoop. He appeared to be in his sixties, but he moved like a person
much younger. His head was completely shaved.

Yin waved as the man strained to see who it was. When he recognized Yin, he burst into a smile and walked toward us as we
got out of the Jeep.

The two men spoke for a moment in Tibetan, then Yin pointed to me and said, “This is my American friend.”

I told Hanh my name, and he bowed slightly and grasped my hand.

“Welcome,” he said. “Please come in.”

As Hanh walked back to the house, Yin reached inside the Jeep and grabbed his pack. “Bring your satchel,” he said.

The house inside was modest but filled with colorful Tibetan paintings and rugs. We went into a small sitting area, and from
where I was I could see most of the other rooms. To the left was a small kitchen and a bedroom, and to the right was another
room that had the look of a treatment area of some kind. In the center of the room was a massage or examination table, and
lining one wall were cabinets and a small sink.

Yin said something else to Hanh in Tibetan, and I heard him repeat my name. Hanh leaned forward with a new alertness. He glanced
over at me and took a large breath.

“You are very fearful,” Hanh said, looking me over closely.

“No kidding,” I replied.

Hanh chuckled at my sarcasm. “We must do something about that if you are going to complete your journey.”

He walked around me, surveying my body.

“Those in Shambhala,” he began, “live differently from most other humans. They always have. In fact, through the millennia,
there has been a great gulf between the energy levels of most people and those in Shambhala. Yet in recent times, as all humans
have evolved and increased their consciousness, this distance has closed, but it is still very far apart.”

As Hanh was talking, I glanced at Yin. He seemed to be as nervous as I was.

Hanh picked up on it too. “Yin is as fearful as you are,” he said. “But he knows that this fear can be handled. I don’t think
you realize that yet. You must begin to act and think as those in Shambhala do. You must first cultivate and then stabilize
your energy.”

Hanh stopped and concentrated on looking at my body again, then smiled.

“You have had many experiences,” he said. “You should be stronger.”

“Maybe I don’t understand energy well enough,” I replied.

“Oh no, you understand.” Hanh smiled broadly. “You just don’t want to change the way you live. You want to get excited about
the ideas and then live unconsciously, more or less the way you’ve always done.”

This conversation was not going the way I wanted, and my fear was being replaced by a mild irritation.

As I stood there, Hanh walked around me several more times, still gazing intently up and down my body.

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

“When I am assessing someone’s energy level, I first look at posture,” Hanh said matter-of-factly. “Yours is not too bad at
this point, but you had to work on it, didn’t you?”

His question was very perceptive. As a youth, I grew very quickly one year and as a result slumped terribly. My back was always
tired and ached, and it only improved when I began to practice a few basic yoga positions every morning.

“The energy still doesn’t flow up your body very well,” Hanh added.

“You can tell that by looking at me?” I responded.

“And by feeling you. The amount and strength of your energy feels like the degree of presence you have in the room. Surely
you must have experienced someone who came into a room and had presence or charisma.”

“Sure, of course.” I thought again about the man at the hotel pool in Kathmandu.

“The more energy one has, the more others feel that person’s presence. Often this is energy that winds up being displayed
through the ego, and so feels strong at first, then dissipates very rapidly. But with others, this is a genuine and constant
energy that remains reliable.”

I nodded.

“One thing in your favor is that you are open,” Hanh continued. “You have experienced a mystical opening, a sudden inflow
of divine energy, sometime in the past, have you not?”

“Yes,” I said, remembering my experience on the mountain-top in Peru. Even now it remained vivid in my memory. I had been
at the end of my rope, certain I was about to be killed by Peruvian soldiers, when all of a sudden I was imbued with an unusual
calm, euphoria, and lightness. It was the first time I had experienced what the mystics of various religions have called a
transformative state.

“How did the energy fill you?” Hanh asked. “How did it happen exactly?”

“It was a rush of peacefulness, and all my fear went away.”

“How did it move?”

That was a question I had never thought about, but I quickly began to remember. “It seemed to come up my spine and out through
the top of my head, lifting my body upward. I felt as if I was floating. As though there was a string pulling me upward from
the top of my head.”

Hanh nodded approvingly, then caught my eye. “And how long did it last?”

“Not long,” I replied. “But I have learned how to breathe in the beauty around me in order to rekindle the feeling.”

“What is missing in your practice,” said Hanh, “is breathing in the energy and then consciously maintaining it at a higher
level. This is the first extension that you must make. You must keep your energy flowing in more fully. This must be done
in a precise manner, taking care that your other actions do not erode your energy field once you have built it up.”

He paused for a moment. “Do you understand? The rest of your life must support your higher energy. You must be congruent.”
He glanced at me mischievously. “You must live wisely. Let’s eat.”