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They had made
it clear no one got to talk to the Dalai Lama and ask a personal question
unless they had waited a long time and shown proper respect and intent.
His feeling was
that a university graduate of philosophy with his Master's and a teaching
certificate should be allowed some consideration. As he discussed the
matter with the administrator he saw it didn't seem to be a positive
factor that he had studied Kant and Nietzsche or the convoluted Hegelian
politics of Fukayama. The administrator went on about clarity of purpose
and concentration or convergence with the harmonizing forces. It was made
abundantly clear that the great man was kind and generous with his love and time; but that he was a man with
many people to care for and guide towards their spiritual purpose. He told the red-capped Lama
that he would pay any amount of money (within reason) or work for the
temple for a year. Nonetheless the conclusion reached was that he would
have to contemplate his one question for five years! "I don't know
if I can afford to waste that much time!"
"We
are our own masters and I hope you appreciate the passing of life; no
matter what your choice will be, my son." The administrator spoke
softly as he rose from the lotus position and re-arranged his red-orange
garments. The young man sensed a real wisdom in the man and his response.
He was impressed. Then he recalled a professor who had always seemed wise
to him while he had taken his courses at university. He had a similar
reaction to this man and knew it was more that he did not wish to argue
about the length of time, and that the length of time had little to do
with the shortages of the Dalai Lama’s time. Maybe he had approached
the whole thing too arrogantly and he could take another approach later.
"I
feel your warmth and compassion in ways no one else has been able to
touch me. I'm not likely to wait that long but I do enjoy the country and
will meditate on the matter some before making any decision."
A
month went by and he was becoming agitated and frustrated other than his
studies at the temple, where they had a lot of books. The local people
weren't able to see the logic of his arguments about his long studies in
America. Some times he swore he would leave and other times he convinced
himself that once he knew how to speak their language better they would
agree he shouldn't have to wait that long. After a couple of months he
got a letter from his girlfriend making it clear she wasn't coming to
join his 'idiotic quest'. His father was equally dubious about the merit
of such a simple quest and felt it 'was more of the same old need to be
different', and wondered when he might 'grow up'.
During the
first year he learned the language well enough to display his eloquent
grasp of most things philosophical. The others, who had been waiting to
speak with the Dalai Lama when he got there, had all received their
audience and none of them were disheartened by the words of insight the
renowned man had shared with them. It annoyed him that everyone who was
waiting to see the Lama was getting to go ahead of him. He was homesick
and enjoyed the words of his mother who always seemed supportive, despite
the apparent lack of understanding from his father. Their letters always
proved a highlight in whatever month they arrived.
"Am I
allowed to go home for a week or two?" He asked the restaurant owner
who had become his friend.
"Clearly
you have no commitment to your cause and aren't even on the road to
knowing what question to ask."
"I have
many good questions in mind!”
"That
seems to be your problem.” The man smiled as he served him a meal of
his best vegetarian preparation. His son brought a glass of water and sat
at the young man’s table, as he often did.
"Chandra, what
do you think I should do?" The young man asked the child of six, in
a half joking fashion.
"Don't
patronize my son. He doesn't need any complex rationalizations to confuse
his heart, please." The father spoke with a note of sharpness the
young man seldom heard.
"You know
I value your son and his precocious nature. I hope it wasn't patronizing
in any way!"
On his way to a
railroad station while thinking about going home and knowing he would not
come back if he left; the young man stopped at his favourite pond with
thoughts screaming through his mind. He could imagine what kind of
response his father would give and it brought warmth to his cheeks. A hug
from his mother would be great, but how could he quit. He knew his family
wasn’t known to EVER do that. He thought about what his literary guru
Jack Kerouac had written about the case of sorrow, and waited until the
words of his friend had cleared his mind.
The moment
seemed right for a cleansing ritual he had read about in one of the books
on Yoga. It was a delicious feeling as the soil and seaweed moved between
his toes while the water from the brook that fed the pond brought new
energy to the pond past his legs. Logic and all the reason in the world
couldn't give him the purpose to continue his stay in this lush, pristine
environment but then, a purpose came to mind. He would become an 'expert'
on Eastern religion and read all the books in the nearby temples. Surely
there was more to it than all this 'busy-mind' or 'sangsara' stuff. He
was smiling broadly without intent as he returned with his knapsack to
the room above the restaurant.
"You seem
a lot more relaxed today, my friend. Did my words have anything to do
with it?" His friend asked with a sense of pride.
“Yes, but not
in the way you might think. I have determined to learn all there is to
know about Lamaism and the other Eastern philosophies."
"That will
not be possible unless you find Nirvana, in your soul."
"I am
already well on my way, I assure you... You can ask me any question and
test me, if you like."
"Let me
think about that… I should be able to come up with a good one for you.
The mental aspects of knowledge aren't all there is, you know.”
The next day
while he was having dinner after doing a little tour guide work for an
English couple, the restaurant owner listened as his son asked: "Do
you believe in destiny?"
"Yes, my
friend THAT is my question for you."
"It is an
excellent question. The sages of all cultures and times have wrestled
with that one and its related issues of 'free will'. My mind tells me
that there is limited available force for individuals to be concerned
about. My heart tells me that all things are proceeding as they should
just like the poem 'Desiderata' says… My soul is growing through
meditation to become more trusted and it gives me lots of confusing
inputs on what mix of free will versus destiny is at work. It seems to
say there are different situations where one is more important than the
other." He continued talking about this question for many months and
was sending away for books that others had written on it. After a few
months had passed he asked his friend what he thought about his awareness
of the epistemic bases for and against destiny.
"You've
definitely considered most of the logic and even the opposing viewpoints;
but I don't think Chandra would feel good about any answer you have, as
yet. My own soul does not buzz like the bees or fly on the wings of
butterflies when I hear you talk about it. Maybe you have more to learn
about it, my friend."
"Have you
heard a better description?"
"No. As I
said your logic is impeccable. You might even be able to write a book
about it. The matter that leaves me uncertain of the beauty and joy your
answers apprehend may be a result of my own lack of awareness. I wouldn't
concern myself about what a simple fool like me thinks. Your father would
probably like to hear your thoughts about it, why don't you dedicate the
book to him?"
"I like
that idea! You’re no simple fool either, my friend."
It was a year
before he completed the first draft and that co-incided with half of his
allotted time to wait. He gave his friend the manuscript and was anxious
about his reaction to it. In a couple of weeks his friend returned the
manuscript to him. When he got upstairs with the package he saw his
friend had written a beautiful poem that expressed his feelings about the
book and his appreciation for the effort the young man had put into it.
"I loved
your poem! Could I use it in my book? I think I'm going to send it to my
father and a professor I know, with a view to getting it published. I
have to do a re-write first, mind you."
"That
would be a great honour for me to have my poem in your fine book… I see
you are thinking about asking the Dalai Lama the same question though.
That tells me you still aren't sure of your answer."
Chandra was
listening to them talk and he interjected. "There are no 'black and white' answers, Papa!"
"Yes,
Chandra." The young man smiled in appreciation of the support.
"The Dalai Lama would agree with you on that. I think!"
"Yes, HE
would. But is that not a lot like your Western scientists who theorize so
much, with so little faith?" The restaurant owner remarked. At the
end of three years his final draft was sent to his father with a note to
take it to his professor if he thought it worthy. His friend's question
still bothered the young man but he was still sure adding a great wise
man’s response from the Dalai Lama would be interesting to most
readers; but he didn't want to waste his question on something he knew so
well.
His father was
able to see a lot of growth in the writing of his son, and he said he
enjoyed the style and wit. He had taken it to the professor and was
awaiting a reply, but he felt sure that it would be good for an academic
publisher. His mother felt it was great and she said she was 'so proud'
she took a copy for her friends. His father's comments about maturity
made the young man smile because he knew there was an element of
projection and competition in that kind of thinking. He felt almost
vindicated in his commitment and was so happy he hadn't given up that day
a couple of years earlier.
When they had
arranged a publisher it became clear that the book could use some
publicity and he was faced with having to leave. If he didn't return to
the U.S. and do the talk show circuit they were going to just make it
available through the educational channels. He had no real burning desire
to ask any specific question and he almost went home.
"Mister
Writer, have you decided whether to stay or go home?" Chandra asked
his 'big brother' while he had explained the situation in the restaurant
after getting the letter. He was trying to encourage Chandra to follow in
his footsteps and become a teacher or writer, but he didn't know what was
right to do.
"Life
isn't always so simple, Chandra." His mother commented.
"What's
that mean?" Chandra retorted.
"Yes!
That's it!! I'll ask the Dalai Lama 'What is the meaning of LIFE?!"
The young man beamed as if he had found an epiphany of the first order.
They all agreed the question was one that would lead anyone to a lot of
different places. There was a lot about the destiny matter in it too.
When he was finally ushered in to the presence of the greatly revered
religious leader he was ready with a speech and his question.
"What is
your question, noble sir?" The red-capped lama who had met with him
five years earlier asked in a voice that brought the hall into a hush of
silent contemplation.
"Most
gracious and benevolent Master: I thank you for the time you give me,
today. Much to my surprise I have found the time spent here has been very
productive. Surely I once thought five years was too long to wait for one
answer. There is great clarity of mind on the matter of my question.
Should you be able to answer it, I think Peace may be possible for more
than just my simple self. MY quest has been rewarded no matter what your
response is; because I have written a philosophy book that is being used
in U.S. schools. The people gathered here will certainly see the merit of
the question and judge your answer, as will I."
The Dalai Lama
yawned and smiled before gazing into the heart of the young man about to
be young no longer. "Whatever could be more important than knowing
what you already know in your own soul, my son?"
Feeling the
force of the austere man and his question, the young man lost some of his
former bravado and said: "What is the MEANING of life?"
"That is
your question I take it... Life is like a beanstalk. ISN'T IT?!"
As the young
man was flying home he wondered why the crowded room hadn't broken out in
laughter. He felt so foolish for not seeing what Chandra had said as they
had walked back for their final dinner together.
"YES!
Without growth all things die!"
Author of Diverse Druids
Columnist for The ES Press and many other places
http://www.World-Mysteries.com guest 'expert'
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