A young man in search of enlightenment had traveled to Tibet at
great expense and more than a little consternation amongst his
family and friends. It was a week before he was allowed to speak
with a red-capped administrator of the Dalai Lama's personal
staff; in the meantime he enjoyed the wondrous sights of the
Himalayas. The people of the countryside had welcomed him and he
was learning their language slowly. 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!"
|
