I was still coming to terms with the extraordinary revelation in my dream. I wondered if Serena herself had any inkling. Did she realize that, in a previous life, she had died in her mission to carry me across the Himalayas? Did she know that, as her little sister, my safe passage had been her most heartfelt concern to the very end? It certainly explained the intense closeness I’d felt for her since we’d first met. Our friendship in this lifetime was renewing a bond that went much further back into the past. I was also wondering what happened after my rescue. Had the large man with the powerful hands brought me all the way to India? And how had I come to find myself being looked after by Ludo?
As soon as Serena and her mother sat down and tea was poured, I approached where they were sitting in the lamplight, launched myself onto the sofa, and curled up between the two of them. I felt snug and protected there, away from the torrential downpour outside.
“So,” His Holiness began, looking at Mrs. Trinci. “It is six weeks since you began the meditation challenge. Have you found the practice useful?”
Although his inquiry was directed at her, he embraced us all with his warmth.
“I’m still very much a beginner,” Mrs. Trinci told him. “But I think it is helping. I feel a bit . . . different.”
I looked up at Mrs. Trinci and fixed her with my unwavering sapphire-blue inspection. I noticed how her makeup seemed to be applied in a more subtle way—gone was the heavy mascara she used in the past. And instead of the armful of bracelets that would clang together every time she moved her arms—being Italian, emphatic gesticulation was a frequent occurrence—she now wore only a single gold bracelet. It gleamed prettily in the lamplight.
The Dalai Lama gestured for Mrs. Trinci to go on.
“It’s hard to say exactly how,” she told him. “Perhaps, more of a feeling than anything else.”
“A feeling?”
“Sì. I find I am . . . noticing things more.”
His Holiness nodded.
“It sounds silly, but the other day I collected azaleas from the garden and was arranging them in a vase for the hallway. It is something I’ve done a hundred times over the years. But as I looked at them last week, I noticed how beautiful they are. Really noticed. The feeling was forte—strong!”
The Dalai Lama was smiling.
“It was the same with that music.” She exchanged a glance with Serena, who nodded.
“We played a record, music from my youth that I know so well. But the feeling was so intense, I was so caught up in it, I found tears streaming down my cheeks.”
Serena reached over and clasped her hand briefly. “Sentimental old thing.”
Mrs. Trinci was nodding, moist-eyed at the recollection of it.
“Anything else?” asked His Holiness.
Mrs. Trinci shrugged. “It may be nothing, but the other day our accountant phoned. I was speaking to him and I felt myself getting tense. I noticed what was happening.”
“You said you felt your shoulders tightening . . . ,” prompted Serena.
“Sì. So as he was talking I took a few mindful breaths, like you showed us when meditating. It created more space. And I remembered all the times in the past when I’d felt tense while speaking to the accountant. And to many other people.”
The Dalai Lama was still nodding.
“Do you think this has something to do with meditating?” she asked.
“Definitely,” he said.
“Even though I wasn’t meditating when the accountant rang? Or when I picked the flowers?”
“Of course.” The Dalai Lama paused for a short while, thinking of the best way to express himself. “If you do exercise, like running or . . .” He gestured picking up weights. “If you do it regularly, even for just a short time, it affects everything, yes?”
The two women nodded in understanding.
“So, mindfulness is like this. Little by little, you become more mindful, more aware of every action of your body, speech, and mind. Not just when you are meditating. This is most useful, because it is only when we are aware of what is happening that we can change.”
“You can’t manage what you don’t monitor,” proposed Serena.
“Very good!” His Holiness’s face lit up.