The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Power of Meow (The Dalai Lama's Cat 3)

“Outer and inner,” Oliver said, eyes sparkling. “The Buddhist definition of mind as ‘a formless continuum of clarity and cognition’ is very much in keeping with quantum science theories that matter and energy are two aspects of the same reality. E = mc2.”

Tenzin was nodding. “I have also read about how quantum science has no notion of subject and object.”

“Exactly,” chimed Oliver. “This perhaps gives us a clue to why meditators who have some control of mind also have some control of the body.”

Tenzin nodded. “The one manifests as the other.”

As the two men continued to discuss the subject, talking with some excitement about the subjects of consciousness and healing, I found a sunny spot on the balcony between their two chairs and began a post-prandial grooming session. I listened to Oliver explain how the words “meditation” and “medication” came from the same Latin root word, medeor, meaning “to heal” or “to make whole.” How our every thought has an energetic component that translates into a physical result. How the placebo effect provides evidence of the power of the mind.

Such conversations intrigued me because we cats, too, are mind-havers. We also have consciousness. Thoughts and feelings manifest in the bodies of felines as much as in humans. Is the act of purring, known to resonate at a level that promotes healing, not evidence that we cats possess an innate understanding of how to use our own consciousness to “make whole”? And is it possible that feline longevity, like human longevity, can be extended by of our state of mind? In a home filled not only with the necessities of life but also with a true sense of giving and receiving love, is a cat like me more likely to thrive into ripe old age than when bereft of kindness?

The two men were chuckling at a joke of Oliver’s when I detected movement in the room behind them. Through the open doorway to the balcony, there was a swish of red robes—and then His Holiness appeared.

For a moment it was as though a head teacher had made an unexpected appearance and discovered his students at play instead of working. For my own part, having reached the most delicate portion of my grooming routine, I had raised my leg and was attending to my nether regions. I, too, looked up at the Dalai Lama, caught unawares.

Oliver and Tenzin made as if to rise to their feet. I lowered my rear leg.

“Please! Stay!” His Holiness gestured at them emphatically.

“Your Holiness—” began Oliver.

/> Tenzin chimed in, “We thought—”

“One of my meetings was canceled. I’m home early.”

“We are celebrating a milestone with the census.”

“Very good,” the Dalai Lama said, nodding. Then, wagging his hand between the two of them, he added, “I am pleased to find you working so well together.”

An enigmatic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

On the middle of the afternoon that same day, Mrs. Trinci was shown into His Holiness’s office.

“I wanted to thank you for a wonderful lunch,” the Dalai Lama said, taking her hand as he sat down on a chair next to hers. “Our visitors especially liked the . . . how do you say . . . blinis?”

“Sì, sì,” Mrs. Trinci beamed.

Forehead wrinkling in concern, he continued, “Not too much stress in the kitchen?”

“Oh no.” She shook her head and paused for a moment before continuing. “The weeks of rest when I was at home gave me time to think. I remembered the advice you gave me when I first started cooking here.”

Both of them smiled at their fond recollection of an earlier time.

“You said to me, semplice. Simple.”

The Dalai Lama nodded.

“I think those early months were the most enjoyable. I used to love being asked to prepare lunch for Namgyal. But I think I forgot about being simple. I wanted meglio—better and better. I wanted to . . . excel. Then, when I was resting, I remembered again: keep it simple. You never asked me for complesso. Magnifico! You never asked to impress your guests!”

His Holiness chuckled. “You are right.”

“So now, I go back to being simple. It’s not about me. Being a great chef. It is for your guests. Simple, delicious meals.”

“Very good. Thank you!” The Dalai Lama reached out again and patted her hand. “I am pleased to know that you have taken something very useful from the heart attack. You are cultivating inner peace. Contentment. A focus on others.”

He brought his palms together and bowed toward her, signaling that their brief meeting was at an end.

They both stood, and Mrs. Trinci made her way out of the room. At the door, she paused.