The Dalai Lama's Cat (The Dalai Lama's Cat 1)

One question that didn’t need to be asked, however, was who the visitor had come to see. And sure enough, the Range Rover eventually made its slow way through the gates toward the home of Rinpoche, the Bodhicatva, the Snow Lion of Jokhang, The Most Beautiful Creature That Ever Lived—and her human companion.

I recognized the visitor from the moment he stepped into His Holiness’s room. He was, after all, one of the most famous and longest-established self-development gurus in the world. His face was emblazoned on the covers of millions of books and DVDs. He had toured world capitals, speaking to huge crowds in the cities’ largest venues. He had a personal following among the Hollywood in-crowd, he had met with U.S. presidents, and he appeared regularly on every major TV talk show.

However, my deep sense of discretion prevents me from telling you who he was—no, really, especially in light of the combustible revelations he was about to make, which he certainly didn’t intend for a wider audience. The moment he stepped through the door, his presence was commanding. It was as if the very fact that he was there obliged you to look at him.

Of course, the Dalai Lama has a powerful presence, too—but of an altogether different nature. In His Holiness’s case, it’s not so much a personal presence as an encounter with Goodness. From the time you are first with him, you become absorbed in a state of being in which all your normal thoughts and concerns fade into irrelevance, and you become aware, in a curious way reminded, that your own essential nature is one of boundless love and that this being the case, all is well.

Our guest—let’s just call him Jack—strode into the room, presented His Holiness with a scarf in the traditional way, and was soon sitting beside him in the wingback chair reserved for visitors. These were the very same actions performed by most visitors, but the way Jack did them made them seem somehow more potent, as though his every word, every gesture, was imbued with significance. Their conversation began with the usual pleasantries, then Jack gave His Holiness a copy of his latest book. As he told the Dalai Lama about his world tour a year earlier, he was mesmerizing. As h

e described a movie in which he had recently appeared, it was easy to imagine Jack’s on-screen charisma.

But after ten minutes, conversation gave way to silence. His Holiness sat in his chair, relaxed, attentive, a gentle smile on his face. It seemed that for all of Jack’s powerful self-assurance, he was finding it hard to get to the point of why he had come here. Eventually he started to speak again—but as he did, something extraordinary started to unfold.

“Your Holiness, as you may know, I have been working as a life coach for more than twenty years. I’ve helped millions of people around the world find their passions, realize their dreams, and lead lives of success and abundance.” The words came to him with effortless familiarity, but as he spoke, something about him was changing. Something I found hard to identify.

“I’ve helped people find fulfillment in every aspect of their lives, not just material.” Jack continued. “I’ve motivated them to develop their unique talents and abilities. To create successful relationships.”

With every sentence, he seemed to be losing some of his polish. He was shrinking, almost physically, into his chair.

“I have created the largest self-development company in America, possibly in the world.” He said it almost as an admission of failure. “In the process, I’ve become a very successful and wealthy man.”

This last sentence had the greatest impact of all. In giving voice to the accomplishment of all that he had set out to achieve, he also seemed to be confessing just how poorly it had served him. He leaned forward, shoulders rounded and elbows on his knees. He looked broken. When he gazed up at His Holiness, it was with an imploring expression.

“But it isn’t working for me.”

His Holiness regarded him sympathetically.

“On our last world tour, I was making a quarter of a million dollars every single night. We’d packed the biggest indoor venues across America. But I’d never felt so hollow. Motivating people to be wealthy and successful and in great relationships suddenly seemed so senseless. It may have been my dream once, but not anymore.

“I went home and told everyone I needed a break. I stopped going into work. I grew a beard. I spent lots of time at home just reading and looking after the garden. My wife, Bree, didn’t like that. She still wanted to spend weekends with celebrities, and party and appear in the social pages. At first, she thought I was having a midlife crisis. Then things got acrimonious. Our relationship grew worse and worse, until she said she wanted a divorce. That was three months ago. Right now, I’m so confused I don’t know what to do.

“And you know the worst part? I actually feel bad that I feel bad. Everyone out there believes that I’m living the dream. They imagine that my life is incredibly fulfilled and happy. I encouraged them to think that, because I really believed it was true. But I was wrong. It isn’t true. It never was.”

The commanding authority had evaporated, the charisma had dissolved, leaving only this sad, crumpled man. It was impossible not to feel sorry for Jack. The difference between the persona he projected and the man being revealed could not have been greater. Seen from the outside, his wealth and fame and guru status might appear to equip him to deal with life’s problems far better than most. But if anything, the opposite now seemed true.

His Holiness leaned forward in his seat. “I am sorry that what you are experiencing is so painful. But there is another way of looking at it. What you are going through now is very useful. Perhaps later you will see this as the best thing that has ever happened to you. Dissatisfaction with the material world is—what do you say?—vital to spiritual development.”

The notion that his present unhappiness was somehow useful took Jack by surprise. But the Dalai Lama’s response also troubled him. “You’re not saying there’s something wrong with wealth, are you?”

“Oh no,” said His Holiness. “Wealth is a form of power, an energy. It can be most beneficial when used for good purposes. But, as you see, it is not a true cause of happiness. Some of the happiest people I know have very little money.”

“What about fulfilling our unique abilities?” Jack turned to another of his former beliefs. “Are you saying that’s not a cause of happiness either?”

The Dalai Lama smiled. “We all have certain predispositions. Some particular strengths. Cultivating these abilities can be very helpful. But—same with money—what matters is not the abilities themselves but how we use them.”

“What about romance and love?” By now, Jack was scraping the bottom of the barrel of his former creed, and his own skepticism showed.

“You have a happy relationship with your wife for a long time?”

“Eighteen years.”

“And then”—His Holiness turned the palms of his hands upward—“change. Impermanence. It is the nature of all things, especially relationships. They are certainly not a true cause of happiness.”

“When you say ‘true cause,’ what do you mean?”

“A cause that can be relied upon. One that always works. Heat applied to water is a true cause of steam. No matter who applies the heat or how often the heat has been applied before or where in the world heat is applied, the result is always steam. In the case of money or status or relationships”—His Holiness chuckled—“we can easily see these are not true causes of happiness.”

While the self-evident truth of what the Dalai Lama had just said confirmed Jack’s own experience, the simplicity and clarity with which he had said it seemed to startle our visitor. “To think that all these years I’ve been preaching the Gospel of Self-Development, but I’ve had it so wrong.”