His Holiness began by reassuring her that the guest had been highly complimentary about the lunch, especially the carob nut balls, which had reminded him of a family recipe.
But Mrs. Trinci knew that the Dalai Lama hadn’t asked her up there to talk about carob nut balls. Tears pouring from her amber eyes and mascara running, she confessed to having a bad temper, saying unforgivable things, lashing out at Chogyal and anyone else who was there at the time. As she stood there sobbing, His Holiness held her hand for a long while before saying, “You know, my dear, crying isn’t necessary.”
Lifting a perfumed handkerchief to her face, Mrs. Trinci was startled by this notion.
“It is good, very good, to acknowledge a problem with anger,” he continued.
“I’ve been high strung my whole life,” she said.
“Sometimes we know we need to change our behavior. But it requires some sort of shock for us to realize we must change. Starting now.”
“Sì.” Mrs. Trinci gulped down another wave of tears. “But how?”
“Begin by considering the advantages of practicing patience and the disadvantages of not practicing it,” the Dalai Lama told her. “When one is angry, the first person to suffer is oneself. No one who is angry has a happy, peaceful mind.”
Mrs. Trinci lo
oked at him intently with red-rimmed eyes.
“We also need to think about the impact on others. When we say hurtful things we don’t really mean, we can create deep wounds that can’t be healed. Think of all the rifts between friends and within families, divisions that have led to a complete breakdown in the relationship, all because of a single angry outburst.”
“I know!” Mrs. Trinci wailed.
“Next, we ask ourselves, where is this anger coming from? If the true cause of anger is the fridge or the gas or the lack of raspberries, then why isn’t everyone else angry at these things? You see, the anger isn’t coming from out there. It’s coming from our mind. And that is a good thing, because we can’t control everything around us in the world, but we can learn to control our own mind.”
“But I’ve always been an angry person,” confessed Mrs. Trinci.
“Are you angry right now?” asked His Holiness.
“No.”
“What does that tell you about the nature of an angry mind?”
For a long while Mrs. Trinci looked out the window at the temple rooftop, where the late afternoon sun had set the dharma chakra wheel and deer statue ablaze in gold. “I suppose that it comes and goes.”
“Exactly. It is not permanent. It is not part of you. You cannot say, ‘I’ve always been an angry person.’ Your anger arises, abides, and passes, just like anyone else’s. You may experience it more than others. And each time you give in to it, you feed the habit and make it more likely you will feel it again. Wouldn’t it be better, instead, to decrease its power?”
“Of course. But I can’t stop myself. I don’t set out to get angry. It just happens.”
“Tell me, are there some places, some situations, in which you are more likely to get angry than others?”
Mrs. Trinci’s reply was instant: “The kitchen.” She pointed downstairs.
“Very good,” the Dalai Lama said, clapping his hands together with a smile. “From now on, Jokhang kitchen is no longer an ordinary place for you. It is, instead, a Treasure House.
“Think of it,” His Holiness continued, “as a place where you will find many precious opportunities that are not available to you anywhere else.”
Mrs. Trinci was shaking her head. “Non capisco. I don’t understand.”
“You agree that the anger you experience is at least partly coming from within, yes?”
“Sì.”
“And that it will be very beneficial to you—and everyone else—if you can gradually get rid of it?”
“Sì.”
“For this to happen, you need opportunities to practice the opposing force, which is patience. Such opportunities will not often be provided by your friends. But you will find many of them here at Jokhang.”