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

When she sat down, it seemed to me that she brushed her kira flat on her lap in anticipation of what would happen next. Rolling off the sill, I landed on the carpet and performed a sun salutation, luxuriantly stretching out my front paws, then a reverse sun salutation, tremulously shuddering my hind quarters with a shimmy of my tail, before making my way to where she sat. Hopping up onto her lap, I settled immediately, and she began stroking my neck, like the old friends we intuitively knew we were.

There is a rare minority of humans who possess an innate understanding of the changing moods of a cat: how what we might want at one moment may be quite different from what we wished for only moments before. Some people know that they should not keep stroking a cat until we are forced to turn around and deliver a sharp, incisive warning—usually focused on the index finger. A small proportion understand that just because we wolfed down a can of grilled turkey with lip-smacking relish one day it does not mean we have the slightest interest in even looking at the same food the next.

Was it not Winston Churchill who said that a cat is a riddle, inside an enigma, inside a delightful pelt of cuddliness? No? I could have sworn that just recently I read something to that effect in an article about him. And if he didn’t say it, he almost certainly thought it. Wikipedia should be told!

And then there’s Albert Einstein, who reportedly said that music and cats offer the only escape from the miseries of life. Note that on the subject of other species of domesticated animals, the greatest thinker of the 20th century remained curiously mute. I will leave it to you, dear reader, to draw your own conclusions.

We cats are not robotic beasts who can be conditioned to jump up or sit down or salivate at the utterance of a command or the press of a bell. Did you ever hear of Pavlov’s cat?

My point exactly. The very thought is unimaginable!

No, cats are indeed a mystery, sometimes even to ourselves. Most people are willing to treat us with the respect accorded to those who add so much to the sum of human contentment while making so few demands. Only a rare few truly understand us. And the queen of Bhutan is among that elite minority.

After a few getting-to-know-you strokes, she drew her fingertips together and massaged my forehead with her nails, sending shivers of exquisite pleasure all the way down my spine to the tingling tip of my tail.

I rewarded her with a deep-throated purr.

His Holiness, who had been making polite inquiries about the health of the king and other Bhutanese royals, looked over at me. It was his habit to ask visitors if they minded having me in the room. Some humans, it seems, are afflicted with an allergy that must be as devastating as a violent reaction to, say, Belgian truffles, Italian coffee, or Mozart. The queen was being so attentive to me that the Dalai Lama had no need to ask, but nodding in my direction, he did say, “This is quite exceptional. I have never known her to take to someone so quickly! She must like you very much.”

“And I like her,” Her Royal Highness replied. “She is magnificent!”

“Our little Snow Lion.”

“I’m sure she brings you much enjoyment.” The queen moved her fingertips to massage my charcoal ears with just the right degree of firmness.

His Holiness chuckled. “She has a great personality!”

Conversation moved on; the queen discussing var

ious Dharma practices. As they talked, she continued her delightful ministrations, and I was soon in a state of semiconscious bliss, with the conversation between the two of them passing above me.

In recent weeks I had been making a conscientious effort with my own daily meditations, after the stern wake-up call delivered by Geshe Wangpo. I had also taken myself off to the temple a number of times, attending the teachings of a variety of high-ranking lamas. Every time, a different aspect of Dharma practice was discussed. And on each occasion, the practice seemed very important.

Mind training is the foundation of all Buddhist activities, and we are encouraged to develop strong concentration not only when meditating but also by practicing mindfulness throughout each day. As one of the lamas explained, if we are not objectively aware of our thoughts moment by moment and instead engage with every one of them, how can we begin to change them? “You can’t manage what you don’t monitor,” he said. Mindfulness, it seems, is a foundation practice.

A different teacher explained how the six perfections are the very heart of our tradition. If we fail to practice generosity, ethics, and patience, to name just three, what is the point of learning texts or reciting mantras? Without virtue, the teacher said, none of our other Dharma activities would be very meaningful.

Yet another lama explained how wisdom about the nature of reality is what distinguishes Buddha’s teachings from all others. The way the world appears to us is illusory, he emphasized, and understanding this very subtle truth requires a great deal of listening, thinking, and meditation. Only those who understand the truth directly and nonconceptually can achieve nirvana.

As my thoughts continued to weave in and out of the conversation between the queen and the Dalai Lama, I remembered the teaching I had been to only the previous night. There in the soft-lit temple, with innumerable buddhas and bodhisattvas looking down on us in the form of statues and wall hangings, one of Namgyal Monastery’s most revered yogis had described the rich esoteric tradition of tantra practices, including those focused on White Tara and Medicine Buddha. Each of the practices came with its own text, or sadhana, to recite, along with visualizations and accompanying mantras. Certain tantras are of vital importance, the yogi explained, if we wish to attain enlightenment quickly.

Who doesn’t?

The more I was learning about Tibetan Buddhism, the more I realized how very little I knew. No question, the teachings were stimulating and engaging, and there was always some new and intriguing practice around the corner. But I was also feeling confused.

Only half aware of the conversation continuing above me, I returned to full consciousness when I heard the queen say, “Your Holiness, there are so many different practices in our tradition. But which of them is the most important?”

It was as if she had been reading my mind! That was my question, though I hadn’t put it in so many words. It was what I too wanted to know!

His Holiness did not hesitate. “Without question, the most important practice is bodhichitta.”

“The wish to attain enlightenment in order to lead all living beings to that same state,” she confirmed.

He nodded. “This mind of enlightenment is based on pure, great compassion, which in turn is founded on pure, great love. In each case pure means impartial. Without conditions. And great means benefiting all living beings, not just the small group of those we happen to like at the moment.

“From our perspective, the only way to enjoy a state of permanent happiness and avoid all suffering is to achieve enlightenment. This is why bodhichitta is considered to be the most altruistic of motivations. We wish to achieve enlightenment not only for ourselves but to help every other living being reach the same state.”

“A very challenging motivation.”