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

“It just seems a bit . . . futile,” she said, sounding despairing for a moment.

“How do you mean?”

“We all go around creating causes for future effects without even being aware of it. Then, by the time the effects happen, we have no idea why because we’re not even the same beings we were when we caused them.”

Serena was giving voice to one of the very questions that had been vexing me ever since my extraordinary dream. Looking up, I watched as Yogi Tarchin threw his head back. His eyes crinkled shut and he laughed. He seemed to find this hilarious.

“What?” Serena asked him after a while. A smile formed at the corners of her mouth, but lines also appeared on her forehead.

“The way you put it like that—too funny!” he said, gasping.

“But it’s true, isn’t it?”

He nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yes, yes. Different person. But same subtle continuum. Same energy. Energy is not created or destroyed. Because consciousness is energy, it, too, is never destroyed. It changes form, yes, but it’s always there and always has been there.

“Our big problem, as humans, is mistaking this very temporary thing we call ‘me,’ this acquired personality, with our subtle consciousness, which is primordial. We do things to advance the short-term interests of this temporary ‘me,’ even things that involve harming others, thinking that because there is no immediate effect on the temporary ‘me,’ that there will be no effect at all.

“But when you step back and view time from a wider perspective, you can see how one human lifetime is like this,” he said as he snapped his fingers. “Just because there is no instant effect doesn’t mean there is no effect at all. All actions have results. How can a negative action give rise to anything but a negative result? Or a positive action give rise to anything but a positive result?

“What moves from one lifetime to another with the flow of subtle consciousness isn’t the acquired personality. It isn’t intelligence, a memory, religious views, or race. It isn’t even species.”

I paid special attention to this last point and listened closely to Yogi Tarchin.

“When I die,” he continued, “you will never see me again. That is the end of the Yogi Tarchin experience. Does that mean my life has been futile?”

He had returned to her point directly and was now looking into her eyes.

“No.” He shook his head. “The opposite. In this lifetime, we create the causes for whatever we wish our consciousness to experience in the future. Human life, in particular, offers an unrivaled opportunity to create limitless causes not only for future positive experiences but, more important, the chance to break free completely from this cycle of birth, aging, and death.”

Serena was following him intently. “Very few people understand this is what they’re caught up in,” she said.

He nodded. “And we should never take these teachings for granted. Just hearing the Dharma is rare and requires extraordinary karma. To have an inclination toward it, and the wish to practice sincerely, is even more amazing! Fortunately, both you and your little sister are devoted to the dharma.”

As Serena reached out to stroke me, I acknowledged her by lifting my head. It wasn’t the first time that Yogi Tarchin had called me this. He’d used exactly the same words the first time I’d accompanied Serena to see him.

“You’re saying I was a cat in a previous lifetime?” she smiled.

Yogi Tarchin laughed. “Serena, my dear, you’ve been everything. We all have. Every kind of sentient being not just on planet Earth, but in the whole universe.”

“Well,” she said after a pause. “That puts my concerns about Sid into perspective.”

I felt Yogi Tarchin shift in his seat. “I can understand why you’re anxious,” he said. “But allow things to play out naturally.”

“Thank you, Rinpoche.” Serena’s voice was filled with relief. “In the meantime, I just have to practice patience?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “And mindfulness. Being here and now. Enjoying a warm afternoon under a tree with your meditation friend and little sister. Try to let go of inner chatter and simply be. Be mindful of all six senses.”

It was a midafternoon some days later when a stocky Indian man in a dark suit appeared in the entrance of the Himalaya Book Café. He wore heavy horn-rims and carried a clipboard. When Serena went over to greet him, he announced he was from the Hygiene Inspection Unit of the local council. Unannounced inspections from the HIU were rare but not unheard-of. Given their well-drilled procedures for food preparation, they were of no concern to Serena.

“Come this way,” she said, gesturing. “I’ll show you through the kitchens and storage areas.”

“Actually, madam, I’m here to inspect the dining room.”

Serena paused, eyes wide with surprise. She glanced across the pristine white tablecloths of the café area to the gleaming windows on the other side. The floors had just that morning, as on all mornings, been thoroughly vacuumed and mopped. The atmosphere was as much that of a temple as a restaurant. The ambience of rarefied civility, of East meets West, was one of the main reasons why the café had been so popular, especially with tourists, since the day it opened.

“Surely there’s no problem here?” she asked in astonishment as Kusali materialized beside the two of them.

“We received a complaint,” the inspector told them.