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

“You like cats?” the Dalai Lama asked, gesturing in my direction.

“Oh yes!” There was genuine warmth in her accented voice. “I believe that pets can teach us in many ways. Just like you say, they can be wonderful reminders to us to get out of our heads and live in the moment.”

His Holiness was nodding with enthusiasm. “Yes, yes. They can bring us back to here and now. Not be caught up in too much thinking.”

“Which brings us back to mindfulness,” she continued in a seamless segue back to what had evidently been the subject of their interview. “We hear so much about mindfulness these days. But is it the same as meditation, or is there a difference?”

The Dalai Lama was nodding. “This is a very good question,” he said. “There is much confusion. You see, when we practice mindfulness we are present to this moment, here and now, on purpose and without judgment. We pay attention to what is coming through our sense doors. What we hear”—he pointed toward his ears—“what we taste. And so on.”

His Holiness paused, a sparkle appearing in his eyes. “There is a famous story about a novice monk who asks an enlightened master, ‘Tell me, what is the secret of happiness?’ The master tells him, ‘I eat and I walk and I sleep.’” His Holiness chuckled. “This makes the novice confused. He has to confess, ‘I also eat and walk and sleep.’ So the master has to spell it out for him. ‘Yes, and when I eat, I eat. When I walk, I walk. And when I sleep, I sleep.’ Mindfulness is when we focus on the present moment, instead of being caught up in our thoughts.”

She nodded, smiling warmly. “I came across a recent survey showing that there is a direct correlation between happiness and paying attention to what we are doing. Being in direct mode instead of narrative mode.”

“Exactly!” The Dalai Lama sat forward in his seat. “When we meditate, we choose to focus on just one object of meditation for a period of time. For example, we may focus on the breath. Or a mantra. For ten minutes, one hour.” He shrugged. “Whatever period is useful. When we concentrate like this, it supports our practice of mindfulness all the time.”

“So you might say that meditation helps us become more mindful in the same way that an exercise program helps keep us more physically fit?” confirmed the interviewer.

His Holiness was nodding. “Yes. Very good. When we are mindful we have more peace, more happiness. Greater freedom.”

The Dalai Lama went on to explain how even very busy people could create more space and contentment in their lives by mindfully drinking a cup of coffee or mindfully enjoying a shower, instead of being caught up in mental agitation. How even chores such as walking to work from the train station or ironing clothes could become opportunities to practice mindfulness.

Putting their advice to immediate action, I mindfully licked my left paw before giving both my ears a good wash. Grooming dispensed with, I walked over to the interviewer, raised my right paw, and gently prodded her thigh. This is one of the ways that we cats test unfamiliar humans to find out whether they are willing to receive that most feline of blessings—an occupied lap.

As a poised and graceful interviewer, she was hardly going to shove me away. But a subtle hand-blocking gesture or a crossing of her legs in the opposite direction was all I would have needed to take my cue.

As it happened, she did neither of those things. Instead, she lifted some notes off her lap, thereby issuing the equivalent of a gilt-edged invitation. Without further ado I climbed onto her lap and circled it a few times contemplatively before settling down.

How would I describe the lap of one of the world’s most influential digital media owners? Not too firm. Not too soft. Just right. The Goldilocks of laps, you might say. There was a warm sturdiness about that lap; it offered a nurturing safety, a safe harbor from the world beyond the lights and cameras. In many ways it seemed almost the perfect lap—except for one thing. I saw a few fine strands of dog fur, which signaled to me that felines didn’t have an exclusive place in the interviewer’s affections.

“So we tune into our five senses . . .” The interviewer resumed the conversation, but then His Holiness leaned forward, hand held up.

“In Buddhism, we have six,” he said. Then, responding to her expression of surprise, he added, “Along with visual and auditory consciousness, and so on, we also include mental consciousness. What goes on in the mind. We can be mindful of that, too.”

“That’s not the same as having thoughts, right?”

“Oh no!” The Dalai Lama’s eyes glinted mischievously. “If that were the case, we could all be very mindful with no effort!”

The two of them laughed. His Holiness adjusted his glasses. “Being mindful of the mind is when we are aware of thoughts without becoming engaged with them. We see a thought merely as a thought. An act of cognition. Something temporary that arises, abides, and passes. Like a cat jumping from one side of the sofa to the other,” he said, beaming. “This is a very useful kind of mindfulness. We cultivate the awareness behind thoughts and feelings. We become the observers of our thoughts, not their slaves. Little by little, over time, we can take control of our mind-stream and let go of mental patterns that don’t serve us well.”

As often happens when people speak to the Dalai Lama, the simplest turn of conversation led to an observation so profound, so insightful, I could feel the effect on his visitor as a visceral force. It was as though a thrill of understanding passed through her.

At that same moment, I began to purr directly into her lapel microphone, broadcasting subtle yet contented sound waves into the homes of the show’s viewers. For a short while it felt as though time was somehow suspended, and we were all absorbed into a state of understanding that transcended space and time.

Then the famous interviewer smiled and said, “Well, I can’t think of a better moment to meditate for just a few minutes. Your Holiness, would you like to lead this meditation?”

The Dalai Lama gave a short invocation to all those joining in the global session. He asked that the session be a direct cause for all living being to have happiness, to be free from suffering, and to attain complete and perfect enlightenment.

A time of quiet followed.

/>

As I sat, purring very gently on the visitor’s lap, it seemed to me that His Holiness’s room, filled with TV lights and crew members, was becoming rather stuffy. The heat was making me feel positively dry-mouthed. And, following my lunchtime meal, I could do with a little drink. A customary glass of water had been provided for His Holiness’s visitor on a side table, only a few steps away.

Without further ado I got up and stretched my front paws in front of me briefly. I stepped off the visitor’s lap, onto the arm of the sofa, and down onto the side table. There, I got down on my haunches and proceeded to lap the water with relish.

I’d been doing this for only a short time when I became aware of a snorting noise from behind the cameras. Within moments there came another, similar sound. I looked up briefly, unable to perceive anything but darkness behind the glare of the lights. Things went quiet for a while, but as soon as I resumed my drinking—I was thirstier than I realized—there came the sound of breathless laughter, followed by a peculiar wheezing.

Then came a full-blown attack of the giggles. One of the female members of the crew was unable to contain herself any longer. It was as though the importance of not laughing during a live, global meditation broadcast led by the Dalai Lama made it impossible to do anything but that. Once one person was giggling, it became like a contagion. It seemed soon everyone in the room was snuffling, choking, emitting all manner of noises.