The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Power of Meow Read Free Page B

bracelets, which would clang emphatically whenever she moved her arms. But it seemed to me that something had changed. Something about her energy was less vital. That unquestioning invincibility about her presence had gone. For the first time that I could ever remember, Mrs. Trinci looked vulnerable. Walking over to her chair, I hopped up and settled beside her, offering reassurance in the form of a gentle purr.
    â€œThe doctor said I should take up meditation. I am very grateful to you for offering to show me how,” she said, reaching over to stroke me.
    â€œYes, I remember saying this to Serena,” replied His Holiness. “When was that?”
    Mrs. Trinci turned to Serena. “Ten days ago?”
    â€œA month.”
    â€œOne month,” confirmed the Dalai Lama in a thoughtful tone.
    There was no need for him to say anything else. As twilight deepened, an unasked question became so loud, so self-evident, that Mrs. Trinci felt compelled to answer it. “I . . . I didn’t come to see you earlier because, well”—she was shaking her head sadly—“I’m not sure I can meditate.”
    Perhaps she had expected His Holiness to chastise her. It was hard to tell from her tone if she was embarrassed or despairing. But the Dalai Lama glowed with amusement, as though what she said had to be a joke. In that moment, whatever tension had been present in the room seemed to shimmer away. First Mrs. Trinci and then Serena picked up on the Dalai Lama’s mirth, and they both got caught up in the hilarity of what Mrs. Trinci had just said.
    â€œTell me,” said His Holiness, eyes still twinkling with amusement, “why do you think you can’t meditate?”
    â€œBecause I have tried!” Mrs. Trinci’s voice rose. “Several times.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œMy mind.” She met his gaze. “It’s out of control.”
    â€œVery good!” He brought his hands together, chuckling at her observation. “Had you ever noticed this before?”
    â€œNo.” It didn’t take her long to ponder the question. “Not really. I’d never tried to focus like that.”
    â€œThen you have already made the first, most important discovery,” said the Dalai Lama. “It is only when we acknowledge we have a problem that we can do something about it. You now have first-hand understanding of how out of control the mind is. You see, my dear,” he said, regarding her closely, “when we are suffering from stress, it isn’t only because of our circumstances. Generally, we think everything is about what’s outside of us. The externals. We think that if I didn’t have this problem, if I wasn’t in this situation, then, no stress. But there are other people in even more challenging situations who are thriving. The stress isn’t coming from ‘out there.’ Mainly it is coming from our mind.”
    The Dalai Lama leaned forward in his seat. He was including all of us in what he was saying—not only Mrs. Trinci. “When we practice meditation, we begin to monitor our mind. And when we pay much closer attention, we can start to manage it.”
    â€œBut is there really any hope for me?” Mrs. Trinci asked. “When my mind is so crazy?”
    His Holiness regarded her solemnly. “When we begin trying to meditate, most of each session we are thinking about everything except the chosen object of meditation. This is the same for everyone. Normal.”
    I had never heard the Dalai Lama speak so directly to a beginner before. But what he said came as a massive relief. I wasn’t the only one! It seemed that Mrs. Trinci and I had an important thing in common—apart from our love of gourmet cuisine. We both suffered from fleas. We might want to enjoy meditative calm, but no sooner would we begin a session than there’d be a scurrying, an agitation. Our contemplation would be abruptly overturned.