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Yogamama Says Speeding Toward Enlightenment The minute the tickets went on sale I was on them, tapping my credit card numbers into the Web site first thing that morning. They were expensive, these tickets, but, hey, it was the Dalai Lama, and he was in Ithaca, close enough that I didn’t even need a hotel, so I splurged. His talk at Ithaca College was on “How to Train the Mind.” Perfect. My mind could use some training. But then there was a problem with the tickets. They didn’t come. I e-mailed the monastery. They’d sent them, they said. I didn’t get them, I said. Don’t worry, they said. Bring your invoice to the door. On the day of the talk, I got up and meditated. I dressed in Dalai Lama-appropriate clothes, looped my mala beads around my wrist, and folded my invoice into my bag. I was a little worried about this lack of a physical “ticket.” What if I got there and they said, “Sorry.” What if I were turned away at the door to the Dalai Lama? Would I be able to accept it with an attitude of calmness and nonviolence and go home in peace? I wondered. As I drove along Route 13 in the silent car, thinking calm, positive thoughts about the Dalai Lama and life, I was startled by flashing red-and-blue lights behind me. A cop was pulling me over. Surely there was some mistake. But no. I tried to explain to Officer Sullivan that I was calm, centered, aware, driving conscientiously, carefully, in full control of my body, mind, and emotions. Officer Sullivan said his laser had “pinpoint accuracy.” I got my first speeding ticket. I drove the rest of the way to Ithaca blasting Krishna Das, wondering “What would the Dalai Lama do?” No answers were forthcoming. But happy day, I got in with my invoice. My seat was great, with a clear view to the stage, his throne, and the chanting monks. Soon the Dalai Lama himself appeared with his interpreter. And that’s when everything began to tank. He spoke mostly in Tibetan. It sounded something like this: “Geechy goo dzi pombo jo-jo. Loody sha-sha, tomee dah, ta sherra jie. Sher mona shera sheval, nay nay shera.” For fifteen minutes. Then the interpreter went on about “proofs” and “steps” and the Eight Magic Pathways and the Five Treasures of this and that. Suffice it to say, I did not learn how to train my mind. But I did learn a lot about irritation, frustration, boredom, sadness, and anger as I sat there for two hours being ticked at the Dalai Lama for not meeting my expectations. And making me get a speeding ticket. And depriving me of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to transcend my mind and feel uplifted, which I had paid good money to do. It was only the next day, as I was mulling over the whole disappointing experience, that I remembered how tired the Dalai Lama looked, sitting up on his throne, bored, while his interpreter droned on. I remembered how he’d dug out a little visor and put it on his head to shield his eyes from the harsh lights that were trained on him. I thought about his age, seventy-two, and how this had been his third talk in two days and how he must have been pooped. I thought about how hard it must be to be the Dalai Lama with everyone always expecting you to say brilliant and inspiring things all the time. Then I thought about Officer Sullivan, sitting in his patrol car in a clump of weeds somewhere, with his pinpoint-accurate laser and his whole grab bag of human troubles, doing a job where people either feared him or hated him, but doing a job that needed to be done. And I knew then that we were all the same: me, the Dalai Lama and Officer Sullivan. All we want is to be seen, loved, accepted, and appreciated. And all we want is to be cut some slack when we disappoint. So I forgave the Dalai Lama and Officer Sullivan that day. Because really, we are all just doing the best we can with what we have. Me included. Kathleen Thompson is the owner of Main Street Yoga in Mansfield, Pennsylvania. To contact her call (570) 660-5873 or online www.yogamansfield.com or e-mail Yogamama@mountainhomemag.com. |
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