The Dalai Lama's Cat

by David Michie

  As Franc bowed with elaborate formality, the Dalai Lama, chuckling, brought his hands to his forehead.

  “This is Franc, Your Holiness. He has kindly agreed to look after Kyi Kyi.”

  “Very good.” The Dalai Lama reached out to take Franc’s hand between his own. “Wonderful compassion.” Then he spotted all the blessing strings tied around Franc’s wrist. “You have received many blessings?”

  As usual, Franc recited the list of initiations he had received from various high-ranking lamas during the preceding decade. His Holiness listened patiently before asking, “Who is your teacher?”

  “All of the lamas who have given me initiations,” replied Franc, as though repeating an article of faith.

  “It is useful,” said His Holiness, “to have a regular teacher and attend classes. Initiations and textbooks are helpful. More helpful is to practice under the guidance of a qualified teacher. If you wanted to learn the piano, would you not find the best piano teacher you could—and stick with him or her? It is the same with the Dharma. Like that.”

  The advice seemed revelatory to Franc, who took a while to process it. After a few moments he asked, “Is there any teacher you’d recommend?”

  “For you?” His Holiness seemed captivated by the gold Om dangling from Franc’s left ear as he considered an answer. Finally, he said, “You may ask Geshe Wangpo, here at Namgyal Monastery. I think he would be right for you.”

  A short while later, Franc left Jokhang, taking Kyi Kyi with him. I was curious to know how the day’s events would be recounted under the jaunty umbrellas of Café Franc. And I couldn’t help wondering if I would retain my position of grace and favor at the café, between the latest issues of Vogue and Vanity Fair. Now that Franc had accepted guardianship of a being who was sure to become known as the Dalai Lama’s Dog, would I still be the main object of such veneration?

  I also wondered why, at odd times over the next few days, Chogyal and Tenzin would glance at each other, mutter “Geshe Wangpo,” and snort with laughter.

  The answers to all these questions soon became apparent. Beginning with Geshe Wangpo. It just so happened that I was resting on my favorite windowsill a week or so later, when once again, I was awakened by the familiar scent of Franc’s aftershave. Although distant, it nevertheless curled like a ribbon through the air, from the courtyard below to where I lay in the pose of the upturned lizard. Opening my eyes, I spotted Franc walking from the gates of Jokhang toward the temple.

  Curiosity getting the better of me, I was soon on my way downstairs, manifesting on the steps of the temple as Franc approached, where I performed a deep and luxuriant sun salutation as though I had spent the whole morning idling there. Franc seemed reassured by my familiar presence on this important visit and bent to stroke me.

  It was only a short while later that Geshe Wangpo emerged from the temple. About 50 years old, short, round-faced, and stocky, he emanated an authority well beyond his stature, as though his physical appearance barely hinted at an extraordinary, even wrathful, power. The moment he appeared, I realized why Chogyal and Tenzin had been so amused when the Dalai Lama had recommended Geshe Wangpo as a teacher for Franc: a more heavy-duty lama would be hard to imagine.

  Still, he smiled when Franc introduced himself.

  “I wonder if you would consider taking me on as a student?” asked Franc, the cloud of Kouros, the golden Om, and the tight black clothing seeming even more out of place at that particular moment.

  “You can attend my classes on Tuesday nights,” said Geshe Wangpo. “It is important to make sure of someone before accepting them as your teacher.”

  “The Dalai Lama himself recommended you,” countered Franc.

  “Even so, maybe you do not like my approach. We all have different styles, different temperaments.” It seemed almost as if Geshe Wangpo was trying to dissuade him. “Perhaps it is wise to take your time before deciding. Once you accept someone as your adviser”—he wagged a finger—“you must be willing to follow the advice.”

  But Franc was not to be deterred. “If His Holiness suggested you”—his tone was reverential—“that’s good enough for me.”

  “Okay, okay,” agreed the lama. Nodding toward his new student’s wrist, he added, “You already have many initiations. Your commitments must keep you very busy.”

  “Commitments?”

  “The ones you made when you received your initiations.”

  “I did?”

  Geshe Wangpo’s brow furrowed. “Why seek initiations into a practice if you don’t want to follow the practice?”

  “I didn’t realize … ” For the first time ever, Franc actually looked sheepish.

  “Which empowerments have you received?”

  Franc began his familiar roll call of dates, lamas, and esoteric initiations—only this time, he repeated it in a most unfamiliar tone. It was as though the recitation of each successive initiation, rather than a show of braggadocio, was an admission of ignorance and neglect.

  When he had finally finished, Geshe Wangpo regarded him sternly before bursting into laughter.

  “What?” Franc asked, all too aware that he was the object of the lama’s amusement.

  “You Westerners!” Geshe Wangpo managed after a while. “Too funny!”

  “I don’t understand.” Franc hunched his shoulders.

  “The Dharma is an inner journey,” Geshe Wangpo said, touching his heart. “Not about saying you are Buddhist, or wearing clothes to show you are Buddhist, or even believing you are Buddhist. What is ‘Buddhist’?” He gestured with open hands. “Just a word. Just a label. What is the value of a label if the product inside isn’t authentic? Like a fake Rolex.” He delivered a mischievous glance.

  Franc shuffled uneasily.

  Geshe Wangpo wagged his finger from side to side. “We don’t want fake Rolexes here at Namgyal Monastery,” he said. “Only the real deal.”

  “What should I do about my blessing strings?” Franc asked unhappily.

  “Your choice,” Geshe Wangpo told him. “Only you can know about such things—it is not for someone else to say.” Then, regarding his new student’s pensive features, he tugged Franc by the arm. “Come. Let’s walk around the temple. I need to stretch my legs.”

  The two men set off, circumambulating the temple in a clockwise fashion. I followed closely behind. Geshe Wangpo asked Franc where he was from, and Franc began telling him about his upbringing in California, his passion for travel, the journey that had brought him all the way to Dharamsala, and his entirely unexpected decision to open Café Franc.

  “I’ve always felt this tug toward Buddhism,” Franc told the lama. “I thought that taking initiations and receiving empowerments from high lamas was what I should do. I knew I should meditate, too, but I have a busy life. I didn’t realize that I needed a teacher or should be going to regular classes.”

  Geshe Wangpo reached out and squeezed Franc’s hand briefly after this confession. “Let’s make this your fresh start,” he suggested. “Do you know the Four Noble Truths?”

  Franc was hesitant. “I’ve heard them mentioned.”

  “The first teachings Buddha gave after he became enlightened were the Four Noble Truths. They are a very good place to begin an understanding. You see, Buddha is just like a doctor you go to see when you are feeling unwell. First, the doctor checks the symptoms. Then, he diagnoses the condition. Next, he says if it’s possible to deal with the problem—makes a prognosis. Last, he prescribes the treatment. Buddha took exactly the same four steps when looking at our experience of life.”

  Franc was following the lama intently. “What symptoms did he find?”

  “In general,” said Geshe Wangpo, “a high level of dissatisfaction, or dukkha in Sanskrit. Dukkha means everything from trivial discomfort to the deepest physical and emotional suffering. Buddha understood that much of our experience of ordinary life is difficult. Stressful. It’s hard to be us.”

  Franc was nodding in agreement.

>   “The causes of this dissatisfaction are many. The fact that we are born means we must face death and most probably the hardships of sickness and old age. Impermanence can be another cause of unhappiness. We can get things just the way we want them, and then”—the lama snapped his fingers—“change.”

  Geshe Wangpo continued. “But the underlying reason for our dissatisfaction, the root cause, is that we mistake the way that things exist. We see objects and people as separate and independent from us. We believe them to have characteristics, qualities, that we are attracted to or repelled by. We think everything is happening outside us and we are just reacting to it—as though it’s all coming at us from the outside.”

  They walked for several steps in silence before Franc asked, “Why is it a mistake to see it that way?”

  “Because when we look very hard, we can’t find an essence to any person or object, including me. We can’t find any qualities that exist separate from our own minds.”

  “You’re saying”—Franc spoke faster than usual—“that there’s nothing out there and we’re making it all up?”

  “No. But that is the most common misunderstanding. This subtle truth is called ‘dependent arising,’ and it can take much study and meditation to understand. But it’s the most amazingly powerful concept—life-changing when we begin to comprehend it. Just as quantum scientists have confirmed, what Buddha taught is that the way things exist, how things exist, depends, in part, on our own minds. This means that the Third Noble Truth, the prognosis, is a positive one.”

  “Because we can work on our minds?” ventured Franc.

  “Yes, yes!” Geshe Wangpo nodded briskly. “If all this dissatisfaction, all this dukkha, were coming from out there, it would be impossible to do much about it. But because it originates in the mind itself, well, we have some hope. So the Fourth Noble Truth is the treatment—what we can do about our mental problems.” Again he regarded Franc with a daring smile.

  But Franc was too absorbed in what the lama was saying to take offense. “So what’s the treatment?” he wanted to know.

  “All of Buddha’s teachings,” Geshe Wangpo replied. “He is said to have given eighty-four thousand of them.”

  “The Dharma?”

  “Yes. Do you know what Dharma means?”

  Franc shrugged. “Buddha’s philosophy?”

  Geshe Wangpo tilted his head, “Broadly speaking, you could say that. In Buddhism we also interpret Dharma to mean ‘cessation,’ as in the end of dissatisfaction, the end of dukkha. This is the purpose of Buddha’s teachings.”

  The lama paused for a moment as they reached a point behind the temple where a large tree formed an umbrella over the pathway. The ground beside them was scattered with leaves.

  “You know, Buddha was once asked a mysterious question about the universe. The way he answered the question is very interesting.” Geshe Wangpo bent down to scoop up a handful of leaves. “He asked his students, ‘Are there more leaves in my hand, or on the floor of the forest all around us?’ The students said, ‘On the floor of the forest.’ So Buddha replied, ‘The leaves in my hand represent the knowledge that leads to the end of suffering.’ In this way”—Geshe Wangpo opened his hand, letting the leaves flutter to the ground—“Buddha was very clear about the purpose of his teachings.”

  “If there are eighty-four thousand of them, where do you begin?” asked Franc as they continued the circumambulation.

  “The Lam Rim, or graduated path to enlightenment, is a good place to start,” the lama told him. “It teaches us to become more aware of our own mental behavior, to replace negative patterns of thought with more positive ones.”

  “Sounds like psychotherapy.”

  “Exactly! Lama Yeshe, one of the first lamas to bring Tibetan Buddhism to the West, used to say exactly that: ‘Be your own therapist.’ He wrote a book with that title.”

  The two of them continued in silence for a while before Franc asked, “Is it true that some lamas are clairvoyant?”

  Geshe Wangpo glanced at him sharply. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just wondering … what negative patterns of thought I might need to work on.”

  “You don’t need to be clairvoyant to know that.” The lama’s voice was firm.

  “No?”

  “Everyone has the same basic problem. Expressed in different ways. Our main problem is that we are all ‘I’ specialists.”

  Franc was uncomprehending. “But I don’t know anything about vision.”

  “Not that kind of eye. I as in ‘me, myself, and I.’”

  “Oh! Uh-huh.”

  “We don’t stop thinking about ourselves the whole time. Even when this makes us unhappy and uptight. If we focus too much on ourselves, we make ourselves sick. We have this constant inner chatter going morning, noon, and night, this inner monologue. But paradoxically, the more we are able to think about making other beings happy, the happier we become ourselves.”

  Franc looked despondent as he absorbed this. “Not much hope for people like me, is there?”

  “Why?”

  “I have a very busy restaurant. I’m in there every day of the week and work long hours. I just don’t have time to think about making other beings happy.”

  “But I would say you have a great advantage!” Geshe Wangpo retorted. “The happiness of others isn’t an abstract idea. You don’t have to go to the mountains to meditate on it. You begin at home and at work, with the people and other beings in your life. If you have customers, think of every one of them as an opportunity to practice loving kindness. You can serve them a coffee, or you can serve them a coffee and a smile—something that makes them happier for the moment they are with you. If you have a staff—well, you are a very important person in their lives. You have great power to make them happy—or miserable.”

  “I didn’t realize,” said Franc, “that running a business and making money could be part of being a Buddhist.”

  “Of course! Everything is part of the Dharma. Your business. Your family. Everything. When you first start, Dharma practice is like a trickle of water high on a mountain. The trickle affects just a small, green area an inch or two wide, as the water flows along the ground. But as you practice Dharma more and more, the flow gets stronger and is joined by other streams. It may occasionally falter, like a waterfall, or disappear beneath the surface, but it keeps going, gathering strength. Eventually, it becomes like a very large river that’s broad and powerful and the center of everything in your life.

  “Think about your Dharma practice like that—every day growing more and more. Giving more and more happiness to others—and gaining more and more happiness yourself.”

  Several days later I was sitting on the filing cabinet in the executive assistants’ office when I felt a familiar tingling—a powerful compulsion to lick. I began grooming, though even as I did, I remembered the horror of the fur ball experience and the words of Geshe Wangpo: “If we focus too much on ourselves, we make ourselves sick.” I also recalled the lama’s advice about focusing more on others. After some moments, I forced myself to stop and instead hopped down off the filing cabinet.

  Tenzin had his spectacles on and was absorbed in an important e-mail from the Dalai Lama to the British prime minister. Chogyal was finalizing the itinerary for His Holiness’s forthcoming visit to Southeast Asia.

  With a soft meow I padded over to Chogyal and nudged his hand from the keyboard.

  The two executive assistants exchanged glances. As Chogyal hesitated, I gave the back of his hand an appreciative lick.

  “What’s this, my little Snow Lion?” he asked, surprised by my display of affection.

  “Most unusual,” remarked Tenzin, before adding, “She was licking again. Did you notice? Perhaps she is molting.”

  “I didn’t notice.” Chogyal stretched to open his desk drawer. “But I may be able to help.”

  From his drawer he produced a bag containing a comb and brush. Then, lifting me off his desk, he took me ou
t to the hallway, where he began combing through my thick coat, removing large tufts of fur with every sweep.

  I began purring with contentment. And the purring continued for the next ten minutes as he combed my back, then each side, then my white and luxuriantly fluffy tummy. Chogyal removed every tangle, until my fur shimmered with silkiness. I had rarely felt such bliss. Head back and eyes shut, I thought that if this were the reward one got for wishing to make other beings happy, I should certainly be doing more of it!

  In the weeks after Franc’s adoption of Kyi Kyi and his first meeting with Geshe Wangpo, I paid special attention to the status quo at Café Franc. Marcel and Kyi Kyi were now a confirmed double act, the two dogs sharing a basket under the counter and being taken for walks together. Gone was Kyi Kyi’s lank hair and scrawny appearance, replaced by bright-eyed mischief.

  I was relieved that there was no perceptible change in behavior toward me. I was still Rinpoche, the Dalai Lama’s Cat, occupying the best shelf in the house and fed the tastiest morsels from each day’s plat du jour.

  But the change in Franc was impossible to miss. The very first time I saw him after we circumambulated the temple, I noticed immediately that the gold Om was gone from his ear. Looking down at his wrist, I saw that he had also removed the blessing strings. Obviously he had taken to heart Geshe Wangpo’s pointed references to fake Rolexes and decided that the authentic version, though much more difficult to acquire, was preferable.

  Every morning Franc would arrive at work half an hour later than in the past, following an early morning meditation session. He also took to wearing a baseball cap that stayed on his head throughout the day and into the evening. At first I couldn’t work out what was going on with the cap. But once, when he removed it briefly to scratch his head, I noticed a layer of fuzz. As his hair grew longer, the caricature of his former self began to fade. There were fewer references to Buddhist this and Dharma that. He rarely pointed out that I was the Dalai Lama’s cat and didn’t once mention the origin of Kyi Kyi, the newest member of the Café Franc household.