James Martin recently made a pilgrimage to Arizona.
It was a dream; and yet I did see him–His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet. He came to Tucson and we gathered around him, coming across the desert and mountains and nuclear time zone, to the desert oasis, his mandala of love. The topic was the chapter on patience from Shantideva's Bodhicharyavatara, and his words had a liberating effect on my mind. But now, as I try recollecting that dream, my residual impression is not of his words, but of his being.
From the beginning, what struck me was his equanimity. "Old friends, new friends," he said, "it doesn't matter." Far from sectarian, he didn't care if his audience was Buddhist. He spoke in words that everyone could understand. "What matters is goodness of heart." "Happiness is the purpose of life–what every being strives for!" He dismissed no one. In the questions and answers during his Tucson talk, each question, no matter how trivial, he gave his discriminating thought, carefully avoiding extremes, drawing from each its wisdom gem. His equanimity demonstrated the bodhisattva vow to save all beings, not only oneself and one's circle of friends, nor all but the one who presses the thorn in one's sock, but everyone.
My second impression arose in the gravity of this, as his bodyguards pushed through the guru-graspers and His Holiness presented white scarves to a long line of women who performed the dance of Twenty-One Taras. I imagined Avalokiteshvara, overwhelmed by the sheer number of those to be saved, sprouting another ten heads and thousand arms. Fortunately, His Holiness's head held that day. Instead, he seemed to experience genuine joy, as he glanced busily about the crowd, igniting the hearts of those whose eyes collided with his.
The third impression was more subtle, perhaps more profound, as his mandala blossomed and its nectar of love filled the air. There was no sense of one's own happiness separate from the well-being of others; rather everyone's happiness arose interdependently. Loved ones who had not before met smiled and peered knowingly into each other's eyes as if there was some mysterious secret that they all understood.
Finally it was his great compassion, his motivation forgiving the teachings–to eliminate the root of suffering–that drew us all there. Ignorance–holding to persons and things as inherently existent–produces desire and aversion, wanting things a certain way. Circumstances are continuously changing and we become frustrated and angry, agitated and confused, and create conditions that perpetuate suffering. And so we practice patience to reduce attachment and stabilize the mind. Then we begin to see things as they are,which removes our ignorance.
Thus His Holiness demonstrated the four immeasurable qualities of equanimity, joy, love and compassion. The thought came to me, how wonderful it would be if more people could develop those same qualities, if each person there could create an oasis, a mandala of love, and dedicate it to the happiness of all beings.
James Martin recently made a pilgrimage to Arizona.
It was a dream; and yet I did see him–His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet. He came to Tucson and we gathered around him, coming across the desert and mountains and nuclear time zone, to the desert oasis, his mandala of love. The topic was the chapter on patience from Shantideva's Bodhicharyavatara, and his words had a liberating effect on my mind. But now, as I try recollecting that dream, my residual impression is not of his words, but of his being.
From the beginning, what struck me was his equanimity. "Old friends, new friends," he said, "it doesn't matter." Far from sectarian, he didn't care if his audience was Buddhist. He spoke in words that everyone could understand. "What matters is goodness of heart." "Happiness is the purpose of life–what every being strives for!" He dismissed no one. In the questions and answers during his Tucson talk, each question, no matter how trivial, he gave his discriminating thought, carefully avoiding extremes, drawing from each its wisdom gem. His equanimity demonstrated the bodhisattva vow to save all beings, not only oneself and one's circle of friends, nor all but the one who presses the thorn in one's sock, but everyone.
My second impression arose in the gravity of this, as his bodyguards pushed through the guru-graspers and His Holiness presented white scarves to a long line of women who performed the dance of Twenty-One Taras. I imagined Avalokiteshvara, overwhelmed by the sheer number of those to be saved, sprouting another ten heads and thousand arms. Fortunately, His Holiness's head held that day. Instead, he seemed to experience genuine joy, as he glanced busily about the crowd, igniting the hearts of those whose eyes collided with his.
The third impression was more subtle, perhaps more profound, as his mandala blossomed and its nectar of love filled the air. There was no sense of one's own happiness separate from the well-being of others; rather everyone's happiness arose interdependently. Loved ones who had not before met smiled and peered knowingly into each other's eyes as if there was some mysterious secret that they all understood.
Finally it was his great compassion, his motivation forgiving the teachings–to eliminate the root of suffering–that drew us all there. Ignorance–holding to persons and things as inherently existent–produces desire and aversion, wanting things a certain way. Circumstances are continuously changing and we become frustrated and angry, agitated and confused, and create conditions that perpetuate suffering. And so we practice patience to reduce attachment and stabilize the mind. Then we begin to see things as they are,which removes our ignorance.
Thus His Holiness demonstrated the four immeasurable qualities of equanimity, joy, love and compassion. The thought came to me, how wonderful it would be if more people could develop those same qualities, if each person there could create an oasis, a mandala of love, and dedicate it to the happiness of all beings.
James Martin recently made a pilgrimage to Arizona.
It was a dream; and yet I did see him–His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet. He came to Tucson and we gathered around him, coming across the desert and mountains and nuclear time zone, to the desert oasis, his mandala of love. The topic was the chapter on patience from Shantideva's Bodhicharyavatara, and his words had a liberating effect on my mind. But now, as I try recollecting that dream, my residual impression is not of his words, but of his being.
From the beginning, what struck me was his equanimity. "Old friends, new friends," he said, "it doesn't matter." Far from sectarian, he didn't care if his audience was Buddhist. He spoke in words that everyone could understand. "What matters is goodness of heart." "Happiness is the purpose of life–what every being strives for!" He dismissed no one. In the questions and answers during his Tucson talk, each question, no matter how trivial, he gave his discriminating thought, carefully avoiding extremes, drawing from each its wisdom gem. His equanimity demonstrated the bodhisattva vow to save all beings, not only oneself and one's circle of friends, nor all but the one who presses the thorn in one's sock, but everyone.
My second impression arose in the gravity of this, as his bodyguards pushed through the guru-graspers and His Holiness presented white scarves to a long line of women who performed the dance of Twenty-One Taras. I imagined Avalokiteshvara, overwhelmed by the sheer number of those to be saved, sprouting another ten heads and thousand arms. Fortunately, His Holiness's head held that day. Instead, he seemed to experience genuine joy, as he glanced busily about the crowd, igniting the hearts of those whose eyes collided with his.
The third impression was more subtle, perhaps more profound, as his mandala blossomed and its nectar of love filled the air. There was no sense of one's own happiness separate from the well-being of others; rather everyone's happiness arose interdependently. Loved ones who had not before met smiled and peered knowingly into each other's eyes as if there was some mysterious secret that they all understood.
Finally it was his great compassion, his motivation forgiving the teachings–to eliminate the root of suffering–that drew us all there. Ignorance–holding to persons and things as inherently existent–produces desire and aversion, wanting things a certain way. Circumstances are continuously changing and we become frustrated and angry, agitated and confused, and create conditions that perpetuate suffering. And so we practice patience to reduce attachment and stabilize the mind. Then we begin to see things as they are,which removes our ignorance.
Thus His Holiness demonstrated the four immeasurable qualities of equanimity, joy, love and compassion. The thought came to me, how wonderful it would be if more people could develop those same qualities, if each person there could create an oasis, a mandala of love, and dedicate it to the happiness of all beings.
James Martin recently made a pilgrimage to Arizona.
It was a dream; and yet I did see him–His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet. He came to Tucson and we gathered around him, coming across the desert and mountains and nuclear time zone, to the desert oasis, his mandala of love. The topic was the chapter on patience from Shantideva's Bodhicharyavatara, and his words had a liberating effect on my mind. But now, as I try recollecting that dream, my residual impression is not of his words, but of his being.
From the beginning, what struck me was his equanimity. "Old friends, new friends," he said, "it doesn't matter." Far from sectarian, he didn't care if his audience was Buddhist. He spoke in words that everyone could understand. "What matters is goodness of heart." "Happiness is the purpose of life–what every being strives for!" He dismissed no one. In the questions and answers during his Tucson talk, each question, no matter how trivial, he gave his discriminating thought, carefully avoiding extremes, drawing from each its wisdom gem. His equanimity demonstrated the bodhisattva vow to save all beings, not only oneself and one's circle of friends, nor all but the one who presses the thorn in one's sock, but everyone.
My second impression arose in the gravity of this, as his bodyguards pushed through the guru-graspers and His Holiness presented white scarves to a long line of women who performed the dance of Twenty-One Taras. I imagined Avalokiteshvara, overwhelmed by the sheer number of those to be saved, sprouting another ten heads and thousand arms. Fortunately, His Holiness's head held that day. Instead, he seemed to experience genuine joy, as he glanced busily about the crowd, igniting the hearts of those whose eyes collided with his.
The third impression was more subtle, perhaps more profound, as his mandala blossomed and its nectar of love filled the air. There was no sense of one's own happiness separate from the well-being of others; rather everyone's happiness arose interdependently. Loved ones who had not before met smiled and peered knowingly into each other's eyes as if there was some mysterious secret that they all understood.
Finally it was his great compassion, his motivation forgiving the teachings–to eliminate the root of suffering–that drew us all there. Ignorance–holding to persons and things as inherently existent–produces desire and aversion, wanting things a certain way. Circumstances are continuously changing and we become frustrated and angry, agitated and confused, and create conditions that perpetuate suffering. And so we practice patience to reduce attachment and stabilize the mind. Then we begin to see things as they are,which removes our ignorance.
Thus His Holiness demonstrated the four immeasurable qualities of equanimity, joy, love and compassion. The thought came to me, how wonderful it would be if more people could develop those same qualities, if each person there could create an oasis, a mandala of love, and dedicate it to the happiness of all beings.
James Martin recently made a pilgrimage to Arizona.
It was a dream; and yet I did see him–His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet. He came to Tucson and we gathered around him, coming across the desert and mountains and nuclear time zone, to the desert oasis, his mandala of love. The topic was the chapter on patience from Shantideva's Bodhicharyavatara, and his words had a liberating effect on my mind. But now, as I try recollecting that dream, my residual impression is not of his words, but of his being.
From the beginning, what struck me was his equanimity. "Old friends, new friends," he said, "it doesn't matter." Far from sectarian, he didn't care if his audience was Buddhist. He spoke in words that everyone could understand. "What matters is goodness of heart." "Happiness is the purpose of life–what every being strives for!" He dismissed no one. In the questions and answers during his Tucson talk, each question, no matter how trivial, he gave his discriminating thought, carefully avoiding extremes, drawing from each its wisdom gem. His equanimity demonstrated the bodhisattva vow to save all beings, not only oneself and one's circle of friends, nor all but the one who presses the thorn in one's sock, but everyone.
My second impression arose in the gravity of this, as his bodyguards pushed through the guru-graspers and His Holiness presented white scarves to a long line of women who performed the dance of Twenty-One Taras. I imagined Avalokiteshvara, overwhelmed by the sheer number of those to be saved, sprouting another ten heads and thousand arms. Fortunately, His Holiness's head held that day. Instead, he seemed to experience genuine joy, as he glanced busily about the crowd, igniting the hearts of those whose eyes collided with his.
The third impression was more subtle, perhaps more profound, as his mandala blossomed and its nectar of love filled the air. There was no sense of one's own happiness separate from the well-being of others; rather everyone's happiness arose interdependently. Loved ones who had not before met smiled and peered knowingly into each other's eyes as if there was some mysterious secret that they all understood.
Finally it was his great compassion, his motivation forgiving the teachings–to eliminate the root of suffering–that drew us all there. Ignorance–holding to persons and things as inherently existent–produces desire and aversion, wanting things a certain way. Circumstances are continuously changing and we become frustrated and angry, agitated and confused, and create conditions that perpetuate suffering. And so we practice patience to reduce attachment and stabilize the mind. Then we begin to see things as they are,which removes our ignorance.
Thus His Holiness demonstrated the four immeasurable qualities of equanimity, joy, love and compassion. The thought came to me, how wonderful it would be if more people could develop those same qualities, if each person there could create an oasis, a mandala of love, and dedicate it to the happiness of all beings.
