I have been standing there in the past half an hour in the same position, my neck stretched and my forehead and nose pressed to the glass door of the shrine. And to my surprise, Isabel, my friend who drove me here to Pema Osel Ling (POL), is doing exactly the same. The door is locked and nobody around. I had been told that there would be a Puja ceremony today for Lama Tharchin, a great master in Tibetan Buddhism whom I had studied with, who just passed away a week ago. But we got stuck in San Jose earlier and arrived here late. The ceremony is over. We can only peep into the empty shrine from outside, looking creepy like two clumsy thieves who have forgotten their tools at home.
In fact, we almost didn’t even get in the front gate of POL, an ashram hidden in the beautiful redwoods close to Santa Cruz. As we were looking for parking close to the gate, the parking attendant, a twenty-something blonde with a round face, approached our car.
“Hi! Are you here for the wedding?”
“No,” Isabel answered. “We just want to see the ashram.”
“I’m sorry. The Puja is over. The ashram is rented out for a wedding this afternoon. You can’t get in if you’re not guests.”
Damn it. My stomach shrank. We just drove all the way here. I couldn’t believe it. The windy mountain road had made me nauseous when we were driving. Now I felt like throwing up.
“Oh please,” Isabel said in a sweet, patient voice. “We won’t stay long.”
The lady shook her head, “I’m sorry. We have rules.”
“Look, I flew from Washington DC and we just drove two and half hours up here!” I stared at her with a straight face. “I’m a student of Lama Tharchin and we just want to see him one last time. Is this too much to ask?!”
Isabel gave me a look. I must have sounded grumpy. I was. And I was also emotional, dehydrated, and lack of sleep.
She let us in. After all, everyone knows that no wedding is complete without a couple of crashers.
They say when a spiritual master dies, a massive amount of light, which was contained in one human form, gets released and graces the people and the environment close to the master. I was by no means close to Lama Tharchin, having only attended his retreat once in LA. But he was one of the most kind, loving, and light-filled beings I had ever met. I don’t practice Buddhism. In fact, I’m a little allergic to all “ism”s. But he was one of those people whom if you meet once, you will never forget and you’re changed forever. I asked to take a picture with him after the retreat. He laughed, pretending to be immensely flattered by the request: “Oh, I can’t believe it. You, such a beautiful girl, want to take picture with an old man like me? Oh, I’m a lucky guy…”
The scene is still so vivid in my mind. It almost feels as touchable as the keyboard my fingers are pressing on. So when I got an email from his ashram telling me that the Lama had passed away, I couldn’t believe my eyes. How is it possible? If you’re just talking to a dear friend, and suddenly… puff… the person disappears into the thin air, won’t you suspect you’re simply in a dream? That’s how I felt. At that moment, what I called “reality” felt like some fabricated hearsay that was as reliable as the schedule of US Airway flights. (I bet that the Lama, if he’s still around, will agree with me that the nature of reality is indeed just like that…)
I was sad, sad, sad. But strangely, that sadness had an ethereal quality to it. And instead of weighing me down, it calmed and grounded me like an old blanket. And the entire week before I came to visit POL, I felt a serene undercurrent flowing beneath my hectic life. It carried me all the way to the ashram, before we got turned down at the gate.
Now Isabel and I had stood outside the shrine for who knows how long, staring tirelessly into the room. A giant statue of Padmasambhava, the sage who passed Buddhism to Tibet, sat on the altar, surrounded by a dazzling display of flowers, vases, clothes, and pictures, more exuberant than a Sunday farmers’ market. Buoyant-colored tapestries of different deities’ images hung on the surrounding walls. I found the statue and the images funny. They looked a bit too outlandish, too cartoonish to stir any transcendental feelings in me. Yet there was something incredibly mesmerizing about this shrine room, that Isabel and I simply couldn’t turn our eyes away. From time to time, we would look at each other, laugh at our own silliness, and go back to staring at the altar again.
Then out of nowhere I heard a voice behind me, “Hello!”
I leaped aside and almost let out a scream. Geez! And when I turned around, a tall guy in a crumpled t-shirt and a wood mala was standing there smiling at us. I didn’t notice him coming at all. I looked at him cautiously, hoping he didn’t show up to kick us out.
“Do you guys want to go inside?”
Yes! Yes! Yes! What a surprise. Of course we want to go inside! I was overjoyed, but only gave our new friend a quiet nod, as if our new-found good fortune were a little bird and any over excitement would scare it away.
The door of the shrine was password locked. Our friend tried several times but couldn’t find the right code. I have to say, I was more than a bit disappointed. But he asked us to wait, and went off to find a helper. The second guy came, tried several times to open the lock, but—yes, you guessed right— he couldn’t find the right code, either! Now I felt like being teased. By whom? Who knows.
The second guy also went off, to find, this time, a phone number! He dialed the number and the knowledgeable people on the other side gave him another code. And magically… the door opened!
“You’re welcome to sit in the shrine for as long as you want. You can even sleep here tonight.” We were told.
Showered with such unexpected generosity, Isabel and I were all giddy and wobbly. We’re so used to the normal world, where all things of value are in certain kind of shortage and their supply rationed. And when someone tells us we can take an unlimited amount of their good stuff, we almost don’t know how to respond.
We sat down on the floor by the altar, with Lama Tharchin’s picture, adorn with white khatas, in front of us. Right away, I felt calm and happy. It’s not the loud excitement kind of happiness. It’s the kind of happiness you would feel after a restful night of sleep at a pristine beach and waken up by fresh morning breeze and first ray of sunshine. It’s the kind of happiness that doesn’t need any stimulus, that happens for no reason, that just drops into you like a ripe apple falling off the branch and dropping into the earth, because it is, really, just a natural part of you.
I can indeed sit here forever.
Then I heard a bit noise coming from Isabel’s side. I turned my head and Isabel was— crying. She wasn’t crying loud, just sitting there sobbing with her eyes closed. She looked so beautiful. A smile came to my lips. I got what was going on. I had been there before, and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world.
After we finally came out of the shrine, I asked Isabel what happened. Thoughtfully, she answered, “I think I just got a healing.” I nodded. And we both went quiet, very, very quiet. Even one word felt too much. There was an incredible tenderness in the air, and a crystal clear openness in my heart, vulnerable yet strong, and pulsing with life.
Love is the most alive thing.
Source: natashache.com
