Read Online The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Power of Meow by David Michie - Free Book Online Page B

feel the joy of playing music again.”
    The audience applauded warmly, but this time the energy was of a different quality. It was not the exuberant excitement of before, but rather a wave of profound gratitude, a deeply felt communal embrace.
    Stepping from among the tables, Geshe-la approached Franc as he stood at the front of the store. He took both Franc’s hands in his own and bowed toward him so that their foreheads touched. It was a very special and very public blessing, one that conveyed a special energy throughout the whole room. It was as though all of us were caught up in the poignancy of what was happening—as though we, too, were receiving the blessings of Geshe-la. He was telling us all to accept ourselves, to let go of the burden of destructive self-criticism and all the limitations it brings. Even as it was happening, we knew this was a moment we would long remember.

    The walk home to Namgyal from the Himalaya Book Café was short but it was also uphill, so sometimes I’d pause for a rest. After the soiree, I was doing just this when there came the sound of sandals behind me; I turned to see Geshe Wangpo.
    â€œHHC!” he greeted, footsteps slowing. “You also came to the concert?”
    As he bent to stroke me, I purred.
    â€œLift home?” he inquired.
    I appreciated the offer. There had been rain earlier that evening, and I didn’t want to get muddy and damp if I could avoid it.
    Taking me into his arms, Geshe Wangpo continued, “It’s wonderful what becomes possible when we start to accept ourselves,” he told me. “Others find it easier to accept us, too, when we don’t keep engaging in negative thoughts about ourselves.”
    As we made our way through the monastery gates, he murmured, “And we can achieve so much more when we are positive. Confident.”
    I wondered if he was talking about my mental fleas. Not the fact that they occurred but rather the harsh way I had judged myself when they appeared. How I told myself my meditation practice was pointless, and that I must just as well give up.
    â€œCheck up on what is happening in your mind,” continued Geshe Wangpo. “Let go of negative thinking. But you know this already, don’t you, HHC?”
    As we reached the edge of the courtyard nearest my home, he put me back down on the ground with special care.
    Yes, I did know. Compassion begins with self-acceptance. Self-acceptance first requires letting go of negative thoughts about yourself. And it requires being aware of the negative thoughts to begin with. I hadn’t fully understood the importance of that until this evening.
    I rubbed up against Geshe-la’s bare ankles by way of thanks. As he turned to walk toward his room I heard him humming something under his breath—a curiously Tibetan rendition of Brahms’s Hungarian Dances .

    It was while going around the building to the secret entrance I used to get inside that I caught a whiff of it again—that special scent! The new, arresting one I’d first detected on the sill upstairs. It was stronger down here, much stronger. And even more compelling. It seemed to be coming from the opposite direction of the Himalaya Book Café, up the same road, probably, but to the left instead of right out of the monastery gates. I sometimes visited a garden just a short distance away in that direction to perform my toilette, but I hadn’t been there for a while. Could it be a new plant? I wondered. No matter how far away the bewitching fragrance originated, I decided, I had to find out what it was.
    No sooner had I made this decision, however, than a big, fat raindrop exploded on my nose. Followed a few moments later by another on the crown of my head. A gust of wind tore through the trees above me; swaying branches scattered another shower of droplets.
    Ears pressed back, I scampered to a ground-floor window left permanently ajar and quickly hopped inside.
    The