I find the face of this man, whom I do not know, comforting. In fact, his countenance makes me feel happy. Not the giddy, silly, act-the-fool happy, but the deep down, spirit-lifting happy. I've felt drawn to Lhamo Döndrub (his birth name) from the first time I saw a photo of his face, in 1959, the year of his exile to India. I was twelve years old; he was twenty-four.
The Dalai Lama seems filled with peace and contentment. I am not, most of the time. No doubt, I need an attitude adjustment. I'm working on that, but not as wholeheartedly as I could be at the moment. Too many aggravations buzzing around my head, bothersome little worry-gnats I swat at, but don't eliminate. I need a bigger fly-swatter, perhaps.
I admire the way he continues to work toward an honorable settlement with the Chinese government which will recognize and respect the autonomy of Tibet. Good luck with that, Your Holiness.
Sometimes I gaze at his image as if expecting it to speak to me, to share his wisdom, to provide me with the answer to some of my questions: Why am I here? What am I supposed to do with my life? (That's a helluva question to be asking at my age. Shouldn't I already have an answer to that one?) How do I evolve out of this mess into the person I am meant to be, if there is a purpose to my life in the first place? I am not depressed when I ask these questions; just trying to determine what to do next. I figure if anyone knows how to find answers, it just might be he. That's a heavy load to put on a photograph of someone I don't know beans about, isn't it?
I usually enjoy these contemplative moods, wherein I attempt to solve the riddles of my little universe. They are exercises for the intellect, spurred on by my insatiable curiosity, hampered by an inadequate education. Lately, though, there have been too many gnats distracting me and I'm having trouble paying attention. Why looking upon the face of Tenzin Gyatso brings stillness and quiet to my restless, questioning soul, I have no answer.
All I know is that it does.
Om.
