The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Art of Purring (The Dalai Lama's Cat, #2)

by David Michie

As it happens, I am among the most fortunate of cats, because when the Dalai Lama goes traveling, the household routine here at Namgyal continues in much the same way. I still spend part of each day on his first-floor windowsill, a vantage point from which I can maintain maximum surveillance with minimum effort, just as I spend some time most days in the office of His Holiness’s executive assistants.

The Dalai Lama sees us as we really are and reflects our true nature back to us. This is why so many people simply melt in his presence.

“I will tell you the true causes of happiness,” he whispered in my ear. “A special message just for you—and for those with whom you have a karmic connection.” I began to purr, and soon my purring rose to the steady, throaty volume of a miniature outboard motor. “Yes, my little Snow Lion,” the Dalai Lama said. “I would like you to investigate the art of purring.”

I became aware of something that is of the utmost importance to cats, something we innately sense: I was in the presence of a cat lover.

“You might say that the difference between the way things were in the 1950s and the way people imagined the future to be came down to what they focused on—antigravity cars, say, or conveyer-belted sidewalks. They imagined that everything else would stay the same.”

“Some call this presentism, the tendency to think that the future will be just like the present but with one particular difference. Our minds are very good at filling in everything else, apart from that difference, when we think about tomorrow. And the material we use to fill it in with is today as these images illustrate.

When one of the men mentioned that he couldn’t bend over and place his palms on the floor because his hamstrings were too tight, Ludo remarked, “Hamstrings, yes. For some that is the challenge. For others it is being able to turn. Or simply to sit cross-legged comfortably. The dissatisfactions of life manifest in many different forms. Exactly how they are expressed is unique to each one of us. But yoga provides us with the space to become free.”

“A reaction is automatic, habitual,” Ludo said. “A response is considered. That’s the difference. What’s important is to create space, to open ourselves up to possibilities beyond the habitual, which rarely serve us well. Anger is never an enlightened response. We may be wrathful—speaking in mock-angry tones to stop a child who is about to step near a fire, for example—but that’s very different from real anger.”