In Exile From the Land of Snows (67 page)

I call this kind of love that I am describing: religion. This sort of compassion is the real essence of religion. On this level there is hardly any difference between Buddhism, Christianity, or any other faith. All religions place emphasis on bettering human beings, on improving man. Brotherhood, love—these things all religions have in common. Therefore, I always feel—as well as say to other Buddhists—that the question of nirvana will come later. There is not much hurry. But in day-to-day life, if you lead a good life—honest, compassionate, less selfish—then it will automatically lead to nirvana. In contrast, if you talk a lot about nirvana but do not bother much about day-to-day practice, then any enlightenment you reach will not be complete. You will not attain correct understanding because, in reality, your daily practice is nothing. So you see, we must implement these good teachings in life. Whether you believe in God or not doesn’t matter. Whether you believe in Buddha or not doesn’t matter. You must lead a good life. Having good food, good clothes, and good shelter is not sufficient. What is needed is a good motive.

Now, in this present world atmosphere, some people may think that religion is only for those who remain in remote places: that it is not needed much in the business or political fields. My answer is no. All actions, except certain minor ones, are founded in motivations. In politics, if your motive is good, you’re a genuinely honest politician; if not, you’re merely practicing “dirty politics.” Politics are not bad in and of themselves—they are needed to solve many human problems—but when they are practiced by a selfish, common person, then there is something lacking. This is true not only in politics but in religion as well. If I hold a self-centered motive, then my religious practice becomes bad. So here you can see that motivation is all-important. Therefore, my simple practice is to love and respect others and to be honest, and these are teachings that apply to those in politics and business as well as everywhere else.

At the present moment, if you look deeply at society, there are many problems. Deep down almost everyone has a feeling of unrest. Because of this feeling, people often lack a clear understanding on how to solve their problems. Now, I am not criticizing others, but you see, with real lasting peace inside, anger and hatred become impossible. Conversely, benefiting others, even if you want to, becomes impossible if deep down your motive is selfish. We may talk a lot about peace, love, justice, but when certain things affect us personally, we forget all of it. We may then say that it is necessary to make war or suppress others. When anyone says such things, it is a clear sign that something is lacking within.

My feeling is simply this. If in this present atmosphere, in which everything depends on money and power, and there is not much concern about the real value of love, if we human beings now lose the value of justice, of compassion, of honesty, then in the future we will face more difficulty; more suffering will come. So it is hard but absolutely worthwhile to try. What is important is that we try our best, and whether we succeed or not is a different question. Even if we do not succeed in this life, that is all right; but at least we have tried to build a better human society on the basis of love. This is what I feel, and these are my thoughts on the value of religion to human society.

JA: What were your first feelings on being recognized as the Dalai Lama?

DL: I was very happy. I liked it a lot. Even before I was recognized, I often told my mother that I was going to go to Lhasa. I used to straddle a windowsill in our house, pretending that I was riding a horse to Lhasa. I was a very small child at the time, but I remember this clearly. I had a strong desire to go there. Another thing I didn’t mention in my autobiography
¹
is that after my birth, a pair of crows came to roost on the roof of our house. They would arrive each morning, stay for a while, and then leave. This is of particular interest as similar incidents occurred at the births of the First, Seventh, Eighth and Twelfth Dalai Lamas. After their births, a pair of crows came and remained. In my own case, in the beginning, nobody paid attention to this. Recently, however, perhaps three years ago, I was talking with my mother, and she recalled it. She had noticed them come in the morning, depart after a time, and then the next morning come again. Now, the evening after the birth of the First Dalai Lama, bandits attacked the family’s tent. The parents ran away and left the child. The next day when they returned and wondered what had happened to their son, they found the baby in a corner. A crow stood before him, protecting him. Later on, when the First Dalai Lama grew up and developed in his spiritual practice, he made direct contact during meditation with the protective deity, Mahakala.
²
At this time, Mahakala said to him, “Somebody like you who is upholding the Buddhist teaching needs a protector like me. Right on the day of your birth, I helped you.”
So we can see, there is definitely a connection between Mahakala, the crows, and the Dalai Lamas.

There is another story related to this. The scholars of Nalanda,
³
the great Buddhist university, were once challenged to a debate by Ashvaghosha, a famous Hindu teacher. At that time, the tradition was that whoever lost a debate had to convert to the faith of the victor. Now Nalanda was the most important of the Buddhist universities. If it fell in debate, the teaching would be severely threatened. The scholars of Nalanda were so worried that they decided to send for Nagarjuna,
⁴
the greatest scholar of the time. Nagarjuna, however, was far away in southern India, too far for a man to take him the note. Since they didn’t have time, they decided to turn the matter over to Mahakala. They prayed and engaged in an elaborate and formal ceremony. Then they placed the letter they had written before the statue of Mahakala, whereupon Mahakala—through the statue—emanated a crow who took the letter and traveled to south India. On receiving it, Nagarjuna understood that Nalanda was in a desperate situation. He determined that his disciple Aryadeva would be the best one to debate Ashvaghosha. Therefore, he trained Aryadeva by engaging in intensive debate with him. At one point, Aryadeva got carried away and behaved in a slightly prideful manner with his teacher. Nagarjuna said this was all right, but because of it, a bad dependent-arising
⁵
would be created. Traveling back to Nalanda, Aryadeva was intercepted by a group of bandits and lost one of his eyes. Nevertheless, he arrived in Nalanda and successfully defeated Ashvaghosha. Ashvaghosha then became a student of Nagarjuna and wrote his books after that.

JA: Is the connection with the crow because it is black, like Mahakala, or is there something in the crow itself? Have crows appeared in your life since then?

DL: Actually, I don’t like crows. Crows are generally very cruel to small birds. They always pester and bother them as well as attack them. Another thing that happened, which my mother remembers very clearly, is that soon after I arrived in Lhasa, I said that my teeth were in a box in a certain house in the Norbulingka. When they opened the box, they found a set of dentures that had belonged to the Thirteenth Dalai Lama. I pointed to the box and said that my teeth were in there, but right now I don’t recall this at all. The new memories associated with this body are stronger. The past has become smaller, more vague. Unless I make a specific attempt to develop such a memory, I don’t recall it.

JA: Do you remember your birth or the womb state before?

DL: At this moment, I don’t remember. Also, I can’t recall if at that time when I was a small child, I could remember it. However, there was
one slight external sign perhaps. Children are usually born with their eyes closed. I was born with my eyes open. This may be some slight indication of a clear state of mind in the womb.

JA: When you were a little boy, how did you react to being so revered? Were you apprehensive or frightened?

DL: Tibetans are very practical people. Older Tibetans would never spoil me. Also, I was very self-confident. When I first approached Lhasa on the Debuthang plain, the Nechung Oracle came to further verify that I was the correct choice. With him came an old, very respected, and highly realized
geshé
⁶
from Loseling College of Drepung Monastery.
⁷
He was deeply concerned whether or not I was the correct choice. To have made a mistake in finding the Dalai Lama would be very dangerous. Now, he was a religious man—not someone in the government. He came into the tent where I was in a group audience and determined that unquestionably I was the right choice. So you see, though there were certain very proper old people who wanted to be sure, I apparently put on a good performance and convinced them. (laughter) I was never uneasy in my position. Charles Bell
⁸
has mentioned that I was taking it all quite casually. But about fear, there’s one thing I remember clearly. One night I wanted to go visit my mother, who had come with the rest of my family to Lhasa. I was in the tent of the regent. A very large bodyguard was standing by the entrance. It was evening, sunset, and this man had a bad, damaged eye. I remember being scared, frightened then, to go out of the tent. So, like that. There are many mysterious things, stories, when you talk about rebirth.

JA: Could you describe your feelings for your teachers; they clearly played a central role in your upbringing
.

DL: Nothing in particular. When I first met Ling Rinpoché
⁹
as a small boy, I was a little afraid. When I got older, the fear gradually disappeared, and respect replaced it. So like that, not much.

JA: Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, after you assumed temporal power, did you change?

DL: Yes, I changed … a little bit. I underwent a lot of happiness and pain. Within that and from growing, gaining more experience, from the problems that arose and the suffering, I changed. The ultimate result is the man you see now. (laughter)

JA: How about adolescence? Many people experience difficulty defining themselves as adults. Did this happen to you?

DL: No. My life was very much in a routine. Two times a day I studied. Each time I studied for an hour, and then spent the rest of the time playing, (laughter) Then at the age of thirteen, I began studying philosophy,
definitions, debate. My study increased, and I also studied calligraphy. It was all in a routine though, and I got used to it. Sometimes, there were vacations. These were very comfortable, happy. Lobsang Samten, my immediate elder brother, was usually at school, but during these times he would come to visit. Also, occasionally my mother would bring special bread from our province of Amdo. Very thick and delicious. She made this herself.

JA: Did you have the chance to cultivate a relationship with your father when you were growing up?

DL: My father died when I was thirteen. This is in my book.

JA: Whom among your predecessors do you have a particular interest in?

DL: The Thirteenth Dalai Lama. He brought a lot of improvement to the standards of study in the monastic colleges. He gave great encouragement to the real scholars. He made it impossible for people to go up in the religious hierarchy, becoming an abbot and so forth, without being totally qualified. He was very strict in this respect. He also gave tens of thousands of monks ordinations. These were his two main religious achievements. He didn’t give many initiations, or many lectures. Now, with respect to the country, he had great thought and consideration for nation-building—the outlying districts in particular—how they should be governed and so forth. He cared very much about how to run the government more efficiently. He had great concern about our borders and that type of thing.

JA: During the course of your own life, what have been the greatest internal challenges? Which realizations and experiences have had the most effect on your growth as an individual?

DL: Regarding religious experience, some understanding of
shunya
¹⁰
—some feeling, some experience—and mostly
bodhichitta
,
¹¹
altruism. It has helped a lot. In some ways, you could say that it has made me into a new person, a new man. I’m still progressing. Trying. It gives you inner strength, courage, and it is easier to accept situations. That’s one of the greatest experiences.

JA: On the
bodhichitta
side, are you speaking about a progressive deepening of realization or a certain moment associated with external experience?

DL: Mainly internal practice. There could also be external causes or circumstances. External factors could have played a part in the development of some feeling for
bodhichitta
. But mainly it has to come from internal practice.

JA: Were there specific moments in your practice when you crossed a threshold?

DL: Regarding
shunya
theory, first
shunya
theory, then
bodhichitta
feeling … around ’65, ’66, in that period. This is really a personal matter. For a true religious practitioner, these things must be kept private.

JA: Okay. Beyond personal practice, how have the events of your life affected you as a man? How have you grown through experiencing them?

DL: Being a refugee has been very useful. You are much closer to reality. When I was in Tibet as the Dalai Lama, I was trying to be realistic, but somehow because of circumstances, there was some distance, I think. I was a bit isolated from the reality. I became a refugee. Very good. So there was a good opportunity to gain experience and determination—inner strength.

JA: What helped you gain this strength? Was it the extent of others’ suffering or the loss of your position and country? Were you called on to lead your people in a different way than you had been accustomed to?

DL: Being a refugee is a really desperate, dangerous situation. At that time, everyone deals with reality. It is not the time to pretend things are beautiful. That’s something. You feel involved with reality. In peace time, everything goes smoothly. Even if there is a problem, people pretend that things are good. During a peaceful or smooth time, they can practice that. But during a dangerous period, when there’s a dramatic change, then there’s no scope to pretend that everything is fine. You must accept that bad is bad. Now when I left the Norbulingka, there was danger. We were passing very near the Chinese military barracks. It was just on the other side of the river, the Chinese checkpoint there. You see, we had definite information two or three weeks before I left that the Chinese were fully prepared to attack us. It was only a question of the day and hour.