Dear Readers,

Last week, at the end of my post, I shared an update from Twala Trust Animal Sanctuary, one of the non-profits we support. This included a photo of Juno, a dog who had arrived at the sanctuary in the a truly miserable condition - starving to the point that her bones stuck out, a flea allergy painfully inflamed her skin, she was suffering from mammary tumours and an ingrown eyelid. Many of you asked to be told what happened to her next.

Well, I am very glad to be offering you a much happier update about Juno at the end of today’s post!

This newsletter is subtitled ‘Buddhist Compassion in Action’ for a reason. We support those who are caring for some of the most vulnerable people and animals in the world.

If my articles and stories bring you insight, encouragement, or wisdom, and if you are currently a free subscriber, please consider upgrading to paid to read the Dalai Lama’s Cat’s new mouse-size musing. A single US$7 a month subscription can help bring hope to those in need.

My heartfelt thanks to each one of you who is part of our circle of light: our subscribers span the world. It is truly special to belong to this little community of people who understand that our inner journey depends on our outward behaviour. If we seek the end of our own suffering, we work to end the suffering of others. In one sense, it really is that simple.

Now, onto today’s story from His Holiness’s Cat …

Tuesday evening in Namgyal temple. Geshe Wangpo is drawing his weekly teaching to a close. At the front, the heads of the maroon-robed monks are bowed in reverence. Along from where I am nestled between Serena and Franc, I watch the closed palms and serene absorption on the faces of Sid, Serena, Franc and Ludo, as they chant the four immeasurables. A faint but distinctive waft of Deodar, blows through the windows, merging with wisps of sandalwood incense. Thangka rods clunk softly against the walls in the evening breeze.

There is always a moment of stillness at the end of the chanting. A hushed but luminous sense of a shared reality – boundless and more exquisite than the one in which we are all usually engaged. A state of heart from which most of us in the temple have no wish to step away.

Eventually, a creak as Geshe Wangpo leans forward on his teaching throne. His students get ready to rise, as they always do, out of respect for their guru. But he is holding out his arm, urging them to stay.

“I have a request,” he says, glancing around at their faces. “Something I would like you to consider before next week’s class.”

It is unusual for Geshe-la to say anything after the chanting has ended, much less to offer his students homework. He has everyone’s rapt attention.

“What is the kindest thing that anyone has ever done for you?” Tilting his head to one side he regards them with a smile.

While the monks continue gazing steadily ahead in strict discipline, on the rows of meditation cushions occupied by the townsfolk, some are exchanging puzzled expressions.

Sensing their unspoken questions, Geshe Wangpo phrases his question with an enigmatic look: ‘What is the greatest kindness it is possible to be shown?”

It was not a question I had ever heard being asked. Nor, going by the looks of others in the temple, was it one they’d heard either. But it was an intriguing one, not so?

In an instant, pivotal moments in my life sprang to mind. But which of these was the most decisive? Here was a new way to search through the many memories of my life : of the many kindnesses I had received, which was the greatest?

That night as I lay to rest on the windowsill overlooking the monastery courtyard, all manner of interventions and beneficence surfaced as I contemplated a myriad of memories. My rescue by Serena from a pair of slavering hell hounds who had chased me almost to my death – or so it had felt at the time. Wonky on my pins, heart pounding and, by some miracle, able to scramble up a trellis, when Serena had come to my rescue it had been the most glorious deliverance!

I was showered with constant kindnesses too by her mother, Mrs. Trinci, my greatest benefactor. Drowsily, I wondered if ongoing smaller kindnesses over many years might equate to one large and dramatic one?

And, of course, that kindness of all kindnesses when His Holiness had first seen me: the smallest of three kittens stolen by a pair of street urchins in New Delhi. Having sold my two larger and more attractive siblings, the urchins had decided I was unsaleable. Wrapping me in a grubby, week-old scrap of newspaper, I was destined for death on the rubbish heap when, watching all this unfold from the back of a car while stuck in a traffic jam, the Dalai Lama sent his attendant to save me.

Where would I have been without that intervention? Indeed, where would you be, dear reader?

Geshe Wangpo’s question came up several days later at The Himalayan Book Café. Serena and Sid had stopped in for a late morning coffee. Spotting them in one of the banquettes, I made my way towards them. It wasn’t long before Franc came to join us. And then after a while, from the bookstore, Sam. There was always a warm feeling when those in this special circle gathered together: friends deeply connected by a shared past, as well as an ongoing dharma practice.

“So, who has the answer to lama’s question?” Serena asked brightly, glancing from Franc to Sam.

‘On the greatest kindness?” Franc confirmed.

She nodded.

Sam leaned back on the banquette. “What do you think?”

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