27 years later
Saturday night, 11:30.
Today the Karmapa gave two talks, a day that started, for me, anyway, with one irritation after another, building up, and it ended with a feeling of warmth in my heart, spreading through my body, and of memories of the 16th Karmapa and simply of gratitude.
I woke up late. I pedaled fast to the Hammerstein ballroom in midtown, the comp tickets for monks and nuns in my bag. I bought a latte and tried to dangle it from the handlebars and, utterly predictably, it tore through, spilling my coffee all over the sidewalk. At the Hammerstein, the lines of people waiting spread around the block, both directions. I ducked inside, where I was volunteering with the tickets, and found that we, the ticket people, were crammed together at a single table, and that we were talking over one another and elbowing one another when the monks and nuns and lamas and others came to get their tickets from us. One volunteer hovered nearby, and, trying to be helpful, commented on how it useful it would be to remember our Buddhist mindfulness, until I wanted to slug her one. By the time the talk was to begin, I was briefly considered just slipping out and finding some coffee instead.
Naturally, that would have been the world's most idiotic move. His Holiness walked briskly on stage and sat on a sofa beneath a towering Buddha thangka, his greatly magnified image reflected clearly in screens on either side of the huge room. He was simply dressed in robes. His almond-shaped eyes gazed directly out over the lights. His moves were definite -- graceful, but when he sat, he sat, and when he gestured, he gestured. His face was young and smooth. He was fully self-possessed -- calm, alert, intensely interested.
He had only been in New York three days but he said he had a wonderful day seeing the town on Friday. New York moved so fast. The traffic moved fast and stopped and moved fast again. Even the buildings seemed to be moving fast -- growing, competing with the other.
Then he paused. What was the subject of his talk, again? he asked, to laughter.
He talked about emotions, about being creative when we feel kleshas, the way we are when we make art. When feeling anger, for instance, he said, don't try to get rid of it but instead try reducing the intensity by spreading the focus out, transferring the anger to many objects instead of one. He said we could try laughing at ourselves when we are very angry, or feeling any other klesha. Though we want to get rid of our kleshas, we also cherish them -- which is funny, really.
The talk was original. It was vivid and striking and amusing and applicable, immediately.
There was more, but it is now 11:30 at night. But here is how he ended the morning talk, and, similarly, the afternoon one. He said he had first heard of America when he was 8, shortly after he was recognized, and had seen his first Americans. What are they? he asked. "Westerners," he was told. He said he thought they were odd. Over the years he had heard a lot about America and had been wanting to come here ever since his first glimpse of those Westerners.
He said that he knew many people out in the audience had made a connection with the 16th Gyalwa Karmapa and felt strong love and connection for him. He said we should know that we were never outside the mind of the Gyalwa Karmapa. That the Gyalwa Karmapa was always thinking of us, always.
He said: "You feel great love and affection for me. I'm trying my best to let you know I feel great love and affection for you. We should share that love with other countries, with countries that are suffering, with China and Burma -- and help them, practically, if we can."
He was so moving. It made me melt. The Karmapa is here again, 27 years later.
Today the Karmapa gave two talks, a day that started, for me, anyway, with one irritation after another, building up, and it ended with a feeling of warmth in my heart, spreading through my body, and of memories of the 16th Karmapa and simply of gratitude.
I woke up late. I pedaled fast to the Hammerstein ballroom in midtown, the comp tickets for monks and nuns in my bag. I bought a latte and tried to dangle it from the handlebars and, utterly predictably, it tore through, spilling my coffee all over the sidewalk. At the Hammerstein, the lines of people waiting spread around the block, both directions. I ducked inside, where I was volunteering with the tickets, and found that we, the ticket people, were crammed together at a single table, and that we were talking over one another and elbowing one another when the monks and nuns and lamas and others came to get their tickets from us. One volunteer hovered nearby, and, trying to be helpful, commented on how it useful it would be to remember our Buddhist mindfulness, until I wanted to slug her one. By the time the talk was to begin, I was briefly considered just slipping out and finding some coffee instead.
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He had only been in New York three days but he said he had a wonderful day seeing the town on Friday. New York moved so fast. The traffic moved fast and stopped and moved fast again. Even the buildings seemed to be moving fast -- growing, competing with the other.
Then he paused. What was the subject of his talk, again? he asked, to laughter.
He talked about emotions, about being creative when we feel kleshas, the way we are when we make art. When feeling anger, for instance, he said, don't try to get rid of it but instead try reducing the intensity by spreading the focus out, transferring the anger to many objects instead of one. He said we could try laughing at ourselves when we are very angry, or feeling any other klesha. Though we want to get rid of our kleshas, we also cherish them -- which is funny, really.
The talk was original. It was vivid and striking and amusing and applicable, immediately.
There was more, but it is now 11:30 at night. But here is how he ended the morning talk, and, similarly, the afternoon one. He said he had first heard of America when he was 8, shortly after he was recognized, and had seen his first Americans. What are they? he asked. "Westerners," he was told. He said he thought they were odd. Over the years he had heard a lot about America and had been wanting to come here ever since his first glimpse of those Westerners.
He said that he knew many people out in the audience had made a connection with the 16th Gyalwa Karmapa and felt strong love and connection for him. He said we should know that we were never outside the mind of the Gyalwa Karmapa. That the Gyalwa Karmapa was always thinking of us, always.
He said: "You feel great love and affection for me. I'm trying my best to let you know I feel great love and affection for you. We should share that love with other countries, with countries that are suffering, with China and Burma -- and help them, practically, if we can."
He was so moving. It made me melt. The Karmapa is here again, 27 years later.
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posted by Chronicles of CTR at 1:21 AM
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