It’s only when I hear the swish of a robe that I’m aware she’s sitting beside me.
“Ama-la,” I say, and open my eyes. I bow my head, ready to get up.
“No rush.” Her hand on my arm urges me to stay seated. She shifts on the flimsy cushion and closes her eyes. A great stillness descends upon her.
The contentment she embodies, the serenity she radiates—the memory of my grandmother pierces my heart with the arrow of longing. Ama-la.
My unruly mind slips away from me, desperate to escape to the safety of my grandmother, my monastery, my home on the mountaintop, so many moons ago. Focus. With a sharp breath, I draw in my aching mind and swallow my selfish desire to be anywhere else but here right now.
The abbess opens her eyes. A sparkle of deep amber reflects as her deep, yet kind, gaze probes me. “How are you, my child?”
My shoulders raise. My hands draw in my sleeves to seek the comforting touch of the silky fur lining. I open my mouth—what can I say?
“I’m fine, ama-la, thank you.” I clear my throat. “I’ve been granted a new, precious life.” My mouth dry, I swallow. “And although I struggled at first, I feel some ease has appeared in my mind over the last days.”
A warm blush spreads over my face, for I know I’m not fooling either one of us. She leans in and nods as the faint clacking of her prayer beads encourages me to go on. I cast my eyes down on the cloud of crumpled blue that covers me.
“But I feel as if I’m still in the Bardo, the in-between.” My cheeks burn, my breath grows hot and thick. “I’ve left the place I’ve known for so long—my grandmother, my sisters, my home.” I heave. “But my mind.” My fists clench inside their furry pouch.
My mind feels feverish and a stream of words is swelling, sloshing over the jagged edges of my hollowed skull. “It’s like my body has stepped into the new unknown, but my mind is still stuck in between. Not knowing how to leave behind the old, not knowing how to be in the new.” My fingernails dig into the palms of my hand, a pacifying pain amidst the burning agony of my mind.
“Yes, there is a shift in my mind, for there are moments of clarity, of ease, more and more, but I fear it won’t last.” I sob, the scorching lump of disappointment growing fast within my throat. “I fear I’ll falter again and again in this world—that’s me, that’s my wayward mind.”
There it is. I’ve said it aloud. I’ve uttered the words of doubt and disgrace and given my mind the upper hand—yet again.
The beads are silent by now, the abbess’ hands suspended in midair. “Yes, your mind is anxious, my child, for it doesn’t like change or distress.” She rests her hand on my arm, and I glance aside as the weight of shame presses on my chest.
“It left behind a place of comfort.” Her voice is steady, with a hint of sternness. “And it has not arrived yet to a place that has restored that ease.” A tiny smile peeps on her pinched lips. “But you know very well that this will pass too, for all things are impermanent, nothing remains the same. Everything is always changing, from moment to moment, and so is our state of mind.” She pauses. My hands release their sweaty grip and seek the coolness outside of the sleeves.
“Yes, ama-la.” I bite my lip, and a tingle of shame shoots through me. “My grandmother taught me well.” She did, for I fully understand that the meaning of impermanence. Our bodies, our families, our homes, and yes, also our state of mind—everything is always changing from moment to moment, nothing lasts forever. The memory of my mother floats before my eyes. Yes, I’ve known change ever since I was young. Yet, it has never touched me as profoundly as it does now. My insides wrench and my clammy hands clasp in my lap.
The abbess leans back a bit. A sharp rattle resonates on the wooden floor as her beads fall to the side of her cushion.
“We never know what is going to happen next.” She jolts up and snaps her fingers. “Even in this fleeting moment, we’re in a state of change and uncertainty, dying a little and becoming anew from moment-to-moment, Nordun-la. This is the nature of our samsaric existence, and this is where we have to build our home and put our mind to rest.” The snap of her fingers rings around my hollow mind as I chase my running thoughts.
My face still heated, I look up to her. “But how, ama-la? This world…. It’s so noisy, so full of distractions.” My voice thickens. Distractions. I cringe and cast my eyes down again.
“I’m used to prayer, study, and meditation in the silence and safety of the monastery, and now… I fear my unruly mind will laps again and again and get the better of me.” Distractions. Could my shame burn any brighter on my cheeks?
“Ah… this world is the best opportunity to practice, my child.” Her hand taps my arm, a gentle pat to pay attention. “Standing in the midst of change, being pulled aside by distractions, and touched by the suffering of others.” Her hand touches my face. “There’s nothing you can control out here, only your mind, so if you can accept whatever happens out here—good or bad—that is the best practice.”
Her eyes spark that warming amber again, but this time more fiery, more fierce.
“Let the noise be, let go of your expectations, and do not long for anything else, for this is samsara.” Her voice swells, her hands raise. “Tame your mind. Let it be home to the noise, the distractions, and the endless suffering of all. Tame your mind—that’s the supreme spiritual discipline.” Her shrill laughter whirls through the air. It’s a shriek of apprehension, yet a call to blissful understanding—and I get it.
My shoulders drop. A surge of joyous relief washes over me, cleansing the sticky, murky thoughts from my mind, rinsing the weight of shame from my body. Warm tears well up and escape from the corners of my eyes.
How silly of me to expect my state of mind to stay the same. Of course, it changes—it always has. Even in the monastery, moments of clarity lapsed into moments of obscurity—one state dying, the other becoming. And I always overcame obstacles and obscurations by keeping to the practice of the path, I always did.
My head spins, a lightness overtakes me. Being aware of dying and becoming, from moment-to-moment—that’s the practice, that’s the path.
My heart fills to the brim with delight. I will overcome again and again in this noisy, hectic world, for this is where the suffering is. This is where I choose to practice for the benefit of all sentient beings. I can’t contain a giggle as the abbess’s cool hands wipe my face. How childish she must think me to be.
“You’ve not chosen the easy path, my child.” Her hand strokes my cheek as her eyes delight in mine. “But you’re not alone in this. Tara, our beloved savioress, is always here.” She puts her hand on her heart, a tender touch of deep devotion. “And so are we, your sangha of sisters.” Her fingers tap my wrist where the blessing cord is tied.
I nod. The red string flares like a crimson beacon in my vision.
“Thank you, ama-la.” My breath whispers with respect as I realize—Tara’s shown herself to me, once again.
Her hands in mine, the abbess rises from her cushion. I hasten to get up.
“Time to join the others, they’ll be waiting with tea,” she says. “And undoubtedly with some amusing stories as Lanying has arrived.” A muffled chuckle slips from her lips. “That girl…” She shakes her head and puts her arm through mine.
Together we walk into the afterglow of the day, our cautious steps turning into a stride as loud laughter lures us to the kitchen.