My Spiritual Journey

by Dalai Lama

  The lama who was guiding the delegation passed himself off as a servant and headed for the kitchen. I ran over to him, sat down on his lap, and demanded the rosary he was carrying, asserting that it was my own. This familiarity earned me the reproaches of my mother, but the lama offered to give me the rosary if I was able to say his name. I replied without hesitating: “You are Sera Aga,” which, in local dialect, meant: “You are the lama of Sera.” I also called his companions by their names and spent the rest of the evening playing with him, until it was time for bed. The next morning the group went back to Lhasa, without saying anything to my parents.

  I successfully pass the tests of remembering my previous life

  THREE WEEKS LATER, a full delegation of lamas and religious dignitaries came to visit us again. This time they brought several personal objects that had belonged to my predecessor, mixed up with others that had no connection to him. It has been shown that young reincarnate children remember objects and people from their past life or are able to recite texts from the Sutras even before they have learned them.

  When they showed me two canes, I touched one hesitantly, looked at it a few more seconds, then seized the other one, which had belonged to the Great Thirteenth. Then I lightly tapped the arm of the lama who was staring at me, asserting that this cane belonged to me and reproaching him for having taken it from me.

  Likewise I recognized, among several identical black and yellow rosaries, the ones that belonged to my predecessor. Finally, they had me choose between two drums: one was simple and small, which the previous Dalai Lama used to summon the servants; the other was larger and decorated with gold ribbons. I chose the little one, which I began pounding in the customary way for ritual practices.

  These tests, which I passed successfully, persuaded the members of the delegation that they had found the reincarnation they had been looking for. It was also a good omen that the Thirteenth Dalai Lama had stayed at the neighboring monastery when he was returning from China. He had been welcomed there by a ceremony, and my father, who was nine at the time, had been present for it. The leader of the search party remembered that the Thirteenth Dalai Lama had forgotten a pair of yellow boots at the monastery, which was interpreted as a sign that he would return. He had also briefly contemplated the house where I was born and remarked that it was a very beautiful site.

  My Childhood in Lhasa

  I climb up onto the Lion Throne

  DURING THE WINTER OF 1940, they brought me to the Potala, where I was officially enthroned as the spiritual leader of Tibet. I have no particular memory of this ceremony, except that, for the first time, I sat on the Lion Throne, a wooden seat, very large, encrusted with jewels and magnificently sculpted, set up in the Sishi Phuntsok, “the Hall of all the meritorious actions in the temporal and spiritual world,” the main assembly hall in the eastern wing of the Potala.

  Soon afterward, I was led to the Jokhang Temple, in the middle of the city, and there I was ordained a novice monk; then we proceeded to the hair-cutting ceremony, which I don’t remember much of, except that at a certain moment, when I saw the brocade costumes of the monks performing a ritual dance, I shouted excitedly to my brother, “Look over there!”

  My hair was symbolically cut by Reting Rinpoche, the regent, who, along with acting as head of state until I came of age, occupied the position of my chief tutor. In the beginning, I was guarded around him, but then I began to like him very much. He was a man with a great imagination and a very open mind, who always saw the bright side of life. He liked picnics and horses, which made him a great friend of my father’s. Unfortunately, during his years as regent he became a controversial character in a corrupt government in which buying and selling high offices was common practice.

  At the time of my ordination there were a lot of rumors to the effect that Reting Rinpoche could not carry out the hair-cutting ritual, since people were saying he had broken his vows of celibacy and was no longer a monk. Still, following the ancient custom, I exchanged my name of Lhamo Thondup for his own, Jamphel Yeshe. Attached to several other names, my full name became Jamphel (“Awakened Wisdom”) Ngawang (“Prince of Speech”) Lobsang (“Perfect Intelligence”) Yeshe (“Exalted Wisdom”) Tenzin (“Holder of the Teachings”) Gyatso (Ocean [of Wisdom]”).

  I find my teeth

  WHEN WE ARRIVED IN LHASA, my family and I were housed in the summer palace of the Dalai Lamas, the Norbulingka, or Jewel Park, whose gardens were overflowing with flowers. It was the eighth month of the year, and in that season the fruit trees were covered with apples, pears, and walnuts, to our great delight. But my mother remembers that I had only one idea in my head: finding a certain box in my rooms. I stated that my teeth were stored there, and I had all my predecessor’s sealed trunks opened, one after the other, until I found what I was looking for. Seeing a box wrapped in brocade, I cried out that it contained my teeth. We did in fact find a set of dentures that had belonged to the Thirteenth Dalai Lama.

  I had forgotten this anecdote because my mind is dominated by memories of my present existence, attached to my present body. The events of my previous life have grown vague. Unless I make an effort to bring them back to mind, I don’t remember them.

  Childhood memories

  THE TIBETAN GOVERNMENT had built a house for my mother, and we lived apart, since I lived within the yellow walls of Norbulingka. But I would go almost every day to my mother’s house. My parents also came to see me in the apartment of the Dalai Lamas, and we were very close. My mother visited me quite often, at least once a month, accompanied by my brothers and sisters.

  I remember our children’s games in the gardens of Norbulingka. I also remember a temple with a stuffed leopard and a stuffed tiger. They looked so real to my younger brother, Tenzin Chögyal, that the mere sight of them filled him with terror. It didn’t matter that I reassured him, saying they were just stuffed animals—he didn’t dare go near them.

  During the winter, at the Potala, the custom was that I should go into retreat for a month. I found myself in a room with no sun, with its windows shut, where it was cold. It was an old room (two or three hundred years old), and because of the oil lamps it looked like a kitchen—dark, smoky, dirty.

  There were also rats! While we chanted or recited prayers, I could see them coming, for they liked to scurry around the torma offerings and drink the water in the offering bowls…. I couldn’t tell if the deities liked this water, but I could see clearly that the rats loved it! (Laughs.)

  All through these years, my teacher never smiled. He was always very, very severe. But during this same time, shepherds, simple people, would be passing by joyfully, with their herds of cows and other animals. Hearing them sing, I’d sometimes say to myself, “I wish I could be one of them!”

  I indulge in illegal treats

  I REMEMBER THE SEVERE EXPRESSION of my teacher, who often scolded me. So as soon as lessons were over, I would run to my mother’s house for refuge, determined not to go back to the official residence of the Dalai Lamas. My mind was made up to remain with her, free from any obligation to study, but then, when the time came for the evening lesson, I would meekly return to my official residence…. (Laughs.)

  These are all childhood stories….

  Memories of my life when I was little come back to me, funny anecdotes. For instance, in the Dalai Lama’s kitchen, traditionally, no pork or eggs or fish were ever cooked. But my father liked pork very much. Occasionally, when I went back to my parents’ place, I would ask for pork…. (Laughs.)

  I remember that I would sit right next to my pork-loving father, almost like a little dog waiting for his tidbit…. Eggs too were a treat. Sometimes my mother cooked eggs especially for me. It was a little illegal! (Laughs.)

  The Dalai Lama’s childhood resembled an ordinary childhood and could almost have been our own. Pampered by his parents’ love, he led a life filled with games that alternated with studies, breaking the rules, and boyish tricks to escape the vigilance of severe teachers
.

  We conceive of the Dalai Lama’s ability to concentrate, his memory, and his aptitude for meditative practice as hardly ordinary, but he himself is very modest about these qualities. At the age of eighteen, when Chinese occupation was looming, he received the rank of Geshe or “Doctor of Divinity.” This title requires intensive training under the strict authority of teachers, and his teachers were even more demanding than normal since they were training him for an exceptional fate. They sometimes administered punishments, “after he had prostrated and asked forgiveness, with a whip that had a gold handle, but that hurt no less than ordinary whips.”

  The Dalai Lama delights in relating anecdotes, punctuated by loud bursts of laughter, about his innocent pranks. He takes pleasure in presenting himself as a “clever little rascal,” trying to make us believe in his innate mischievousness!

  The portrait provided by Heinrich Harrer, the Dalai Lama’s “professor in the secular sciences,” is more complimentary and brings something else to light: “People spoke of the intelligence of this boy as miraculous. It was said that he had only to read a book to know it by heart; and it was known that he had long taken an interest in all that happened in his country and used to criticise or commend the decisions of the National Assembly.”7

  Hidden in the heart of the Himalayan Mountains, Tibetan society has remained apart from modernization and technological progress and continues its timeless rituals and religious practices. The Dalai Lama, eager to learn about the world outside, found a special interlocutor in Heinrich Harrer. The Austrian alpinist and explorer had the singular privilege, between 1949 and 1951, of instructing him in history, geography, biology, astronomy, and mechanical engineering, fields of study that completely opened up new horizons of knowledge for the teenager.

  Harrer left Tibet in 1951, when the first detachments of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army invaded the high plateaus of the provinces in the east, Amdo and Kham. When Harrer died on January 10, 2006, the Dalai Lama mourned the loss of a personal friend and a defender of the rights of his people: “He came from a world that I did not know, and he taught me a lot about Europe especially. I thank him for having introduced Tibet and the Tibetans to the West, thanks to his book Seven Years in Tibet and to the lectures he gave throughout his life. We have lost a faithful Western friend, one who knew a free Tibet.”8

  I almost looked like Moshe Dayan!

  ONE OF THE ADVANTAGES of my life at the Potala was that there were many storerooms, which were a thousand times more fascinating to a little boy than the rooms housing priceless religious objects made of gold or silver; they were even more interesting than the kudongs, or burial monuments, sumptuous and studded with jewels, of my predecessors. I much preferred the armory, with its collection of swords, rifles, and coats of mail. But that was nothing compared to the incredible treasures in the rooms that contained certain objects that had belonged to my predecessors. Among them, I uncovered an old air rifle, with a complete set of targets and ammunition. I also discovered a telescope, not to mention the piles of illustrated books in English about the First World War. All this fascinated me and provided me with the inspiration for the models of ships, tanks, and planes that I invented. Later on, I asked that these books be translated into Tibetan. I also found two pairs of European shoes. Since my feet were much too small, I wore them with the toes stuffed with tissue. I was excited by the sound that the massive, hard heels made.

  My favorite pastime was to take things apart and then try to put them back together. I ended up excelling in this activity, but in the beginning my efforts were not always crowned with success. I had notably discovered, among the belongings of the Thirteenth Dalai Lama, an old music box that had been presented by the czar of Russia. It didn’t work, and I set about repairing it. I saw that the main spring was worn out and retracted. When I forced it with my screwdriver, the mechanism was suddenly and uncontrollably freed, and the little metal pieces flew out. I will never forget the diabolical symphony the pieces made as they flew in all directions all over the room. When I think back over the incident, I realize that I was lucky. I could have lost an eye, since my face was right next to the mechanism that I was fiddling with. I ran the risk of being mistaken for Moshe Dayan later on in life!

  My Reincarnation Lineage

  I am summoned to become the Dalai Lama to serve others

  I USED TO TALK CONSTANTLY with the gardeners, the servants, the sweepers. Most of them were simple people who treated me respectfully, since I was the Dalai Lama. There were also older people who were already expressing their hope, even at that early time, for a better future under my reign.

  The oldest sweepers had known the Thirteenth Dalai Lama, since they had served under him. They told me a lot of anecdotes about his life. That helped me become aware of my future responsibilities. Later on, I thought that being the Dalai Lama was a difficult, complex position. It represented a real challenge, and the need to face it became increasingly imminent. As a Buddhist monk, I appreciate the value of my past lives. The virtue of good karma accumulated in my previous existences gives me, in my present life, many possibilities to help others and to serve the Buddha Dharma.9 Thinking back on all this, I found and continue to find an additional motivation—a reinforced desire to do everything I can for the welfare of others.

  Progressively the little boy understood that he was called to assume high functions, a responsibility different from those of his brothers and other relatives. From the way others regarded him and acted toward him, he realized that he was the Dalai Lama even before he knew precisely what that implied. He saw that great things were expected of him, and he wanted to live up to the hopes people had in him. The task was a heavy one in a political context where the great neighboring countries, India and China, were agitated by unprecedented upheavals as imperialistic Britain and Russia quarreled over the Roof of the World. But the young sovereign saw a challenge in this situation, one he decided to meet by placing all his abilities at the service of the people.

  As this part of the interview in which the Dalai Lama related his early years comes to an end, we are interrupted. A monk enters the interview room and murmurs a few words to the Dalai Lama, who immediately gets up, excusing himself, and leaves the room.

  His private secretary explains that a great master has left his body. Mindroling Rinpoche died two days earlier. A delegation from his monastery has come to gather instructions about the rituals to perform and the arrangements to be made.

  Twenty minutes later, the Dalai Lama is back. There is a veil of gravity in his eyes, but no sadness. In a confidential tone, he speaks about this lama who had been close to him and was just a little older. His death is a reminder of impermanence, in the Buddhist sense, which asserts the transitory quality of sentient beings and phenomena. Everything that is born from causes and conditions is perishable. Impermanence contradicts our feeling of the lasting quality of time and our human desire for immortality. It is unbearable for ordinary beings who have not trained their mind to conceive of the world’s absence of reality. Denial of impermanence represents one of the main causes of suffering in our existences. Buddhist teachings invite us to contemplate and accept it.

  The Tibetans will decide if they want a Fifteenth Dalai Lama

  MINDROLING RINPOCHE died two days ago. Since the time of the Fifth Dalai Lama, very special, strong links have existed between our lineages. He was seventy-eight years old, almost eighty….

  I don’t know how many more years I will live, to eighty, ninety, a hundred. I don’t know…. (Laughs.)

  Today I’m over seventy, seventy-two exactly. So obviously … I am the Fourteenth Dalai Lama, and aside from the First,10 I’m the one who has lived the longest. All the other Dalai Lamas stopped before seventy. So … (laughs) I’m very lucky! (Laughs.)

  At the same time, as a Buddhist practitioner, I meditate constantly on impermanence. Now, in my own case, impermanence is becoming a reality. A reality that’s closer and closer….

 
; In 1969 I had already anticipated that and made arrangements, making it clear that it would depend entirely on the Tibetan people to decide if the institution of the Dalai Lama should continue or not. At that time, some Tibetans expressed their concerns about what would happen after me and in the period following my death. I expressed the opinion that if a majority of Tibetans wanted to preserve the institution of the Dalai Lamas, they should consider several options.

  Things are constantly changing. We must act according to a new reality where Tibet is concerned and take into consideration, today, not only the Tibetans but also the Mongolians, who have traditionally been closely connected with the institution of the Dalai Lamas. If these peoples want to keep the Dalai Lamas, they should adhere to the custom of looking for my new incarnation according to ritual. Given that the obvious aim of a reincarnation is to continue the task that hasn’t been finished by his predecessor, then logically, if my death occurs while I am outside of Tibet, my reincarnation will manifest abroad in order to complete what I have left unfinished.

  But there are also other possibilities. Many years ago I explained that, according to Tibetan tradition, the process of succession can be determined in a different way.

  My Dalailamaship

  IT WAS MY WISH that temporal authority be handed over to a prime minister, the Kalon Tripa, and he was elected for the first time in 2001. So now I’m part-time, and I’m sometimes asked if I plan on retiring. Is that possible? Can my Dalailamaship retire?