Molly McCahan's Articles on Lions Roar

Molly McCahan, a self-described travel nut and Vipassana practitioner, recounts how she received a blessing from the Seventeenth Karmapa during her visit to India. The only problem was, by the time she figured out who the Karmapa was, the blessing was already over. Hence her question: Did the blessing count? You can read her humorous recollection (and find out the answer to her question) below. And now, Molly McCahan's story: I’d like to think, as with all things, that my crossing paths with His Holiness the Seventeenth Karmapa wasn’t entirely by chance. But truth be told, I very nearly blew the opportunity. As a Buddhist who’s dabbled in the practice since the late ‘90s, I’d gone to India with my husband David on a spiritual quest to walk in the Buddha’s footsteps, sit under the bodhi tree, and visit other sacred Buddhist sites found in this ancient land. Repeatedly I’d dreamed of visiting this magical country ever since the concept of our 14-month journey around the world had cropped up. We’d had the good fortune and planned insight to arrive in McLeod Ganj earlier in the year. Sadly the Dalai Lama was away, having just left to teach in Ladakh. I was disappointed, no doubt, but I wasn’t going to let it spoil our visit. Another Westerner joked that we probably had a better chance these days of seeing the spiritual leader in the States. (Ironically, soon after this post, I would have the good fortune of seeing the Dalai Lama close to home in Berkeley, California.) One auspicious afternoon, we found ourselves in seated silence at the Tushita Meditation Centre nestled in the forest above McLeod Ganj. To reach Tushita, we’d endured a gang of wild monkeys and a stray dog that insisted on following us. We were grateful for the comfort and security of the hall’s four walls once safely inside. We joined another Westerner and plopped down on our zafus. Within minutes we heard shouting and banging, the result of nearby construction on the property. I laughed to myself, remembering there’s hardly ever silence in India. I returned to the breath, training my focus on the Vipassana meditation I’d been taught at Spirit Rock Meditation Center, where I practice back home. Breathing in, breathing out. It worked for a while…until I heard loud thumps coming from the roof. It felt as if the entire building were collapsing. An earthquake? An explosion? After a few minutes, I realized with delight and annoyance that the ominous thundering above was monkeys gallivanting across the rooftop. They seemed to take pleasure in dropping out of the trees and cavorting atop the meditation hall. I did my best not to burst into laughter. Seeing it as one more challenge to an already difficult practice, I settled in for another 30 minutes of silent reflection. Back home in the city, it would have been a beeping delivery van in reverse or a blaring car alarm that distracted me. Here in India, frolicking monkeys toyed with the unassuming Westerner, as did so many other things in this fascinating country. When we finished sitting, I inquired at the main office about other Buddhist experiences in the area. The young man working at Tushita’s front desk suggested we stop in a neighboring village, where on Wednesdays and Sundays, the Karmapa gave blessings to visitors at his temporary camp at the Gyuto Ramoche Tantric University. Having never heard of the Karmapa, and having already set our sights on visiting Norbulingka, a renowned center dedicated to the preservation of Tibetan culture and traditions, we gracefully declined, explaining there wasn’t enough time for both. In retrospect I chuckle at my ignorance, thinking how close we came to missing a blessing from one of the holiest people on the planet. Five months later, when we’d settled in Bodh Gaya at a friendly Tibetan guesthouse, we were blessed with a second chance. The Karmapa was in residence at the Tergar Monastery just outside town, where he would soon preside over the Kagyu Monlam Chenmo. Still having no idea who this man was, but recognizing he must be of some importance for the Tibetans to be so excited, and for the entire town to be announcing his residency (flyers were posted everywhere), David and I decided to attend a public blessing. We left the guesthouse early the next day at the suggestion of one of the staff, who advised we purchase katas from one of the numerous stalls on the next street over. The white silk scarves are a well-known offering when greeting someone in the Tibetan tradition, and we wanted to fit in. With katas in tow, we walked for thirty minutes to the Tergar Monastery on the outskirts of town. The sun was high in the sky, the roads dusty but peaceful, and the countryside stunning in the early December glow. Wrinkled Indian men plowed the fields with oxen joined by crude yokes, young boys wandered about, women gathered with their babies on their hips, and water buffalo grunted from the pastures. It was odd to be in such a remote place, amid such primitive ways, and see an imposing, brightly colored, modern Tibetan temple complex looming in the distance. We arrived early at the monastery, with hardly a soul in sight. A short time later, young monks flowed into the temple and took their places in long rows atop zabutons. We deduced they were practicing for the upcoming event. A senior monk stood watch and corrected the younger monks when they misspoke or skipped lines. Then the young men practiced donning their yellow ceremonial robes, one after the other, over and over, until they’d garnered the senior monk’s approval. No one asked us to leave, so we stayed put. It was one of those magical moments in Bodh Gaya (there would be many). Eventually we joined the crowds gathering outside, took off our shoes, and left our camera in a pile guarded by heavily armed Indian policemen. We were frisked, then David made his way to the men’s line, and I wandered over to queue up with the women. I waited in silence on a staircase leading up to the temple’s second level, and gazed with interest at my female companions. Most were Westerners just like me, some old, some young, all eager for the impending encounter. After twenty minutes the line began moving. My heart thumped in nervous anticipation. Years earlier I’d received a blessing at Spirit Rock from Ajahn Jumnien, a Thai forest monk who visited the States on occasion. His blessing had come as part of a daylong retreat, in which a translator in the teachings offered directions every step of the way. Here in Bodh Gaya, David and I were left to our own devices as to what would come next and how we were to proceed. It was a bit daunting, to say the least. The perfectionist in me wanted rules and guidelines, a tall order in India. So I followed the group, and shuffled quietly along until I reached a row of three monks standing behind a table. After watching the woman in front of me, I mimicked her and bowed, offering my kata scarf to the first monk in the line, an elderly rotund man. He took the scarf from me and placed it around my neck, which I thought was odd, since I’d given it to him as an offering. Perhaps I was meant to keep it for the Karmapa later on. As I had no money to offer, I skipped the second monk and arrived at the third. He was very young, with glasses and a kind face that held a serene but serious expression. As I’d seen the woman before me do, I bowed toward the young monk as he placed a red silk cord around my neck. I then raised my hands in prayer and quickly turned to leave the room, my heart still pounding in expectation of the big blessing. I rounded the corner of the temple into a cold, dark hallway and wondered where His Holiness was hiding. I envisioned a wise old man in fancy ceremonial robes, perched high atop a huge cushion surrounded by younger monks, while an impressive Avalokiteshvara statue stood in the background. What greeted me instead was a long line of stone steps leading downstairs, my only path forward. I slowly descended and arrived back at the front of the temple. Making my way toward the lawn where other Westerners were congregating, I saw David strolling toward me with a red cord and kata around his neck. “What just happened? Where’s the Karmapa?” I demanded. “I think that was it.” “Are you sure? That couldn’t be it.” “No, I think it was.” ”Well, then, which guy was he?” I was truly puzzled. Anxiety bubbled inside me. “I’m not sure.” ”He must be the older guy who took our katas.” “Yeah, I don’t know.” “Well, which one was he?” “Honey, I honestly don’t know.” “I think I need to go again.” I felt duped. Anger welling up. Stupidity arriving on the scene. Embarrassment encroaching. Like a five-year-old who’d just discovered the mall Santa was really a schoolmate’s father wearing a wig and fake beard, I felt a temper tantrum arising. Unbeknownst to me, I’d just received a blessing from one of the most powerful spiritual leaders in the world, and I was completely unaware it had happened. Let alone, I had no idea who this grand master of ceremonies even was! I sat on the lawn in utter disbelief, frustrated, trying to digest what had transpired. I’d passed on the chance months earlier to get this blessing on the Seventeenth Karmapa’s home turf. And here I was, now in December, having traveled all this way to this forsaken place, with another opportunity to receive it. And yet, I’d missed the entire moment in anticipation of something better to come. The realization hit me hard. I hadn’t been present during the blessing! Now I sat on the itchy lawn defeated, confused, and bewildered. This was like so many other times in my life, when I was too busy stressing about how it should be, missing the beauty of the moment. I took a deep breath and sighed. And despite my attempts to remove all judgment, the all-important question reared its ugly head: Did it still count? That night back at our guesthouse, David and I chatted with the front desk staff. In full humility, I shared the day’s...

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