until they scream, he says that he is just clearing the dust from them. You nod and think about it later, but mostly are just glad when he stops.
“Illusion is the enemy of the Buddha nature,” the lama continued. “And we manufacture so much of it for ourselves.” He drew spirals on the table with a blunt finger, watching the pattern emerge and fade in the white tablecloth as he spoke, then suddenly looked up. “There are patterns in each life. We are drawn to repeat them over and over again. It is understandable…” and here his voice took on a dreamy, sad tone. “The future is so uncertain. And the familiar is such a comfort…”
His head moved and his glasses flashed and then were once again clear. “People ask me about my prescient abilities.” He smiled suddenly at a thought. “They want to know, of course, who will win the next championship game. Things of that sort. I try to explain that looking into the future is like standing on a high mountain. You can see far. But only the peaks. The valleys are in shadow.”
He stopped drawing and played with his teacup for a moment, making the fluid slosh around before going on. “And the landscape moves. It heaves and reforms… it is, I suppose, much like the sea,” Again the smile. “But I come from the Himalayas. Mountains are a more appropriate metaphor.”
I tried to imagine what the experience of prescience would be like: the sight of things to come and the taunting awareness that this vision was incomplete and transient.
“But some things I do know,” Changpa continued after a while, gathering himself and using a stronger voice. “Some peaks jut up too high to be discounted. And then I must act on them.” He seemed like he was looking for agreement.
“Knowledge without right action is futile,” Yamashita said in sympathy. I kept quiet.
“And yet the correct response to that knowledge is difficult to see,” the holy man murmured. “Can we really shape the future?” He said it almost to himself. Then the Rinpoche picked up his cup and sipped at the tea like a man searching for an anchor in the familiar and solid. He looked at us both, one after the other. “When I see a distant future… the path leading to an event is difficult to make out. But we must try nonetheless…”
“Is there something you need done for you, Rinpoche?” I finally asked quietly.
He straightened in his seat. Unconsciously, one hand dug into the pocket of his coat and emerged with his prayer beads. He fingered them as he spoke. “A teacher’s duty is to point out the Right Path. And to protect his students from taking wrong ones. What I see… is unclear as yet. But there is danger there, Burke. A high peak. And a path that descends into shadows. I would…” he took a breath, as if the mere act of recalling his vision was painful. “I would steer someone from this valley.”
Yamashita had watched him intently and now leaned forward to speak. I got the sense he did it to spare Changpa further pain.
“This ability of the Rinpoche, Burke,” my teacher began, “is without question real. His perception is incomplete,” he bobbed his head in apology toward the lama, “but that is the flaw we all share. All the advanced disciplines speak of this ability. The transfer of consciousness to another plane…”
“We call it powa ,” Changpa commented.
“But it is of limited utility,” Yamashita continued. “It is much like the ability to sense an attack. It does not relieve you from the need to be ready for the many variations that the attack may come in. You must act, even if you are uncertain.” I nodded.
“The Rinpoche has asked for our help in a specific matter. As a friend, I can do no less.” Yamashita smiled modestly. “Action, after all, is what we do best.”
I wondered again about this friendship.
Changpa sat back in his chair and smiled at me. “You wonder, of course, Dr. Burke, about our relationship.” I just nodded in response. “It
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