And the monk who empowered me.
Join me tomorrow night, Tuesday, for a public talk titled, “ Your Body Is Your Practice ,” hosted by the Shambhala Center of NYC.
The first person to teach me meditation was a towering Australian named Thubten Gyatso. He was living in Mongolia, as I was in the spring of 2003, and he just happened to open the door at the Federation for the Preservation of the Mahayana Tradition (FPMT) when I came knocking one afternoon. He was wearing the crimson and gold robes of a Buddhist monk and the sight of his bare arms took me back. I was used to seeing men in sleeveless shirts as a display of muscle and power but Thubten’s arms were pale and unconditioned. Ostensibly, I was there because I needed to do a report on a non-profit in Ulaan Baatar, but secretly I wanted to get the goods on Buddhism. For the latter, Thubten advised me to attend an introduction to meditation class later in the week.
I returned and joined 20 to 30 other aspirants in the shrine room where I endeavored, like the world’s stiffest kindergartner, to sit cross-legged on the floor. I assumed this contortion would be the first requirement of spiritual development — acting like you are fine when you’re not. Thubten took his place at the front, folding his lower limbs like tent poles beneath his robes. Halfway through his talk, an adopted…
