Varieties of Holiness

This morning, I met with the Dalai Lama's people. Avid readers of this blog will of course recall that the Dalai Lama is holier than Barack Obama. So that made it extra special when former Seattle School Superintendent Raj Manhas and Cheryl Ellsworth of EnviroIssues introduced themselves today as the organizers of Seeds of Compassion, a five-day Lama-fest this April 11-15.

It's an amazing thing they're doing. Among the activities is 40,000 people at Qwest Field to see His Holiness. But they want the right people. We took 100 tickets. I said I'd write a one-pager for the Dalai Lama on the heartlessness of the Mayor's attack on homeless campers. We talked about the vendors and about how Real Change is about relatonships, and then I tried to get them to gossip about Amma by telling the story of my hug, but they didn't bite. Hadn't really heard of her. Suddenly, they had to go.

I tell staff and they're psyched. I tell vendors and they're psyched too. We speculate that the Dalai Lama's immense popularity and cross-cultural appeal are all about him being such a snappy dresser. I walk outside to smoke and my favorite vendor is there.

M is my favorite because his mind is so fucking blown he's achieved a kind of visible sainthood. And he likes to talk. His highs and lows are like nothing I've seen, and the mid-range is pretty spectacular as well. The smile is huge and electric and rides high on his gaunt face. My friend's got high octane wavelength.

He'd just discovered his descent from Okie stock and was ecstatic with the news. Flying.

"I'm so open," he declares, spreading his arms to the universe like a manic angel, "I'm inside God's Mind." I stare at him in wonder.

This guy, I'm thinking, needs to meet the Dalai Lama.