8. – Initiation
Good morning, dear folks!
Another scene from Shambhala:
No…! I am not going to wear a chuba.
These Tibetan wrap dresses paralyze me and restrict me like a cocoon. When we go to Aga Hiob, I want to be able to move freely, and feel easy with jumping, dancing and reacting. Amala started again talking about the silly chuba. She wants me to wear something festive on such a special day. Blonde Lester—today my nanny for the morning—is also trying to calm me down and make me change my mind, but that only strengthens my intention to stick with my navy dress with the sewn-on white collar and the embroidered chest. Most of my nannies are terribly insensitive, especially regarding clothes. They got no taste and know nothing about fashions? Just recently Elisabeth claimed that nuns don’t have clothing problems since they all wear the same robs?! Such nonsense! There are so many different possibilities and rules and how to apply those rules on how monks and nuns should wear their robes, there are so many choices that the fashion codes of secular fashion are hardly surpassing. A nun can by no means wear her robes in many different ways no matter what her status might be. Okay they have to take into account certain basic rules about how to fold and tighten the fabrics but beyond that they are pretty free to try things and moves. There are huge variations of fabrics as well. Different qualities, all kinds of different materials, and also the colors vary greatly. Crimson is not like crimson! Yellow is not yellow, and orange is not orange. There are so many differences and shades. There are variants in silk even for well situated monks and nons.
But that’s how it is, most of my nannies are frightfully naive and that leaves a lot of work and explanations to do for me!
It all began when daddy solemnly announced that he’d asked Aga Hiob—or the Duke, as daddy calls him—to introduce me to silent and formless meditation, and then to further guide and observe my progress in this special kind of yoga. Aga Hiob has been my teacher in European cultures for several months by now, and I see him several times a week and have become really good friends with him, as daddy has certainly noticed.
This formless meditation seems to be something very special. It is a secret art my royal father and my amala are very familiar with. So far, I have always more or less sort of slipped randomly into yogas, rituals and meditations. Questions about these spirituell things show up in Tibetan language and culture class, then at the initiations I hade to take part in as a princess, but also through the recitations we do in the mornings and at sunset—sometimes in English—if we don´t forget, which actually rarely happens because mostly the officer of the day comes ahead of time and politely reminds us. It belongs to his daily duties.
I can easily empathize with these texts, and quickly fall into the recitations at religious ceremonies. The related gestures and handling of ritual objects is no problem for me. I love to elegantly play with fans, bells, hook-knives, and piles of rice and gemstones. And there is really a lot going on in these texts. They are exciting and adventurous journeys for me. Entering the wild world of the protector Vetali, for example, is overpowering, and I love her vastness and vibrant atmosphere. Kate feels similar—or so she says—and enjoys being part of it. Vetali is shrill, and she even scares Kate and me quite often in many ways, but somehow the fear keeps us alert and got aspects of purification. Whenever we have been with Vetali, we feel especially fresh and confident. Of course Vetali protects us even if we forgot to welcome her—or at least I hope so and assume so—but the moment we call upon her, she becomes very alive.
Aga Hiob had not agreed to teach and oversee my spiritual training in general, but he agreed to oversee my initiation and training of formless meditation—the mother and father of all meditations—for the direct exploration of the nature of mind. So only in this special meditation he would teach and instruct me.
This sounds like extra work and even less time for my games, dresses, and daydreams, but that’s how it should be. And just as I have enjoyed every moment so far with my beloved, old teacher in European cultures and languages, I am sure I’ll easily also take this new subject to my heart. Hopefully!
It is still early in the morning, and I just noticed that daddy is taking care of the tea offerings today himself.
My teeth are brushed, my underwear is on—and now comes the princess moment(!): I simply lift my arms, stretch them up, and look expectantly at my nanny. This is such a wonderful moment, and I really enjoy being a princess. Lester instantly understands my challenging gesture, and hurriedly slips my navy dress over me from above, zips me up at the back, and adjusts the dress until we both feel it’s sitting just right. Wonderful! Now the warm tights—and… there I am! It feels simply amazing to be dressed by someone. Of Kate, I take care myself, and today I dress her in something simple, but on top of it I tie the red scarf with yellow and green stars loosely around her neck. She looks cheeky and lively, but not too wild or too exuberant.
The adventure can begin!
In the lobby, everyone is more attentive and slightly more tense than usual. The officer of the day—today it’s Suzanne, a venerable old Shambhala warrior—will accompany us. Obi Van, the gray labrador—friend and protector all around the clock—is, of course, ready as well. He feels a bit uneasy because Suzanne is sort of his superior, so he got to restrain himself somewhat, which is a real challenge to him. Usually, he considers himself the master of security and more over more or less everything els and likes to act that way—a bit arrogant, really—but it suits him and actually looks good on him. But—poor Obi Van—now you got to hold some distance and disciplin yourself.
So—
Departure…
Amala watches us as we leave and even waves. It seems she becomes more westernized continuously?
I think this is the perfect moment to remind my personal protectresses of their duties with a friendly song. So I start sing inwardly to myself:
Come, come, wild sisters thou,
Promises should hold forever:
Today, tomorrow, as well as yesterday!
Beloved Tashi Tsering carrying immortality,
and noble Dinzang with lovely voice,
Tinghi Shalzang with fluttering banner,
Täkar Dozong—of virtue and actions—
Soar and flutter and ride wildly,
Shambhala the kingdom calls for you!
Listen, girls, and spread your wings!
Remember our vows of friendship and support!
About distances, buzzings, witch-craft and lightning,
In the end it is all sensations!
Whether as delicate elves or tough women:
We shall sow moments like mustard seeds.
And you, hey ho, amazons bearers:
Dragon, donkey, stag, and tiger,
Quickly bring the maids, there’s work to do!
Right here and now, no time to rest!
Dance, laugh, rage and sing,
Let the song of Shambhala ring!
“Dance, laugh, rage and sing, let the song of Shambhala ring!”
I love this chorus more than anything and repeat it quietly to myself as we walk along the stream—the whole colorful torch-lit procession: Obi Van—I’m holding his leash—Suzanne, Kate, and of course, me.
I suppose it’s because Suzanne is with us today that everything feels more festive than usual. But people turn their heads as always. The reason for that is mainly Obi Van with his need to be impressive, something he simply can’t put aside no matter how hard he might try. He strides along like a noble horse, very upright and dignified, so much so that he almost appears human.
Eventually, we arrive.
When you pass through Aga Hiob’s garden gate and walk a few steps, you come to a large natural stone that everyone has to walk around in some way. You can’t ignore this stone, and I suspect Aga Hiob deliberately had it placed there. Most of the time, I just touch it briefly in passing, but today I strike it with great attention, letting my doll Kate, whom I carry in my arms, also have plenty of time to do the same. But that turns out to be too much, for now Obi Van has also become aware of the stone, and being a dog after all, he lifts his leg to mark it. As we have all bestowed such attention upon this stone, he probably feels he must do his part. “No, Obi!” I call out, but it’s already too late. On the one hand, we all have a good laugh, but on the other, there’s also a slight feeling of discomfort, almost like guilt.
But that lasts only a few seconds and I hurry on.
When there’s an officer present, I let her take care of certain tasks. That’s how it’s supposed to be. So I wait for Suzanne to press the bronze bell button—which I actually love to do myself.
It takes a moment. Then, as always, von Reventlow opens the door, a tall, middle-aged man with wild dark blond hair—Master Hiob’s secretary, today in a black suit, as always seemingly a bit unsure and embarrassed, with constant nervous gestures jumping between his gold-rimmed glasses and his tie, indecisively back and forth. Since von Reventlow is so skinny, he doesn’t really suit a suit, but today it looks good on him. He looks official in it. So today he seems to be playing it up some more.
Exceptionally, I don’t just storm past him as I normally do, but wait until, after he’s adjusted his glasses again, he steps aside, and only then do I proceed in with great composure and dignity. For a moment, everything seems a little silly to me, and I feel like acting, like being on a stage again, but I am used to that.
I try to pull myself together and tell myself that everything is normal.
Nothing special.
I’m learning a new yoga. So what?! It won’t be the last.
In the lobby there comes a moment that makes me feel very uncomfortable: I hand over Kate to Suzanne, even though she is my constant companion and is almost always with me. But I’m never allowed to bring Kate to initiations—such encounters are too personal, as daddy explained to me. Kate is basically my second self! But still it’s not allowed to bring her along. She looks at me very sadly, for usually, when we visit Master Hiob, she’s always present, and we play and laugh together on his platform and it’s always a lot of fun. Well, today she’ll just have to stay downstairs. I feel sorry for her. It even feels somewhat like a goodby?
Obi Van, as usual, goes over to his blanket and sits down, something he rarely does. But from experience, he probably knows that things can take quite a while here. Actually, in this respect Obi Van behaves almost like a horse usually since he spends most of his life standing up.
Suzanne stands next to von Reventlow—a handsome pair—and both look at me expectantly. Suzanne smiles encouragingly and nods supportingly.
I have to go up now.
To the right of the stairs, after a few steps, there’s a niche with a large, shallow bowl and next to it a ceramic jug containing fresh water. Here, one symbolically washes one’s hands. A few small towels are also ready to dry the hands off with. I’ve long gotten used to this little ceremony, which every guest goes through before going up to Master Hiob. Only von Reventlow usually ignores it, but I’m sure he’s aware of the water each time he passes by, maybe even bows internally. I would certainly credit him with that—as with the incense vessel, which concerns fire. Here, a few steps further up, I now offer a little juniper powder from a Chinese porcelain tin by sprinkling it onto a piece of glowing charcoal in an iron cauldron. The charcoal sits on sand and ashes so that the kettle doesn’t get too hot.
White smoke rises.
It smells wonderful.
And up by the entrance, there’s always a flower arrangement.
Well, that’s almost an overstatement, because actually, hanging from a piece of hand-braided hemp rope is a piece of bamboo tube, closed at the bottom, and inside it there’s usually a cereal stalk—or two, sometimes even dried ones—in other words, without water in the vase. But today—and this is really unusual, and I wonder who’s responsible for it—there’s a beautiful little white flower showing off. It has six or seven petals, and in the middle, it’s glowing yellow from sweet yet stinging pollen.
Now I finally step inside.
Aga Hiob is sitting on his platform, just as he always does, but today the room seems tidier, and he himself appears to be wearing fresh clothes. He once explained to me that he prefers Japanese jackets and trousers. He said they are simply the most comfortable for an old man.
“Good morning, Master Hiob,” I greet him, and “Good morning, my little princess,” he replies. His platform is very high, so I always have a bit of trouble climbing up. Thus, Master Hiob leans far forward, stretches out his hand to me, and pulls me up.
To the left of his seat, there is a blue gomden today. No: a blue gomden is rising up for me at his side! Well, what is so special about sitting next to someone, one might ask, but for me, it is without a doubt truly extraordinary—so different—so much so that, for a moment, it takes my breath away.
Up to now, Kate and I have always sat or lain in opposite to him, sometimes on our stomachs, sometimes on our backs, listening to his stories, which I would then have to retell later, once or more times—as these are, in a sense, my homework: retelling stories. That’s his teaching method: telling stories that take place in one European country or another. Each country comes with many stories in a row, and then he switches. And he tells them so wonderfully! And his stories have such great details, the details are the best even!
So he invites me to sit next to him on the gomden. A gomden is the size of a beer crate but only half as high, and it is made out of very firm foam covered in a fine blue fabric. So I sit next to Aga Hiob on this gomden. First, I wiggle around a bit until it feels right, my legs crossed in front. Now, together, we sit in silence, gazing through the two large skylights that nearly reach the floor in front of us. We look at the wide blue morning sky and, to the right, at the crown of a tree. We are silent, and I feel very comfortable on my new throne.
I am excited to see how things will continue.
From the hallway, which has no door, you can still smell the scent of juniper smoke.
After a while, Master Hiob begins: “First, let us bow together.” We both lay our hands on our hip bones and bow very slowly and consciously, not too deeply—just down to the heart—and hold our breath as we do so.
Now Master Hiob looks over at me: “Dear Princess, I am now going to introduce you to the meditation without content. It’s an empty meditation, as it were, and yet it is the most important Buddhist meditation there is, and from today it is meant to accompany you always.
Please make a habit out of practicing it daily!
Always begin by adopting a good posture.
The formality is extremely important!”
Master Hiob inspects my posture critically from the side and explains: “We sit very upright. At first, it is best to exaggerate the alert and upright posture a bit, and then, when you are sitting so ramrod-straight, you relax a little—very slowly—until it feels pleasant and harmonious. This over-stretching and then relaxing again is something you should repeat from time to time during the meditation.”
Master Hiob observes me while I follow his instructions. He seems satisfied.
Time passes. And he seems in no hurry.
“Now, please, push your palms a little further forward on your thighs so that your upper arms hang loosely parallel to your body.”
Pause.
“You can relax your shoulders somewhat more please. They still seem to be tensed.”
After two or three minutes, he continues:
“Now we come to the second part of meditation. When the body is alert and upright, we turn to the mind. In the exploration of the mind, the breath helps us.”
Here he pauses for a long time.
“An important point before we begin: do never force the breathing—do not try to make it go faster or slower, deeper or shallower. It is very important not to try to control the breathing at all!
We let breathing happen however it wants, completely naturally.
But—and this is the key—every time you exhale, you go out together with your thoughts, worries, dreams, and plans, together with your breath, out from your body and simply dissolve into the space surrounding you. So, together with your breath, you go out and merge with the space around you.”
Mr. Hiob gives me some time to try this out for a few breaths and observes me critically. “We open into space, and we do this again and again with each exhalation.
Very gently.
It requires no effort!
It’s as if you are sighing and with every sigh, you let go of all your worries and even all that you are.
Relief.”
I follow the instructions calmly and attentively.
It feels very easy for me.
It is wonderful.
Even with the first exhalation, it feels as if I am letting go of a great weight. I didn’t know I was so heavy.
I am somewhat surprised by that.
And with the next exhalation, even this surprise is gone.
I get the sense that I have turned on a kind of relief machine. And with every liberating exhalation, I become wider and more open.
At the same time, I feel a growing brightness. Everything becomes clear and quiet.
“Peace is beaming,” I think to myself, “peace really is shining bright!”
I guess a lot of time has passed when Master Hiob beside me says: “That’s enough for now, my dear princess. We can bow together again.”
But I just can’t!
For life´s sake, I can’t move?
I sit there in this vast openness, and it’s impossible for me to move—which, by the way, doesn’t worry me at all. I don’t care.
“I am a weightless stone,” I think.
Time passes.
As time goes on, the mood in the room changes. For a long while, actual sunbeams shine on to where we are sitting.
More time passes.
Aga Hiob eventually stands up. He comes back with a feather light, colorful blanket and gently, very lovingly, lays it over my shoulders. Very carefully and attentively, he draws the blanket together at my neck—gently, but firmly. He seems a little tense?
It’s getting cooler in the room, I can feel it, but the blanket keeps me warm.
At some point, von Reventlow comes in, followed by Suzanne. I cannot see them but I can feel there presence. The two of them stand there for a while just looking at me—they look somehow sacred—they remind me of two people from the past, maybe a married couple, in an oval, golden picture frame—and then they leave again.
Somewhat unwillingly, I try to move again, but still, I can’t. Peace just won’t allow it. It feels as if I had been completely dried out and the light of this peace, having caught me and grabbed hold of me, and just doesn’t want to let me go—at least not until every last particle and fragment of me has been bathed and infused with brightness.
Nothing is needed!
Lead-heavy vastness. Something is happening, and that something is nothing.
Aga Hiob has switched on a few electric lamps. Nice, warm light. I’ve never been in these rooms at dusk before. It feels very holy here!
For a moment, I think: “How happy I am,”
From downstairs in the lobby, barely suppressed, fluttery restlessness floats up.
Is there an animal on the roof? It’s a squirrel that has injured itself. It drags itself off, and I feel terribly sorry for it!! But I cannot move. I have to accept that I cannot help.
Outside it is now pitch-dark.
I don’t ever want to move again, I just want to stay like this forever.
Hm, in the distance I feel my knees! They hurt!
I try again, and now I can finaly move.
But do I want to?!
Reluctantly, I feel my whole body again, with bones and muscles and organs. I feel the fluids flowing through me—my heart. The light energies to my left and to my right and the central light energy.
Now this body feels very heavy and very sluggish.
I become confused and restless. What now? In the end, I have no choice but to bow as at the beginning of the meditation to end the session.
Duty calls.
So I lower my head, then bend my neck and further, down to my heart.
Aga Hiob is no longer next to me but sitting on the edge of the platform, looking at me. He says: “Very good, princess! I am glad you have come back to us. You meditated unexpectedly long, and you gave us a bit of a fright.”
After a pause, he adds:
“Now let’s dedicate the merit together.”
And Master Hiob begins, and I joyfully join in:
“Through the confidence of the golden sun of the great East,
May the lotus garden of the Rigden’s wisdom bloom.
May the dark ignorance of sentient beings be dispelled.
May all beings enjoy profound, brillant glory.”
And suddenly amala is standing at the door—my ama! How did she get here? I can’t remember ever having seen her near Aga Hiob’s villa before. Now she’s standing there. She has tights and underwear for me in her hand, and I realize that I am wet. I am not even embarrassed. Even the gomden is a little wet, which I am sorry about, but that’s just something that can happen when you sit so still for so long. Without a word, amala helps me out of my wet tights and underwear and puts me on fresh, dry, warm things. Then she hugs me in silence, the way only a mother can love her child. I have never felt her motherly embrace as intensely as now, and—surprisingly—it is a symbol for so many things!
I am not really tired, but very content and full.
I feel a strong presence of my protectresses very clearly and distinctly and must grin for a moment. Somehow, it has never struck me just how wonderfully wild those crazy women are.
I am a big girl who can walk, but amala doesn’t waste any time and picks me up, setting me on her slightly-forwarded hip. I cling tightly to her and we go slowly down the stairs into the lobby.
Suzanne looks tired and stands next to von Reventlow, whose mouth is hanging open for a few moments. He seems to be feeling especially sacred emotions? Then he remembers himself, closes his mouth, and quickly somewhat hastily , as if not to forget, offers me my Kate—my beloved doll.
But Kate feels oddly cold, strange, and lifeless. I look at her for a long time, but I can’t reach for her. I can’t take her from von Reventlow. It simply doesn’t work. I just stare at the doll. Everyone stands around us in silence. Time passes. Some tears here some tears there?
It hurts. I feel thick tears running down my cheeks a well. I hold on to my dear amala even tighter, who now has started crying too.
I can’t accept Kate? What is going on?
Suzanne intervenes. She takes Kate instead of me and holds her for me.
Then she also takes me from amala, and I now sit on Suzanne’s hip. She holds me very attentively and lovingly. She, too, eventually loses the struggle against her tears and sobs aloud. I rest my head on her shoulder.
Be it noted: I am wide awake!
Only Obi Van seems to keep his composure. He stands quite calmly and solemnly, turning around very slowly: There is von Reventlow, who, with a snow-white handkerchief—probably from his great-grandfather—tries to dab at his eyes without taking off his glasses. His gold-rimmed glasses begin to slip, and he just manages to catch them before they fall to the ground… which embarrasses him terribly, so he begins to sob uncontrollably, trying desperately to restrain his sobs. He shakes a little.
Then my dearest friend, the cook André, hands me a raisin bun from behind, which I happily accept! Thank you, my good old round André!! You’re always there when you’re needed! And he has big tears rolling down his cheeks, as well?!
Finally, amala’s mood changes abruptly and she suddenly laughs:
“Come on, you crybabies, let’s go home…”
And now all the others with their tearful eyes start laughing too, and loudly even,
and I look at everyone calmly, one by one, and I am somehow amused, too…
delightful…
and bite with gratitude into my raisin bun and start chewing it.
That’s what you call emotions. Isn´´ t it!
So, then—off we go!
Come on, everyone!
Aga Hiob has earned a break…
unless I’m mistaken…
ciao ciao
Yours,
Winni the Quijote (court correspondent)