I’d missed Woodstock’s big show in the 1960s. The town itself was well worth seeing—even in the late 1970s and without a major concert happening. Woodstock is about 30 minutes from Bellridge, as the crow flies. My thumb got me there in 50.

My host for most of this little trip was a man in his late 50s named Joel. He became my host for a much bigger trip as well. He was on his way to a local Tibetan Center in the area to help the Lama (very loosely translated to American as a Monk who has gained special recognition for wisdom or saintliness) with some project.

I had a question for my host. “I’ve heard a lot about these guys and that school of thought, but never had any firsthand experience of it. Do they ever have times when regular people can go see what it’s all about?”

Joel smiled. “How does 7 o’clock this evening sound?”

“What?” It almost seemed too easy.

“Yeah,” my host continued. “There’s a ceremonial meditation thing, a service you might call it. It happens weekly at one of the Temples just a short way from here. It’s open to anyone who’s interested. You go ahead and take your tour of town. I’ll come back and pick you up at 5:55 in front of The Landmark Restaurant. That’ll get us there on time. When the event is over, we can ride back to Bellridge together.”

This was too convenient an opportunity to pass up. “Sounds great. I’ll be waiting. Thanks a lot.”

* * *

Walking through Woodstock was wonderful. Sure, there was some commercialization of the famous rock festival, but more obvious than the bit of commercialization was the fact that much of the good feeling inspired by that festival remained. It was hard to leave town, but I was excited about seeing the Tibetan Center. Joel showed up on time as promised.

“So what’s a Lama like, Joel? I’ve heard all kinds of stories about these guys having special powers and abilities. Did you ever see him do anything magical?”

“He doesn’t go around doing levitation and carnival tricks, and such. More than anything, he’s just a very nice guy.” A smile quickly grew immense across my host’s face as he thought about his teacher with obvious admiration.

“Actually, there is the one story Lama told me about his escape from Tibet when the Chinese government came and started butchering everyone there. There was a group of Lamas that had made it as far as the Indian border. They still had to pass through the heavily armed Communist troops who stood between them and freedom-in-exile. The group held a special focused meditation and prayer session by which they made themselves invisible to the soldiers. They walked right past those loaded Communist Chinese rifles into India. It seems that there’s a lot of mind-over-matter, or mind-creates-matter, or something of the sort in the Tibetan school of thought. Our society always talks about mind-over-matter in a sort of figurative way, but Asian Buddhists, and perhaps Tibetans most particularly, take this concept a lot more literally. These guys certainly have a lot more of what you might call power or magic than you’re ever going to get to see, especially if you’re looking for your traditional definition of magic.”

Joel chuckled. “There won’t be any pulling rabbits out of hats here. The main point of everything the Lamas do is to purify their minds and hearts for the purpose of being more able to alleviate the suffering and increase the happiness of all living beings. That’s their job description. A person who happily does the massive amount of work necessary to fill that job description (and meditation is the hardest work there is—it requires the most concentration and brain effort)…Well, to me that’s more magical than invisibility, or whatever. The incredible discipline and focus developed in the pursuit of a purely altruistic mentality is the true miracle.”

* * *

We arrived at a modest Temple in the countryside shortly before 7 p.m. Nature was everywhere. So-called civilization was not to be found. Ponds, trees, birds, dogs, and flowers graced the terrain as far as the eye could see. The lone interruption was one building about the size of three average rural general stores. As we entered the building we met Lama Norla. The man was a five foot seven inch smile in a heavy robe the color of red wine. He appeared to be shining! It was obvious. Anyone, Einstein or dunce, would have been able to tell that Lama had spent many years polishing his compassionate aspects. It seemed just as obvious that he had put in long hours working on his mental stability so that he could keep his kindness unshakable, even under the most adverse circumstances. In a way that is hard to explain, this quality glowed from him. Some people are just plain good. I was meeting one.

Lama Norla took Joel’s hand in greeting as Joel said, “Hello again, Lama. This is my friend. He wants to sit in and see what we do here.”

The smile in the maroon robe greeted me with a handshake and a warm “Welcome.”

We walked into the main room of the Temple. Eighteen of us sat cross-legged in a circle, each cushioned by a thin mat on the floor. We started by reciting about 15 minutes of what seemed to be a prayer in the Tibetan language. There were books available with the Tibetan words spelled out in English. I followed the text and chanted along, but didn’t understand what any of the words meant. Nonetheless, I felt the buzz quickly. With no idea as to what was happening or why, things were starting to feel very good.

After these 15 minutes the process took a dramatic shift. The group began to rapidly repeat one phrase consisting of four Tibetan words. “Om Mani Padme Hum” was repeated over and over again at a rapid pace. What does it mean, you ask? I didn’t know what it meant, but there was no doubt about the effect it had upon me. After less than 10 minutes of repetitions, a sound like exploding thunder was accompanied by a flash of light. The light was so bold that it completely replaced everything else within my field of vision. It was so intense that my eyes instinctively closed to shield themselves, as they would in the presence of stadium lights or a lightning bolt. The brilliance remained, even with eyes closed. When I opened my eyes again, I was struck by the obvious. There had been no actual seeing of light with my eyes, nor had there been hearing of sound with my ears. It had all happened in my mind, but with a very realistic physical sensation attached to it.

Shortly after the light and noise had passed, the group shifted their recitation from that singular four word phrase to a very relaxed and melodic page or two. This seemed to be the closing chant. It was a lovely, floating melody containing several minutes of softness that was totally soothing. Maybe they put it there to calm the new folks down after the powerful shock of seeing and hearing things that weren’t really there. This finale had the ability to comfort. It changed that excitable state induced by the flash and noise to a feeling as relaxed as a baby being rocked by its mom in a hot tub.

On the way back to Bellridge I told Joel what had happened, when, and how it felt. “What the heck was that?”

With another broad smile Joel answered, “You seem to be a person who is, as we say, in tune. That’s not an unusual experience for people to describe who have been at these practices for a year or two, but it is unusual to hear of such a reaction by a person attending their first Puja. Puja is the word for such processes as the one we just attended.”

* * *

We rode in happy silence for about five minutes before Joel made me an offer that couldn’t be refused. “There’s a big Kalachakra initiation in Boston in a few days. If you’re interested, I’ll buy you a ticket and give you a ride there—and back, of course.”

Amazing! We’d only known each other for a few hours. Joel wasn’t kinky, crazy, wanting to rob me, or trying to convert me. There was no obvious personal gain that would come to him from buying me an expensive ticket to an event. “No, thank you. That would be too much of an imposition. A ticket for a big production in Boston probably isn’t cheap. You’ve been good enough to me already and…”

Joel held up his hand to stop me. “There’s a part of this you don’t understand, my friend. Part of this system is called Karma. It’s the law of action, the law of cause and effect. It says that if something happens, it no doubt was triggered by something that happened before it, and will no doubt have something to do with triggering yet another something that happens after it. Let me explain how, if you accept my invitation, you’ll be doing me a favor and not the other way around. By making these teachings accessible to you I get to do something nice. This may (or may not) lead to a long chain of good events, in that you may pick up some ideas from the teachings that would make you a better, happier person. Perhaps you might even be moved by this to help other people or situations toward betterment. There’s no telling how far it could eventually go. But even if the beneficial effects of my generosity stop at the two of us, it’s me who’s getting the benefit of being a nicer person. Goodhearted actions (or, unfortunately, bad ones for that matter) tend to domino-effect and self-perpetuate.”

“Hmmm.” Pondering had never been my strong point, but I was pondering now. “So, it’s kind of like doing a good deed and making points with God?”

“Weeeell,” Joel said in a voice that crossed caution with seriousness. “There are similarities, but there are some very serious differences as well. Look, here’s my phone number.” He gave me a business card that read: “Strider’s Bookstore, Joel Lapkin, Professor of Comparative Religion (retired), proprietor.” There was an address and telephone number on the card. “The offer stands. If you decide you want to go, let me know as soon as possible. Tickets will go fast.”

I thanked him and accepted the invitation immediately.

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