All truth passes through three stages.
First, it is ridiculed.
Second, it is violently opposed.
Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.

—Arthur Schopenhauer (Philosopher, 1788—1860)

Prologue

The Day Before

Omni, Colorado

No one could remember when the guru came to live at the top of the mountain. Some distance out of the small but picturesque town of Omni, his home was little more than a summer shack. He had no phone, TV or radio. He subsisted on an austere diet of vegetables and who knows what, from the modest stipend he earned teaching meditation. He drank no alcohol, nor was he ever seen buying the kind of tasty indulgences that most people found necessary for a feeling of contentment. A man of indeterminate age who looked fifty-something but may well have been older, he was a being of few needs. But if asked who was the happiest person they knew, the good townsfolk of Omni—and even the not-so-good ones—would immediately and unanimously have answered: “Lama Tashi.”

Although his home was secluded, not far from Rocky Mountain National Park, the guru was no recluse. He held weekly classes at the Lone Pine Meditation Center. A few times a month he’d come into town to collect his frugal provisions. Guiding a shopping cart round the grocery store, when he encountered another person he always made eye contact, nodded in acknowledgement, and smiled. And at such moments, a remarkable thing happened. The person meeting his eyes would melt.

It didn’t matter what state of mind they were in. Whether they were hurrying or weary or diligently working their way through their shopping list. When they encountered Lama Tashi they experienced a sudden jolt. An unexpected and powerful reminder about who and what they truly were. It was hard to put this experience into words. How, with a single glance, they came to recognize an important truth about themselves. It was as if this man effortlessly saw beyond the appearance they usually took themselves to be, and reflected back a more panoramic reality. Whatever trials they may be facing, whatever the constraints that so preoccupied them became like mere froth on the ocean surface—ephemeral and inconsequential compared to the boundless reality below. And so benevolent was Lama Tashi’s expression, so wholehearted his acceptance that they’d feel an up-welling of joy. In his warm, brown eyes was all the reassurance they needed that, beneath the surface, all was well.

Such was the effect of Lama Tashi’s presence that, even in the early days, he was never on the receiving end of the apprehension which members of small communities often felt about outsiders. Lama Tashi had Asian features, wore red robes and never made any pretense that while living in their world he was self-evidently not of it. But he was never shunned for being different. On the contrary, he was actively sought out.