It had been one of the very few unchaperoned exchanges Darius had had in his life. And the most meaningful.

In such ways, Lama Tashi’s constant offering to the people among whom he lived, was his gift of hope. Hope to inspire insight and self-acceptance. Hope to create positive change.

Just as he defied the usual conventions of belief, there was similar ambiguity about why he had chosen to be part of their particular community. To participants at the Lone Pine Meditation Center he would say that he was there to help them experience the true nature of their own minds. To Tom and Tina Jackson, his Vulture Peak Drive neighbors, he explained that his cabin was an ideal place to meditate.

The only being to whom he revealed more of the truth was his cabin companion, a Siamese cat named Shanti. Like so much else in Lama Tashi’s life, Shanti hadn’t arrived through any deliberate act on his part and instead had spontaneously appeared. One day she simply stepped through the open window when he was meditating and curled up next to him. She never chose to leave.

From time to time Lama Tashi reached out to where Shanti was basking in the summer sun on his windowsill. Or, in the evenings, to where she might be toasting herself in front of the fire.

“Ah yes, this is the most beautiful place to wait, isn’t it, my dear Shanti?” he stroked her luxuriant tummy. “The most perfect place to bide our time.”

What, exactly, they were biding their time for was not a subject on which he elaborated. Nor did she much care, so long as he continued biding it with her. And stroking her tummy, of course.

The afternoon before that most extraordinary of days, Lama Tashi set off in the direction of his neighbor’s house. Living at the furthest end of Vulture Peak Drive, somewhat higher than the Jacksons’ residence, meant that when he’d first moved in he had become quite familiar with the Jacksons, from a distance, some weeks before they had actually met. Tom, tall, broad-shouldered and ramrod straight carried an air of invincibility about him, looking every inch the recently retired, high-ranking military man. Tina, trim, vivacious and plucky, was always on the go. When she wasn’t creating extravagant floral arrangements for weddings, baptisms or other milestones in the community, she was tending to her plants. In particular, she took great joy from the gorgeous salvia blossoms that flourished in the hanging baskets which ranged along the full length of their balcony.

The Jacksons were the kind of people whom other friends from the forces constantly dropped in to see. Their home was Party Central. During those early years there had seldom been a weekend night when their balcony—overlooking the same panoramic vista as Lama Tashi’s modest porch—wasn’t filled with former comrades and their spouses, with much back-thumping, shoulder-pounding conviviality among the men.