The Dalai Lama’s Blessing

I woke up at 6 am, it was still dark. I grabbed my mala—my Buddhist rosary—and an old radio that would allow me to listen to the Dalai Lama’s Tibetan words in Spanish. I walked there. My “home” is almost at the corner of the temple—just a two-minute walk down a little street, the perfect amount of time to connect inwardly with what you’re about to witness.

It was 6:30 am and it felt early, but the main street was already buzzing with movement: Buddhist monks, locals drinking chai, Tibetans buying katas—white stoles to offer His Holiness—mask vendors, and passersby going this way and that. The air was charged, like when you know something is about to happen. Like when your dog senses you're about to take them out for a walk: everyone was ready for what would unfold in a few hours. You could feel the bodies on alert, each one tying up last details to be ready.

I entered the temple through the foreigners' line. They checked my belongings.

—No phone?—the security staff asked. —No phone—I answered. —Good.

Phones are not allowed inside the temple when the Dalai Lama gives teachings, as if they understood everything. So it truly becomes a moment of connection and real presence, here and now. A complete cancellation of contact with the outside world for as long as it lasts, until you’re back home. An added gift.

I adjusted my radio, one of those with an antenna and a dial wheel. The teachings are in Tibetan, so unless you're learning the language, the only way to understand him is to find one of the dials in your language.

If the signal is good, if you're well placed, if there’s no wind, if your radio is decent and you’ve got a bit of luck, you can catch something with a little static. I think it could all be summed up in whether it’s your karma or not to receive his blessing: the blessing of his words.

I thought I was arriving early, but the place was packed, maybe even more than previous times… Probably because it had been a long while since he last gave teachings at the temple, or maybe because we were in an auspicious Buddhist celebration: The 15 Days of Miracles, marking the start of the Tibetan New Year celebrated at the end of February, and also the commemoration of the 66th year of Tibet’s forced exile to India. All of it together. Either way, whenever His Holiness gives teachings or holds ceremonies, Dharamsala becomes a celebration. Yes, a celebration, like a birthday party. You feel it from the moment you start walking toward the temple—everyone in the town knows. There’s a festive atmosphere, even if it’s subtle. As a friend once said: “It’s a party, an inner party,” in the Buddhist style.

—Tomorrow is a big day—Raj, the fruit seller, told me. —Of course, it’s a blessing—I replied, and that same conversation repeats every single day that the Dalai Lama appears in public. Always, always, it’s an event to be celebrated.

Imagine how with so “little”—or so much—a normal day can become a Great Day. To go listen to the words of a great master, and not just because he is a “Great Master,” but because suddenly, he is YOUR master, he has tamed you. His words are nectar to your ears; they understand everything through him, as if his phrases were clear water. And that makes simply seeing him an immense satisfaction. Just seeing him, a blessing.

I believe the difficulty in our times—and mostly in our worlds—is finding the right teacher, your own Guru, to guide you on the path of spiritual practice, which is so deeply needed. We’ve lost so much faith, it’s so hard to cultivate devotion, and there’s so much commercialism trying to sell us something that it becomes a tough task. I haven’t yet found a living Guru in India, but without a doubt, the Dalai Lama is that Great Master for me. And I knew it after the second time I saw him—and the third and the fourth, and then the fifth—because each of those times, the moment I felt his presence, I cried like I did the very first day. That great spiritual leader, his teachings are so calm and inspiring to me, they show me a simple and prosperous way to view life.

Who is the Dalai Lama?

Not all of us really know his story or who he truly is, or at least, I didn’t, not until I set foot in India for the first time.

The Dalai Lama is the spiritual leader of the Tibetan people. In his own language, his title means “ocean of wisdom,” and that’s exactly what he radiates: a joyful, simple, and infinite wisdom that, in its simplicity, seeps through your very pores. Yes, still joyful and full of hope, even after all the indescribable suffering he and his people have endured, suffering that, like a dagger, instead of defeating them, has made them stronger.

According to tradition, the Dalai Lama is the reincarnation of the Buddha of Compassion—Avalokiteshvara—one of the most important figures in Mahayana Buddhism. An enlightened being—a bodhisattva—who has chosen to renounce nirvana (supreme peace) and return to this world in order to guide all sentient beings toward the liberation of their suffering. That is the mission of Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama—the 14th reincarnation.

He was discovered at the age of two and recognized as such (1), and he had to take on his role very early, at only fifteen years old, no less, just as the horrific event of the Chinese occupation of Tibet took place: the real and symbolic massacre of his people. The Chinese government carried out one of the most significant slaughters of monks and civilians in history, with the intent to extinguish them, not only as a nation but also as a culture, and above all, as a religion.

After seeing both his life and the future of his people at risk, Tenzin Gyatso fled in disguise, along with those who, like him, managed to escape. They chose exile over not being able to freely practice their traditions and religious ways, which, for them, are everything. They crossed the Himalayas on foot under unimaginably harsh conditions, and after two weeks they reached India, where President Nehru welcomed them and offered them political asylum. Since then, the Dalai Lama has lived here in Dharamsala, in the Indian Himalayas, surrounded by pine forests and mountains, where he established the Tibetan government in exile, where his temple is, where a large part of the Tibetan community resides, and, fortunately, where I live now.

To this day, Tibetans in Tibet are still forbidden to flee, to speak their language, to practice their culture, and of course, to follow Buddhism. They are punitively monitored by surveillance cameras 24/7 throughout the capital city of Lhasa. Thousands of children have been separated from their families and sent to India so they can be free and, basically, Tibetan. Those who remain in Tibet are sent to Chinese schools in order to have their culture uprooted completely. For years, many have self-immolated in protest against the Chinese government, crying for freedom, feeling like prisoners in their own “home”, which, of course, is no longer theirs.

In exile, Tibetans continue to do everything they can to preserve their culture, their language, and their Buddhist practices. On Wednesdays, they speak only Tibetan and wear their traditional clothing. Their traditions are what keep them alive, which, clearly, is something that can never be taken from them. That, their smile, their kindness, and their unmatched capacity for compassion rise like a great banner in the midst of darkness.

Since 1959, the Dalai Lama has continued to peacefully plead for the freedom of Tibet and his people—now as a Nobel Peace Prize laureate—without ever losing hope that one day he will return to his homeland. Despite all the immense heartbreak and the deep wound that remains open, neither he nor the Tibetan people have ever, ever, ever lost their smile.

Teachings of the moorning of April 2, 2025

The place was packed. The Dalai Lama’s temple has a large covered courtyard with two staircases leading to a smaller second floor, where he sits on the Great Chair when we’re lucky enough to receive his teachings, which is not every day. Today, he is almost 90 years old, and while his spirit is intact, he is growing old, so now more than ever, it truly feels like a double gift.

Everyone was settled in, waiting for his arrival. I timidly began asking for permission to pass and made my way up the stairs. I had already planned where I would sit: right in front of him on the upper floor, where the Great Chair is, the one from which he always speaks. The last time I had been able to see him from there, live and direct, less than 10 meters away. I was hoping for the same luck again.

All the monks were sitting on their little cushions on the floor, everything carefully arranged. I sat in an empty spot among all the child monks. I was the only one who stood out among the maroon Buddhist robes.I closed my eyes and began to meditate while waiting for His Holiness. It's always an incredibly special momen - like seeing God give a speech- but at the same time, it feels so peaceful and so familiar, like a small-town ceremony. Like going to a neighbor's house where you feel so at ease that you just know everything will be fine, because everything is already fine in that bubble. That’s what it feels like to enter that space. The energy completely surrounds you, which is why it’s so hard to leave afterward.

The monks began chanting in Tibetan. Something resembling very low, guttural melodic sounds—prayers and mantras, but also deep vibrations that purify negative karma and your entire mind. The hundreds of monks and nuns chant and sway gently from left to right, holding their malas, their prayer beads, as their voices fill the air. That alone is already an almost hypnotic and addictive experience. So there I stayed, meditating in that universe of goodness.

Suddenly everyone rose from the floor and began to do prostrations—full-body bows to the ground as a sign of respect and surrender at the sight of the great masters. I did them too, and then I sat down again, waiting for His Holiness to appear, step by step, with the pace of an elderly man walking alongside two companions who help support him, slowly making his way through the crowd, blessing people from the entrance to the upper floor. From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see him enter, only wait for him to reach the elevator and come up to his Great Chair.

Suddenly my whole body began to shiver and I started to cry, like always, like the three previous times I had been there in his presence. Even though I couldn’t see him physically yet, it was as if my body could already feel his presence. And that’s when I realized two things: that I was undoubtedly a Buddhist in another life, and that the Dalai Lama has an immense and indescribable energy.

A feeling of emotion and peace overwhelmed me, turned into water, and spilled out through my tears, even though my eyes were still closed. That wish to do everything possible to keep that supreme experience intact for as long as possible. A state of sublime presence, a moment of love that overflows the physical body, a few seconds of nothing but gratitude for being there, living that, pure, pristine, where time stands still, where everything stands still when you’re in the presence of a being like that.

I bowed my head like everyone else, in deep devotion. I placed my hands in prayer and remained completely still, absorbing such emotional immensity—me and the thousands of others around me. Not a fly buzzed in that moment. Everything was silence, reverence, admiration.We were all taking in the tremendous blessing of simply being there.

A few minutes later, I heard a voice through the loudspeakers. It was him, he was already speaking, but not from his usual spot, because his Great Chair was still empty: they had changed his seat! This time, he was speaking from the ground floor. I was surprised, because even without seeing him, I had already burst into tears—which meant I had felt his presence and energy in an even less sensory way.

Of course, we were all eager to see him, but no one was startled by the change. No one moved from their spot. No one was disturbed.

For a second, imagine having the “Pope” in front of you and being deeply devoted… What would you do? I suppose you’d try to get as close to him as possible, right? Maybe push forward a bit to receive a blessing or a little of his magic.

But here, no one moved. No one pushed. No one got agitated. Everyone remained in their places with such devotion and unshakable composure—it was enviable. Detachment and equanimity, live and direct—not just in the books.

Between 5,000 and 7,000 people, each with their malas, their rattle-shaped prayer wheels, their khatas in hand, motionless, watching and feeling him with deep reverence—whether directly or through the TV screens that broadcast his every step. The calm of the moment was an invitation to contemplation. The feeling of contentment: everything is perfect just as it is now. There was no need to chase anything, not even him.

From his tall seat, with his fingers held together and a great golden Buddha statue behind him, he began to speak. This time, as the closing of the 15 Days of Buddhist Miracles (2), his teaching began with a parable from the Jataka Tales—the stories that recount the Buddha’s past lives: "A merchant ship crossing the ocean in search of trade is caught in a great storm that completely overtakes them. During their voyage, the ship passes through different seas: first, a choppy sea with huge waves that terrify them deeply. Then, a red sea, relentless and fearful like fire. The wise man sailing with them gives them signs of danger and tells them to turn back, to change course, but the merchants cannot. The storm is too strong. Little by little, the sea begins to calm, turning yellow, then grass green, and later emerald green, until suddenly, in the distance, a deep water sound can be heard, like a giant waterfall into infinity. The merchants ask the wise man what will happen.

‘I’m afraid it’s too late. We are in a place of no return—there’s nothing to be done.’ The merchants beg the wise man for help. The wise man looks at them, bewildered. After thinking for a while, he says: ‘Perhaps there is one last hope… but it will require EVERYTHING from you.’‘ ‘Of course, we’ll do anything!’ the desperate merchants reply..."

And just then, while we were all in the temple, struggling with the radio, the signal, and the translation, waiting for the end of the parable, His Holiness said: "That’s all for today..."

Yes, I wanted to know how the story ended too. But then he spoke other words, words even more meaningful: "We think that being here in India, living life in exile, is difficult, don’t we? Yes, of course it’s hard, but we’ve been fortunate to have the chance to go into exile and still be alive, because as long as we are alive, we have hope. Exile has given us the opportunity to teach the Dharma—the Buddha’s teachings—to the entire world, to people who had never heard of Buddhism before. And this task was only possible in this way. This great mission that has come to us is a blessing. I’ve had the chance to speak with many scientists about Buddhist psychology, and they’ve been happy about the contributions Buddhism has made to scientific knowledge. It has reached so many foreigners who now come to study its teachings..." A tear rolled down my cheek as I watched the screen almost without blinking, mala in hand, radio clutched tightly, frozen like someone in the presence of a demigod: "...We have been given an enormous task."

The people applauded. No one cared about the end of the parable, his own words were far more valuable.

A fire was lit, and people began offering different spices while the monks resumed their chants. After a while, His Holiness continued: "We are in the Days of Miracles, and if I had to say something about how to live life in relation to Buddhism, I would say the most important thing is Bodhicitta (3). Every day, as soon as I wake up, I think of Bodhicitta. I think that everything I do will be to benefit other beings, and that is what gives me all the strength and power I need to get through each day.

One of the greatest differences between Tibetan Mahayana Buddhism and Theravada Buddhism (from other regions of Asia like Thailand and Sri Lanka) is the emphasis on compassion for all sentient beings as the central pillar of spiritual practice.

Since I began studying Buddhism, this idea has deeply inspired me.

How many times do we struggle to do things for ourselves? How much pressure, demand, ego, questions, uncertainty, laziness sometimes arise on our own path. Now... Have you seen yourself when you do something for others? For a loved one, from deep within your heart, how easy, loving, and pure everything becomes. Like when you have a surprise gift that has been well thought out for someone, no matter how much you spent or how much effort you put into it, because you only imagine the happiness on their face when they receive it, and that alone makes it all worthwhile.

And sometimes, it doesn't even matter how the other person responds, because the effect is already there: your soul has expanded with the generosity of containing that feeling of pure and altruistic love. And many times, it doesn't even matter who the other person is, because that feeling manages to detach itself from mere attachment to loved ones and extends to beings we don't know much about, but in that expansion of consciousness, they can also enter our field.

Our questions and our selfish absurd obstacles step aside if you are capable enough to prioritize others, even if only for a moment.

Well... those feelings are somewhat how compassion feels to me.

Have you ever experienced it?

That "doing things for others" often makes things easier for us. It gives us a much bigger reason than ourselves, much more important and - in my opinion - tremendously more powerful. Almost invincible, I would say, because you're not doing it just for one person, in this case yourself, but for one, two, ten, fifty, hundreds, thousands of people. You do it for a cause, for values, for senses, for consciousness, for love, for altruism, for compassion. I imagine it as thousands of people behind me, thousands of outlines of bodies, shadows, raising their fists, giving me their strength. That which I may think I don't have, but when I draw it from the depths of my being - which perhaps belongs to everyone - it becomes unstoppable, to do with my whole being a greater good. Close your eyes for a moment and imagine all that energy. Can you feel all that power?

That's how I visualize the power of compassion. An infinite fuel that fills us with energy and drives us to a greater act. In that expansion, trivialities and our egoic doubts disappear, because it's probably right at that moment where our ego shrinks a bit, moves away from the center, and for once we don't act in our own name, we do it on behalf of them, and "them" has infinite strength.

I believe that is the power of just causes, of ordinary, small, simple people who have achieved impossible, unthinkable, revolutionary things. Not for their own personal good, but out of profound compassion, altruism, love for others and for just causes. Che Guevara, Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Mother Teresa of Calcutta... The Dalai Lama.

Mahatma Gandhi Memorial, Dharamsala.

How many times do I wake up in the morning tired, wishing I didn’t have to get up or could sleep a little longer, already mentally exhausted by the routine awaiting me that day.

Imagine having the ability to see that day as a gift, as a chance to give the best of yourself for the benefit of others, from your small or great place, from wherever you are. Try to feel the tremendous motivation and mission you have in front of you. Because you’re not waking up to do your little shitty things that are only relevant to you — and probably something in your body knows this — you’re waking up to make the world, from your humble place, a little more beautiful, a little more livable, a little kinder.

Wow, what a tremendous power, right? And we almost never use it…

When I began diving into Buddhism, I struggled to understand why they talked so much about compassion. Why was it so important among all the other kind-hearted qualities? Love, forgiveness, gratitude, joy, generosity… Why so much compassion, compassion, compassion?

It caught my attention, and at the same time, it was probably one of the virtues I found hardest to grasp. I didn’t understand why helping others so much could possibly bring me more happiness, until one day, like an insight, that image appeared to me: that tremendous force at my back, that drive that didn’t belong to me but moved through me and made me act from another place, with more determinism and more decisiveness. And then, after carrying out the action, instead of feeling tired or with less because of whatever I had given, I felt satisfaction and peace.Lighter, surely with less attachment… and apparently, that weighs. Maybe we should do it like a daily practice, like brushing our teeth, to remember the true nature of life and the direction we’re walking in.

Many times I ask myself if what I’m doing is really worth it. Sometimes I hesitate, I get flooded with doubts, anxiety, uncertainties, questions. When I can see that maybe something I do can touch someone else’s heart , even just a little, even in the most unexpected way, I work without pause, like an ant, with a pleasure that overflows, with an energy I don’t have, with a real urgency to finish it sooner. And then my ego disappears, and there, almost without realizing it, I move forward in leaps and bounds.

So compassion isn’t just for the other — it’s also, and probably deep down, for oneself and for one’s own consciousness. The other is giving us a tremendous opportunity to realign our path, to grow in our spiritual development.

"If you cultivate a good attitude, your enemies will become your best spiritual teachers, because their presence will give you the opportunity to develop and expand tolerance, patience, and understanding.If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy yourself, practice compassion. Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them, humanity cannot survive.Real change in the world will only come from a change of heart."

Dalai Lama

Part 2: Tibetan Scenes

During the celebration — because that’s the best word to describe it — the monks distribute food and we all share breakfast together — even His Holiness from his enormous chair, with the cameras in front of him. It’s not just a breakfast; it’s a symbolic act of deep unity, brotherhood, and closeness, where the infinity of spiritual abundance is seen in the form of offerings and food being passed around in all directions. Very quickly, you feel like siblings with the person next to you, thinking about what they might need (whether it’s more space, a little cup for chai, or some kind of help). It’s as if a bath of energy makes us more sensitive and more receptive; we start to see others — something we often forget to do —and all differences of country, appearance, and religion vanish, giving way to pure sharing.

The monks hand out tiny cups and come around with huge metal kettles offering Tibetan tea — a very particular tea with lots of butter, milk, and salt. Then they distribute cardboard plates, which they begin to fill with rice and raisins, while enormous baskets of fruit, cookies, bread, and juices are passed around, tossed skillfully among the people so that everyone receives their share. It’s a celebration of love and generosity.

The residence where the Dalai Lama lives is called the Namgyal Monastery, and it is located in Dharamsala — a city in northern India — in a village right on the mountainside called McLeod Ganj. The temple area that is open to the public is a large space that spans an entire city block. It has three floors and many open areas surrounded by pine trees, Buddhist stupas, and beautiful views. There are several rooms with enormous golden statues of different Buddhas, the classic Tibetan prayer wheels made of metal that you can spin, and a room for lighting oil candles — as many as you like — and making wishes. It also has the best men’s bathroom patio I’ve seen in my life, where monks gather to chat and from where you get an incredible view of the snowy Himalayas and the whole village of McLeod Ganj nestled in the mountains. Even though I’m a woman, I would always go sit there to admire all that beauty together, while hawks soared over the pines. I’ve never been to Tibet, but I can tell you this temple is in the middle of paradise.

I could spend hours describing all the scenes you see around you as the ceremony unfolds, perhaps one of the most beautiful parts of being there, among them. Many Tibetans take the opportunity to wear their striking traditional garments — chuba — as if they were truly getting ready for a birthday celebration. These are beautiful robes made of bright fabrics and colors that sometimes reveal one shoulder and are often accompanied by a sash, frequently adorned with Tibetan-style bijouterie medals and decorations. For women, they take the form of dresses with wide sleeves, cinched at the waist, giving them a beautiful touch of sophistication and femininity. The eldest women wear long skirts with their colorful striped aprons and their malas — prayer beads — always spinning to the rhythm of Om mani padme hum, the quintessential Buddhist mantra:

Om ॐ → Generosity Ma म → Ethics Ni णि → Patience Pad पद् → Diligent effort Me मे → Concentration Hum हूँ → Wisdom

Many of them unfailingly hold their prayer wheels for praying: a wheel of mantras on a stick that they keep in constant circular motion to spread their prayers into the air. And there they are, with their long wrinkled faces and their prayer wheels that they don’t let go of for even a second — even if they need the other hand to support their own body with a walking stick.That is another way of praying.

Commemoration of 66 Years Since the Occupation of Tibet

Of course, it’s filled with Tibetan monks everywhere you look, all sitting on their communal cushions to endure long hours of temple ceremonies, with their rectangular sheets of mantras to chant. Everyone comes to listen to His Holiness, so wherever you look, you'll see the maroon and yellow of their robes.The mini-monks, half a meter tall, run through the hallways adjusting their robes while pulling little pranks on their fellow monk friends beside them.

Amid all this, a new tourist might appear, probably just arrived, looking around like a child in a toy store, mouth wide open and heart in hand. Just like my inner self, except that after two years here, I do it outwardly with a bit more subtlety, though with the same wonder as the first day. As if you could never stop being amazed, because without a doubt, that’s the feeling I have in India every day, and surely the greatest gift that keeps me here.

I don’t know if I’ve managed to convey a little of what is lived here, because honestly, a large part of the beauty of this world and this air is indescribable. I don’t think I’m capable of representing it in words because it’s just too much, and thus a very difficult task for a beginner, but I can’t stop being fascinated for even a second by the whole scene that captivates me.

It leaves us stunned, wanting more, celebrating what’s different, what we don’t quite understand but that drives us wild. Maybe that’s why we travel, and maybe, in that same reciprocal loop, we can appreciate our families and our own peculiarities more from a distance.

Time completely stops for me in a moment like that.

Calmness floods you, embraces you, captures you, and keeps you there even after everything is over, because suddenly there’s this feeling that nothing matters more than being here. Maybe it’s Buddhism seeping in through your pores like micro-particles of goodness, the message that there is nowhere else to go, that everything is perfect just as it is: this, here, now. As if suddenly everything was self-sufficient, that this is everything, that everything is right here, and this is enough. There’s nothing else to do, nothing else to think about, just to admire the peace in your own mind in this moment, and that alone, in the world we live in, becomes a miracle. Suddenly everything becomes clear, transparent like crystal, as if you could see the perfection of reality without the recurring thoughts that cloud it, as if you could witness something magical: life.

So there I stayed, on that first floor looking over the full temple, watching the people from above, the daily scenes, and my own mind resting in peace. I wrote this on a piece of paper, crumpled in my hand, leaning on a railing. I admired the peace, my joy, my sense of happiness, of love, of kinship, of contentment. I missed my family a little and once again gave thanks, as always, for what I was living. I didn’t want to leave the birthday. I wanted to stay with all of them a little longer, because that’s what it felt like, like being with family on a Sunday, while one grates the cheese and the other puts the pasta in the pot, being part of a huge and kind community, where they reach out their hands to you.Those hands that have suffered so much, reaching out to you, who have so many privileges. That’s how they show you, without speaking, that hope still exists, even though they’ve lost almost everything.

“Give the ones you love wings to fly, roots to return, and reasons to stay.Sometimes things go wrong — that’s normal — but we have a saying in Tibet:‘Nine times you fall, nine times you try again.’”  Dalai Lama.

Long life to His Holiness.

Blessed to be able to share these words with you ❦

Notes

(1) Tibetans believe in reincarnation, which is why each Dalai Lama is the same consciousness of the first Buddha of Compassion reborn in a new body to continue his same task: to save humanity. The work of his predecessor is, in reality, his own. From among all the children born in Tibet during the period indicated by the scriptures, the Panchen Lama is the figure in charge of finding the Dalai Lama within the reincarnated child. He does this through signs, meditations, omens, and by presenting objects belonging to the predecessor to the new child in a thorough evaluation to determine whether he can recognize them as his own.That’s how they found Tenzin Gyatso in the midst of a humble village of farmers in northern Tibet, who would then be taken to the great monastery in Lhasa — former capital of Tibet — where he would begin, from a very young age, an intensive spiritual, philosophical, and religious education in line with his role. 🔙

(2) Chotrul Düchen in Tibetan, or the 15 Days of Buddhist Miracles, is a celebration that takes place during the fifteen days following the Tibetan New Year (Losar), which is celebrated in February or March according to their lunisolar Tibetan calendar.

During this time, the Buddha performed miracles each day to inspire faith in his disciples, and it is said that any virtuous act carried out in these days is multiplied by hundreds of millions of times. It is, therefore, a most auspicious time for meditation, offerings, and the practice of spirituality and compassion. 🔙

(3) The concept of Bodhicitta is the heart and ultimate purpose of Tibetan Buddhism in the Mahayana tradition, and one of the main notions that differentiates it from the Theravada Buddhist school. It is the deep and sincere intention to reach enlightenment not only for oneself, but to help all sentient beings be freed from suffering. It is the core of the Tibetan tradition, and this motivation is present in each and every practice:"May all sentient beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering" is the mantra repeated again and again at the beginning of each action. That is why compassion is one of the most important practices, and Bodhicitta the most powerful tool for transforming selfishness into pure love and altruism. 🔙.

*The photos of the Dalai Lama have been taken from his official Instagram account: @dalailama.