One day The Dalai Lama was invited to Yale University. That evening, the formal hosts’ pedagogues all went to get him. After knocking on the Nobel Laureates door, they were greeted by a man in maroon lama robes wearing a Groucho Marx mask: eyeglasses, nose and moustache. It was His Holiness the Dalai Lama of Tibet himself, having a bit of fun. A jolly lama, indeed.
This is a true story.
I think we often take religion, and ourselves, far too seriously. Life ain’t much fun if we take ourselves too seriously, is it? The sacred realm is not meant to be a grim affair full of restriction and brimstone, guilt and penance. Spirit is actually light, lively, luminous, yet uplifting, and joyous for the most part. Love is the happiest, most ever-youthful, immortal thing there is. The profound incandescence and inner harmony of genuine spirituality is incorruptibly intact, radiant, subtle, yet vividly present– ecstatic rather than static. Everything flows, all evolves; nothing remains long.
My mother Joyce Miller in Long Island, who claims to have had once long ago, not only Eleanor Roosevelt but also Sam Levinson-the Catskills standup comic for schoolteachers, has a great sense of humor, which she must have foisted upon me along with Hebrew School as part of the family religion. For years, Mom has been calling me “my son the lama, the Deli Lama”, not to mention other kinds of epithets. Of late she has taken to calling herself the Mama Lama. “Where do you think he gets his stuff?” she has been overheard asking her friends. He was only with those Tibetan gurus for twenty five years; he’s been my disciple for fifty. I rest my case.
Get a Transfer
If you are on the Gloomy Line,
Get a transfer.
If you’re inclined to fret and pine,
Get a transfer.
Get off the track of doubt and gloom,
Get on the Sunshine Train there’s room
Get a transfer.
If you’re on the Worry Train,
Get a transfer.
The Cheerful Cars are passing through,
And there’s lots of room for you
Get a transfer.
