Where We're Meant To Be

Everyone was talking about an event at one of the local Buddhist centers. They’d read on the Web site that a highly regarded speaker would be there for a lecture in the afternoon.

Everyone was urging me to go, so I thought, why not?

I drove to the center and there was only one car in the lot.

Only one other person, my friend Bill, showed up.

We walked to the temple and it was empty.

Could we have gotten the wrong day?

The Web site said today, Bill said.

Next to the temple was a small house. We went up to the windows and could hear Tibetan throat singing.

To do this kind of singing, you manipulate your vocal apparatus so it sounds other-worldly, like there are many more people singing than just one. I’d never heard it in person before.

We thought this must be where the event would be held, and not the temple, so we walked in.

There were four Buddhist monks sitting at a dinner table with a woman, her husband and baby, and the baby’s grandma.

Everyone’s shoes were by the door, so we took our shoes off and sat at the remaining two chairs in the room.

This was odd, I thought, for an event that had so many people talking, to have only two chairs available for the audience.

Bill and I decided this must be the pre-event before the speaker, and then we’d move to the temple.

We sat and listened to the singing.

The Buddhist monks were singing the mantras off paper that looked 1,000 years old. The monks themselves looked at least 100. But you wouldn’t know it by the sound of their singing.

I had a sense I was hearing something not many people get to hear.

When the singing ended there were ceremonious chants done around the baby, then the youngest monk walked around the table with a bottle of Advil that had little round pellets in it instead of painkillers. He placed a few pellets in everyone’s palm and they each placed their hand up to their face and inhaled the pellets.

He offered some pellets to Bill, who opened his palm and accepted them.

I was hoping he’d skip me, but he didn’t. I opened my palm and let the monk pour the pellets in.

I looked at Bill and let him go first. I was hoping he’d let the pellets sit until we could throw them away without anyone noticing. But he lifted his palm to his mouth and sucked them up.

I looked at the pellets in my hand.

What could they be?

Hallucinogens?

Why would I think these Buddhist throat-singing monks would be on hallucinogens? That made no sense.

But how would I explain inhaling random pellets to an emergency room doctor trying to bring me down from a bad trip?

My reluctance to be impolite was bigger than my hesitation to eat something potentially lethal, so I brought my palm to my mouth and sucked the pellets in.

They tasted like cinnamon.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Dodged a bullet …

Soon the pre-event ended and we all put our shoes on. The parents thanked the monks and as I watched them together, it occurred to me this was no pre-event.

Bill and I had crashed a Buddhist baptism.

I couldn’t leave fast enough, but the younger monk would not have it. He asked Bill and me to go to the temple so he could give us a tour.

I told the monk we’d come back during regular office hours.

When are those, I asked.

Yes, the monk said.

When should we come back, I asked.

Yes, the monk said.

When are you open for letting people see the temple, I asked.

Yes, the monk said smiling, and gestured toward the temple.

We walked to the temple and the monk very generously explained what each painting and mantra meant without skipping a single corner of the ornately decorated space.

I realized he’d answered yes each time I asked about the hours because they don’t have regular hours. If you show up, you’re supposed to be there, and you will be treated as an honored guest, even in the middle of a private family ceremony.

Bill asked about the pellets we’d inhaled.

They were candies that had been blessed by the Dalai Llama, the monk said.

Not only had we crashed a private baptism, the monks and family shared with two complete strangers something extraordinarily special to them even though they didn't have much left.

I was desperate for a rock to crawl under.

Later I checked the Web site and sure enough, we’d had the right day, but the wrong year. Whichever monk is the acting Web master hadn’t updated the site since 2002.

I thought about having crashed the ceremony and I realized that Bill and I were meant to be there. We hadn’t crashed at all.

There were two empty chairs, and that’s it.

We got to hear authentic Tibetan throat singing in a centuries-old tradition and take in rare, blessed food.

Sometimes when good things come to you, you don’t have to prove yourself worthy, or even believe yourself worthy. You just need to accept them.