It had been three months since I arrived in Dharamsala. My visa was about to expire, and I had to leave India soon. I had tried many times to secure a public audience with His Holiness. I had sent several emails, but each one had been denied for various reasons. After insisting for a while, I realized that arguing with a monk behind a computer to secure a spot was pulling me away from the true essence of the experience. So, I let it go, accepting that if it was meant to hap

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