I Met the Dalai Lama — But He Was Not My Teacher

Between Christmas and New Year, I often reflect on the past year.

This usually happens quite unspectacularly, while going through and sorting out photos.

That is how I came across the pictures with the Dalai Lama again—an encounter that took place in March 2025 and whose resonance can only truly be grasped with some distance in time.

Encounters like this almost automatically confront you with the classic questions of meaning in life. Why am I here? What is my purpose? For me, these questions arose very immediately in that moment—for many others, they become the starting point of a longer search.

This search leads many people to India. That was already the case for my husband, who was drawn to India after finishing high school.

In India, there are countless gurus—spiritual teachers who are meant to lead people from darkness (ignorance) into light (insight). In every shop there is a small shrine, or a picture of such a guru hangs on the wall. Interestingly, this definition also applies to the Dalai Lama, who lives in exile in Dharamsala—except that he is recognized far beyond India as a spiritual authority of global significance. My husband cherished the wish for most of his life to meet the Dalai Lama in person. All the more curious that I am now the one who was given this opportunity, and not him.

Through contacts, we were able to obtain coveted places in the Blessing Line for my class and for me as the accompanying teacher. We set off early in the morning to McLeod Ganj, to the Dalai Lama’s monastery. Access is only granted with prior registration and presentation of an identity document. The security checks are strict: body scanners and pat-downs, just like at an airport. You are only allowed to enter the inner area after handing over your personal bag. Your phone must also be surrendered. We receive a small stamp with the number 4 on our hands. Then we enter the courtyard and line up in a long queue.

It is quiet. A dignified stillness lies over the place. Conversations are hushed, as in a church. Birds are chirping in the background. Everything feels very peaceful.

We stand there for quite a while, and I observe the people around me. I notice the festive garments worn by many visitors. Those who visit the Dalai Lama often come in their finest clothes—not to be seen, but to show respect. I feel a little unsettled, because this was not at all clear to me, and now I am standing there in jeans and a knitted cardigan. But after all, I am not a Buddhist, just a visitor, I reassure myself.

There is an air of expectant tension. A few Indian soldiers are securing the area. And then, suddenly, His Holiness arrives in a small electric vehicle. At nearly 90 years old, he is no longer steady on his feet. He takes his place, and one by one the people in the line step forward. I am instructed to make sure not to tower over him and to bow.

Finally, the woman in front of me steps forward. She is presumably American and is wearing light-colored robes. As she approaches the Dalai Lama, she breaks down in tears and cries into his lap. This moves me deeply. Clearly, it was the greatest wish of her heart to stand before His Holiness.

And then everything suddenly happens very quickly. It is my turn. I step forward and try to remember everything I am supposed to do. I bow while a monk introduces me to the Dalai Lama. He looks at me with his kind little eyes. I take the hand he extends toward me into mine and lower my head respectfully. A moment later, I am already being asked to step aside for the next person. That was fast. I am ushered onward and receive an envelope containing a certificate and a blessed red string.

Somewhat perplexed, I stand there and try to process what I have just experienced. Okay, I have seen the Dalai Lama up close and received his blessing—but unfortunately, I was not able to engage with it emotionally at all, because everything happened so quickly and I was so focused on doing everything correctly. I am also not sure what I had expected. Perhaps I simply lack spirituality. In any case, I do not feel enlightened.

Still, it was a special experience, one that was even captured by photographers. Who knows how much longer the Dalai Lama will be with us, and who his successor will be.

Maybe it is me. Maybe I am too cerebral, too much of a scientist. Or perhaps it was because the encounter was too brief, too formal, too tightly organized.

Later, when I tell my husband about the encounter, he looks at me thoughtfully. “And? Did it do anything for you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It was… special. But it didn’t change me.”

Perhaps insight comes to me in other ways. Not through an encounter with a guru, but through my children—in those moments when I set aside my own needs in order to meet those of a loved one. And in the many long conversations with my husband.

Life itself is my teacher.