My first experiences learning to meditate were with my late father, Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche. He was a revered meditation teacher, but he lived a very simple life, spending most of his time in a small hermitage on the outskirts of the Kathmandu Valley. Some of my most precious memories are of the years I first learned to meditate, sitting at the foot of a traditional “meditation box” that served as both his bed and meditation space.
One moment I will never forget was the time he introduced me to the principle of buddhanature. I was sitting on the floor trying to meditate, but the village dogs were especially annoying that day and I couldn’t stay focused. My father, sensing my frustration, gently said, “Amé”—a Tibetan term of endearment that means something like “dear”—and then pointed out the window to the barking dogs.
“Did you know,” he said, “that the true nature of all those dogs you hear barking is the same as the true nature of all the buddhas?” He then pointed to a statue of the Buddha on his shrine. “And you have this true nature as well. You, those dogs, the Buddha here—you all have buddhanature. The only difference between a buddha and everyone else is
