Squeaky Buddha

Oakland, 1990

For what do I need a squeaky Buddha?

Maybe to remind me to squeak less?

Chokyi Nyima, the Tibetan Rinpoche* I studied with in Kathmandu, was an early adapter. Even during the 1990s, as he sat on his raised dais during the Saturday morning teachings, a cell phone was always by his side. Whenever it rang—which was often—he’d stop in the middle of the teaching and take the call. The conversations might go on for a while, as the assembled students sat on the carpeted floor and waited.

Personally, I hate it when a conversation is interrupted by a phone call. It’s hard to understand the compulsion to answer. Why is a ringing phone any different from someone just walking up and poking your shoulder to get your attention? “Sorry, I have to take this call.” Do you? One time in a hundred, there may be an urgent matter to attend to. But for some crazy reason, that’s always the assumption.

The Rinpoche, to his credit, gave every caller his undivided attention. Meanwhile, his students were ignored. As we sat in silence listening to one side of his lively conversation, we engaged in a contest of patience. Not a soul expressed irritation. There was a placid, knowing smile on everyone’s face. Well, almost everyone’s. I tried to see it their way: This was about acceptance, equanimity, letting go of expectations. It was an opportunity to empty our minds of ego-generated thoughts. It was, in fact, a teaching.

And honestly? It was also kind of rude.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

* An honorific meaning “precious one,” used to address incarnate
lamas.