It all felt surprisingly simple.
Follow my heart.
Try to do good.
Serve where I can.
And somehow, that path had led me here.
To be clear, I hadn't applied for this audience because I wanted to boast my ego. The reasons were much closer to my heart.
Dad. Light on German. The people I want to serve with it.
That was my fuel.
And once I knew there was even a possibility of meeting His Holiness, the question for me wasn't really whether I should try.
I knew I had to.
So I did what I could to get there.
And today was the day.
The actual day when I wouldn't just walk around his residence in prayer or know that he was nine kilometres away.
I would meet him. In person. Face to face.
With a little space to speak, to ask for something meaningful, to show what I've been working on and, hopefully, receive his blessing.
I wanted to make those few seconds count.
At his age, private or small-group audiences seem to have become much rarer. The last time I had seen a picture of him, he had looked quite frail.
Today was different.
He looked cheerful.
Present.
Stable.
Healthy.
Not 19.
But also somehow not like someone who has already lived 91 years on this planet.
Getting Ready
I had prepared everything the day before.
Haircut.
A nice place to stay close to his residence.
T-shirt ironed.
Everything ready.
Including me.
I woke up at exactly the right time, with more than enough of it to move through the morning without rushing. I showered, answered a couple of messages and then received one from Aunt Liese that both prepared me and made me slightly nervous.
One of her questions was:
"Do you have your scarf?"
In my head I was like:
Which scarf? I have myself.
And actually, I had more than myself.
I had the special T-shirt I wanted to get blessed. The Light on German shirt my cousin Mark had handmade for this journey. In fact, he had made four of them. I brought two with me that day.
One to wear. One to gift away.
My original dream was to somehow get the shirt blessed and, if the opportunity appeared, maybe even signed by His Holiness. This time, I also didn't have to worry about whether my clothes were appropriate. Light on German was one of the reasons I had mentioned when applying for the blessing.
So I could wear it proudly. Proud of what we've been building. Proud of what it is trying to become. A light.
Having that shirt on made me feel comfortable. Still, Aunt Liese had planted one small thought in the back of my head:
Apparently bringing a ceremonial scarf was normal.
I didn't have one. Noted.
I checked out of my room because I had no idea how long the entire process would take. Before leaving, I knocked on my neighbour's door to make sure she hadn't overslept.
She had flown all the way from Dallas, USA, to make one of her dreams come true. She was awake. Getting ready. She had a ride arranged with a monk friend and needed a little more time, so I started walking.
If you've ever wondered where the Dalai Lama stays while he is in Ladakh, here are two pictures of the complex.
In the first one, look at the trees in the centre. Inside that small forest is his modest residence. And somewhere in there, a few minutes later, I would meet him.
The second picture shows the right side of the complex. The whole area is beautiful. And if you look closely, you can also see people doing the prayer walk around his residence.
I reached the main gate, where around 300 people were gathering.
Mostly locals. Only a few internationals.
The locals were easy to identify because many of them were dressed the way we might dress for a wedding. Make-up. Suits. Traditional clothing.
Fancy, fancy, fancy.
Or... maybe I should say the internationals were easier to identify:
The contrast was hilarious.
We wore hiking boots, sandals and multifunctional pants.
Safety First
After registration, document checks and the first security procedures, we passed through the main gate. This was a highly protected area. And the security was probably stricter than at an airport.
I was searched at least three or four times.
My original idea of taking a selfie with His Holiness or making a tiny video call with Dad disappeared immediately. At the first gate, every electronic device had to be handed in. Phones. Cameras. Everything.
But they told us that two official photographers would document the Darshan and that we would receive the pictures afterwards. Good enough.
Darshan is a word used in Indian spiritual traditions for the experience of being in the presence of a revered spiritual teacher or sacred figure — literally something close to "seeing" and "being seen." In this case, it was the brief personal encounter in which each of us would approach His Holiness and receive a blessing.
So:
No phone. No selfie. No problem.
Official photographers were much better anyway.
I continued inside carrying my Tibetan bag.
Inside it: the Light on German T-shirt I wanted to give him. And a permanent marker.
Because... you never know, right? Maybe His Holiness would sign my shirt.
At the next security check, the bag had to go. And the marker too.
Well. Good thing I hadn't built my entire plan around that.
Then something funny happened.
Once everyone had handed over their bags, suddenly almost everybody seemed to have something else in their hands:
Scarves.
So many scarves. Scarves everywhere. Ah. Right. The scarf.
I asked a German couple next to me what they were for. They explained that the ceremonial scarf would be presented and blessed during the encounter.
That reassured me. I hadn't come specifically to get a scarf blessed. My intention was to ask for blessings for Dad and for Light on German through my T-shirt. So I remained pretty relaxed.
Then we entered the third security zone. And that's where the gift T-shirt left my hands too.
"We will give it to His Holiness for you, if that's okay?"
What was I supposed to say? Of course that was okay.
At this point, I started noticing a pattern. At every security check, I became lighter. Phone. Gone. Bag. Gone. Marker. Gone. Gift. Gone.
Every gate asked me to leave something behind. And now I really didn't have much left to give away.
Which naturally made me slightly nervous when I saw yet another security check ahead.
What exactly were they going to take now?
The security guy wanted to be very, very sure. He thoroughly checked my hair. My approximately three hairs.
What exactly was I supposed to have hidden in there?
To both our surprise, the only thing he discovered was curly blond hair. Then he found some cash and a credit card in my pocket.
Money was okay. Interesting. Apparently carrying money into the audience was acceptable. Maybe they thought one or two bills could accidentally find their way toward a donation box. Cannot harm.
But to my surprise, I didn't have to hand over anything else. Excellent.
I was still wearing clothes.
Waiting
After all the security procedures, we were seated according to our numbers. And there we were.
Sitting outside his house. Inside the little forest.
Everything was remarkably organised.
Meanwhile, some of my fellow non-scarf bringers could no longer tolerate their own non-scarfiness and nervously started asking members of the staff if there was anything they could do.
And the staff actually brought them scarves.
Problem solved.
The excitement around us was growing. More and more people arrived.
The seats filled. Eventually everyone had passed the final checks. And then we waited.
The house was colourful. The garden was colourful. Protective mandalas had been drawn on parts of the ground.
Everything felt calm despite the number of people. Then, after another ten minutes or so, the door opened.
With assistance, His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama came outside and sat down near the entrance.
At the same time, we were asked to stand. Form a line. And prepare.
I was number 23. The kind German couple was right beside me. From our position, we could see almost everything happening ahead.
What a privilege.
And while we were standing in line, one of the monks noticed something.
My non-scarfiness. He looked at me. Realised the problem. And hurried inside.
Meanwhile, the queue kept moving.
We advanced. Then advanced again. Then faster. And faster.
The monk still hadn't returned.
Ten people ahead. Eight. Seven. Six.
And with maybe five people left before my turn... he appeared.
Carrying a white, silky beauty. Whether it was actually silk, you experts can tell me later.
One thing was certain:
I was not alone.
In the opposite queue, I could see several worried faces belonging to other people suffering from acute non-scarfiness. I pointed toward the monk who had helped me, hoping they would understand that salvation was possible. That was all I could do.
Because then I entered the tunnel.
Everything moved incredibly quickly.
The 22 people ahead of me seemed to receive their blessings in maybe five minutes.
Each person had only seconds.
Friendly monks stood on both sides.
Mothers with small children crossed my path and I tried to let them move ahead.
The monks stopped me.
"No, no. You go."
And that gave me one final opportunity to ask for advice.
I knew exactly what I wanted.
But I didn't know the correct etiquette.
How should I ask?
I wanted blessings for Dad.
And blessings for Light on German.
The monk answered clearly:
Ask His Holiness to include Dad in his prayers.
And ask for a blowing blessing for the T-shirt.
Okay.
Now I knew.
I moved forward.
Two people left.
Two seconds.
One person.
One second.
My turn.
The Blessing
Let me take you into that moment.
I smell incense.
I hear someone announce my name.
My home country.
I hear monks speaking in Tibetan.
I see the Dalai Lama sitting directly in front of me.
Smiling.
Gentle.
Looking healthier than I had expected.
I feel monks touching and guiding my arms from both sides.
I see that attendants are supporting His Holiness too.
And suddenly I am completely inside the tunnel.
Nothing else exists.
Just this moment.
I bow.
Reach out my hands.
Our hands meet.
I feel the warmth of his fingers.
A gentle touch.
A tiny spark.
And in a deep, clear voice, I ask:
Please include my Dad in your prayers.
He acknowledges it.
Simple.
No long explanation needed.
I stand again.
And then something surprises me.
Nobody pushes me forward. Nobody gives me the feeling that my second is over.
They let the moment breathe. I ask the second thing.
Please give a blowing blessing for Light on German.
I stand upright and point down toward the shirt.
And he doesn't just blow.
He becomes curious.
The scarf is covering the writing.
He reaches out.
Moves one side of the scarf away.
Slowly.
Then the other.
Even slower.
He reads.
Light on German.
He smiles.
Then he traces the words with his fingers.
And smiles again.
For a long time, it almost feels to me as though he is not just reading the name, but taking in what it represents.
I just stand there.
Smiling.
Amazed.
I don't know what exactly he thinks about it.
But I can see that he is approving it.
And somehow, that is more than enough.
Then I feel that it is time. Those weren't just seconds. That was maybe a minute.
I thank him.
Thank the monks.
And move aside for the next person.
Still half inside that tunnel, I receive a few more things.
A small snack.
A red string.
And an envelope.
Then I walk past all the people still waiting.
Physically, I'm there.
Mentally...
somewhere else.
The mission had worked.
Dad had been included in his prayers.
Light on German had received the blessing I came for.
I had asked for wings.
And somehow, I walked away feeling like I had received them.
In Buddhist symbolism, wisdom and compassion are sometimes described like two wings.
The mind.
And the heart.
You need both to fly.
I knew those few seconds would stay with me for a very long time.
The Aftershow
I walked back out through the gate and found people everywhere collecting their belongings.
Phones returned.
Bags returned.
Normal life slowly returning.
I was happy to see that the other non-scarf people had also received scarves.
Some of them thanked me because I had pointed them toward the person who helped me.
Which was funny.
I had barely done anything.
Just pointed.
And yet sometimes something that small is enough to make another person's moment easier.
People started talking.
Bright eyes everywhere.
Smiles.
Hugs.
And one sentence came up again and again:
"It went by so fast."
Isa, the German woman I had met, immediately added something I loved:
"It shows me how meaningful a moment can be."
Exactly.
A moment doesn't need to be long to be deep.
Some people had apparently had less time than I did.
And slowly I started understanding something else:
Many of the people around me had been waiting for this for a very long time.
They had travelled from everywhere.
Israel.
Japan.
Taiwan.
France.
Germany.
USA.
And many more places.
Some had dreamed about the meeting for years.
Some had applied repeatedly.
Some had tried at different residences.
Some had received no answer.
Others had been rejected.
And then, again and again, I heard the second sentence:
"Finally it came true."
Finally.
That word hit me.
Because my own process had felt almost strangely straightforward.
I had waited until I felt I knew why I wanted to ask.
I drafted the message.
Thought about it.
Reworked it.
Sent it.
And the next day, I received the invitation.
Only now, listening to everyone else's stories, did I understand how fortunate that was.
So I didn't feel like turning it into some victory story.
If anything, I felt humbled by it.
I had been the person physically standing in front of him.
But I hadn't arrived there alone.
You, dear reader, were part of it.
Everyone who helped build Light on German was part of it.
Every conversation.
Every bit of encouragement.
Every person who contributed something along the way.
Guys...
I might have been the one standing there. But I didn't get there alone. Without you, this would not have happened.
So thank you.
A Realization
That thought still gives me goosebumps.
Who would have imagined this?
Some dude from Bavaria.
Growing up around beer festivals, football, blue skies, green hills and white clouds.
And somehow ending up at the Dalai Lama's residence in Ladakh.
Asking for blessings for his Dad.
And for a German-learning project.
...
Awesome.
Being
I walked slower than a turtle.
I wanted to stay in the area for as long as possible.
On my way out, I dared to take a picture — facing away from the private area where the blessings had taken place so I wouldn't disturb the atmosphere with technology.
This was the main path through which people entered and left.
Nearby, there was another path leading toward the prayer circuit around the residence.
I decided to follow it.
Maybe 500 metres in, I suddenly felt inspired to take a selfie.
Somehow it felt like this might be my only chance.
And strangely, I had the feeling somebody was following me.
I was still standing there looking at the picture, about to continue walking, when I heard a voice behind me:
"Bhaia!"
Bro.
A policewoman had apparently run after me to stop me.
The gates on the other side were going to close in nine minutes.
One full prayer circuit took around twenty.
Ah.
Understood.
I thanked her for making the effort to chase me down and walked back out.
Through the gate.
Out of the complex.
And suddenly I was standing on the street again.
What next?
Normal life.
Traffic.
People.
A group of people asking for money waited outside.
And there I met the German couple again.
We wished each other well.
And then I learned the guy's name.
Felix.
Of course.
We laughed.
And said goodbye.
I kept walking.
Very slowly.
Eventually I reached the guest house and met Pradeepa again — I hope I'm spelling that somewhat correctly.
She was glowing too.
Happy.
Still working.
We shared some chai, although we couldn't really start a proper conversation because she was soon picked up by her guide.
Before leaving, she asked if I needed a ride back to Leh.
And I genuinely thought about it.
After all, I had told the guys at the hostel that I would probably return that day.
But going back already didn't feel right.
Not yet.
First of all, I wanted a proper breakfast.
A Tibetan breakfast.
So I declined.
We didn't even need to exchange contact details.
She already had my blog.
Then our paths separated again.
Man.
I needed somewhere quiet to let everything sink in.
Not hectic Leh.
Not shops.
Not people trying to sell me things.
Just somewhere to be.
And then, strangely, some random guy walked into the guest house.
He had also been at the Darshan.
He didn't need a room.
He just came inside.
And dropped one little piece of information:
He was going to Thiksey Monastery.
Thiksey.
A famous monastery barely ten kilometres away.
Remember the monastery from my first day in Ladakh?
The one we saw at sunset?
The one where Melroy said he might be interested in joining my monastery idea?
That was Thiksey.
Back then I had already known I would return.
The timing just hadn't felt right.
Now it did.
I got into a shared taxi.
Went there.
And was blown away.
This was exactly the place I needed after the Darshan.
And by the way. Never met that guy again. Was it a real dude or was it a wink from the sky?
I already knew there were some good homestays nearby because I had looked into the area on Day 1.
But things got even better.
Three travellers recommended a lovely homestay.
And there I met yet another Felix.
Which brought the total to four.
Today.
For some reason, almost every guy whose name came up or whom I randomly met seemed to be called Felix.
The last Felix even told me that he basically never meets other Felixes.
Really.
I went to the recommended homestay.
Gorgeous.
Quiet.
Exactly what I needed.
I rested.
And then it was time to open the envelope we had all received after the Darshan.
Inside was an image.
A letter.
And two small bags of blessed pills.
And then another connection appeared.
A few days earlier, near Temisgam, I had randomly discovered a monastery after staying at Skarat Homestay. That visit had become a major story for my Human category because the monastery housed what was described to me as a self-arisen statue of Avalokiteshvara.
Avalokiteshvara — the bodhisattva associated with compassion — seems to be deeply important here. And now, inside this envelope, one of the small bags contained pills that, according to the accompanying letter, had been blessed through the mantra of Avalokiteshvara. The same mantra I had learned. The same one I had chanted with a monk at the temple connected to that statue. According to the letter, the mantra had been recited more than 100 million times during what they considered the strongest month of the year.
For somebody else, it might simply have been a letter and two bags.
For me, because of what I had already experienced a few days earlier, the connection felt impossible to miss.
One more little piece clicking into place.
I talked to Mom.
Grabbed my laptop.
Walked up the stairs of Thiksey Monastery.
And then I just sat there.
Typing.
Watching.
Absorbing.
I wasn't the only one.
If you ask me...
mind-blowing.
Again.
I stayed until sunset.
And somewhere during those hours, I knew I wanted to stay another night.
So I walked back down.
Reached the homestay.
Helped make momos.
And to my own surprise, I was actually good at it.
Last time had been horrible.
Back then I had created nuclear momos.
This time, they could barely tell which ones were mine.
Progress.
We had some family time.
Food.
Then I went to bed early.
Because the next morning, I wanted to join the prayers at 6 AM.
And somehow that felt like the perfect way for the circle to close.
Sunrise.
Peace.
Prayer.
So be it. I am here.
