Years ago, when I was invincible and painfully young, I had the great good fortune to ask Kalu Rimpoche; one of the oldest spiritual teachers of Tibet, a question.

No happy coincidence, looking back on it now; but you could never tell my razor sharp, youthful mind that at the time. I have since learned there are no coincidences, no matter how much you'd like some of life's more embarrassing moments to be perceived, at least by your peers, as meaningless. Miracles, for lack of a better word, go on all the time and they go on right under our noses.

First of all; a little background on Kalu Rimpoche. The year was 1989 and when I met him he was 92 years old. His skin was clear and supple, his gaze was effortless and his smile was unusually warm. He was tall, thin, completely bald and, of course, wore the sapphron robes of a highly realized teacher. The word 'Rimpoche' in Tibetan translates as 'an enlightened being who has self-directed his own rebirth'.

And he was certainly that: Kalu Rimpoche was one of the last traditional teachers to emerge from a disappearing culture. As a young teenager, he had retreated into a small cave in the Himalayas. There, as ancient tradition demanded, he spent 12 long years in meditation with little food or water. When he emerged, it was reported, his skin had turned a deep shade of green from a constant diet of nettles. He spent the rest of his life teaching.

In Tibet he had been painstakingly proven to be a 16th incarnation of a great spiritual teacher and is expected to be eventually reborn on earth as the last Buddha. Only recently and quite miraculously had Kalu Rimpoche escaped the brutal tyranny of Chinese occupied Tibet. At Buddhist gatherings he was always referred to, and always in hushed tones, as 'The Jewel of Tibet.'

When I met him, I was 29 years old.

In an attempt to preserve the disappearing cultural practices of Tibet, he had traveled to Vancouver to offer a rare initiation to his western students. The KaliChakra Initiation was only offered once before outside of Tibet and I was lucky enough to be invited.

The ceremony took three days and was attended by over two thousand people. Students, professors and spiritual leaders from all across Canada and the US were there, gathered expectantly and speaking in hushed, arrogant tones in the huge banquet hall of the Bayshore Convention Centre.

For ten hours each day, Kalu Rimpoche sat motionless in the full lotus position on a makeshift meditation bench at the front of the crowd. And I mean motionless: not once during those three days, when all of us were shifting in our chairs, quieting reading or nodding off, did I see him ever flinch, move, hesitate or even sigh. He was quite remarkable. He chanted ancient Sanskrit texts, performed complex Mandelas and recited laborious Tibetan prayers by heart. He did not eat, drink or take a moment's rest and, at the end of each day's ceremony, he answered several questions through a translator.

Generally, the questions asked were…well…intimidating. Imagine, if you will, an expectant crowd of over educated westerners all hoping to prove their intellect worth to a 92 year old enlightened teacher from Tibet. It was, to say the least, intense.

Each questioner would approach the microphone, adjust their glasses and rattle off a complex inquiry about the metaphysics of nothing-ness or about the illusionary nature of reality and then they would contented slink back to their seat and wait.

Through his translator Kalu Rimpoche answered each question with compassion, deliberate patience and detailed instruction. He described the various levels of clear insight into the non-material universe, he spoke subtly about the empty quality of ego in the hidden realms and he clarified the nature of the rainbow bodies of enlightenment.

And then it was my turn.

When I approached the microphone I made the mistake of pausing briefly and gazing back at the audience. They all looked so fervent and so self-possessed; some of them scribbled notes, many of them were smiling coyly. Several of them watched me with their mouths slightly open waiting to evaluate the intellectual prowess of my question.

I don't know what came over me but I turned to the microphone and said 'Lama, what does it mean to be religious?'

There was almost an audible gasp and then a pause. I could feel the disapproval of the crowd behind me; probably they were shaking their heads, snickering or rolling their eyes. It was a profoundly embarrassing moment.

Kalu Rimpoche thought for a moment and then began to answer…this time without his translator, he spoke directly to me in English.

"Imagine," he said, 'imagine you are on a long and terrible journey. Imagine you are walking across a hot desert. Very hot. And there is much sweat and much pain and the walking is very difficult and you walk and you walk and you walk. Much pain," he said.

I gulped and watched him as he spoke. The crowd behind me fell silent.

"And then," he continued, "you come upon a wide river. A very wide river. At the edge of the river is a tiny boat. And imagine that you climb into the boat and begin paddling. Terrible waves, very hard paddling. And you paddle and you paddle…very hard, very long time paddling," he said.

I swear I heard someone behind me whisper 'why isn't he using his translator?'

"If," he went on, "if when you get to the other side of the river. And if you climb out of the boat and if you put the boat on your head as you again walk across the desert…that" he said, "that is religious".

And then he smiled a broad warm smile.

He was a great man and I will never forget that moment.