A Beautiful Story for Three Kings Day

When I was a child, each year in December, I was given the task of arranging the manger scene in our home. I would place the figures carefully – the Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, the shepherds, the animals. But the three Wise Kings… those I would place very far away, on the other side of the room. And each day, day after day, I would move them a little closer. It was my sacred responsibility, my secret Advent practice. The Magi were traveling, approaching, persevering in their search for something precious they could barely imagine.
I didn’t know then that I was practicing Dharma. I didn’t know that I was meditating on the Noble Path itself.
Now, decades later, having traveled my own path from the West toward the teachings of the East, I want to share with you a beautiful story – a legend that unites these worlds, that honors both the tradition of our childhood and the truths we have come to know.
There exists an ancient story, whispered in the monasteries of the Himalayas, carved in the margins of forgotten texts, that tells of three great Buddhist masters who once traveled westward in search of an enlightened being.
They were high-ranking Lamas – some say they were recognized tulkus, others that they were Mahāsiddhas who had achieved great realizations. They knew the arts of astronomy and the observation of auspicious signs deeply. For years, they had studied the heavens, consulted ancient prophecies, and meditated on the signs of the times.
And in their most profound meditations, in their most precise calculations, in their most lucid dreams, they received the same revelation: a being of immense spiritual realization was about to manifest in distant lands of the West. A Bodhisattva, a teacher, someone whose Buddha Nature would shine with such intensity that it would transform the world.
They didn’t know exactly where. They didn’t know exactly when. But they knew they must go. They knew they must bear witness. They knew they must offer recognition to this enlightened being, because that is the sacred duty of those who can see the true nature.
So they prepared their journey.
Each one prepared precious offerings to bring to the enlightened being:
Gold – the purest metal, which neither corrupts nor rusts – symbol of perfect generosity, of incorruptible Buddha Nature, of merit accumulated through countless lives.
Frankincense – which, when burned, transforms completely, rising as an offering – is a symbol of devotion that gives itself totally, of a practice that transforms ordinary substance into spiritual fragrance.
Myrrh – the bitter resin used for embalming, which knows death – symbol of renunciation, of the profound recognition of impermanence, of the acceptance that all that is born must die.
These three gifts were the three doors of Dharma: generosity, devotion, and renunciation.
The journey itself became their deepest practice. They crossed deserts that reflected the empty space of meditation – vast, silent, stripped of all that is superfluous. They traversed mountains that challenged their physical and mental endurance. They followed a star that shone in the darkness – as we follow the Lama’s guidance through the darkness of ignorance.
They didn’t know precisely what they would find. This is the essence of authentic faith – not blind certainty, but the deep confidence that allows us to advance toward the unknown, guided only by the most subtle signs and inner conviction.
They traveled for months. Perhaps years. Time became fluid in their walking practice. Each step was a prayer. Each night under the stars was a meditation on vastness.
Finally, the star stopped. It led them to a humble place – not a palace, not a monastery, but a simple stable where animals sought refuge from the night cold.
And there, in the straw, they found what they had been seeking: a newborn infant.
The three Lamas knelt down. Not because the baby had done anything extraordinary. Not because he had demonstrated miraculous powers. But because they could see.
Through deep training and years of contemplative practice, they had developed the eyes to recognize the Buddha Nature when they encountered it. And in this child – in his clear eyes, in the radiant presence that emanated even from that small body – they recognized what they had traveled so far to find.
This is what our teacher, Dolpopa, teaches us: Buddha Nature is not something that is created or developed. It is primordially present, complete from the beginning, radiant in its own light. The baby didn’t have to wait to become enlightened – enlightenment was already there, complete, perfect, shining.
The Lamas were simply recognizing what had always been true.
They presented their offerings – gold, frankincense, myrrh – not as gifts to a worldly king, but as formal recognition of a master. This is our lineage too: we recognize tulkus when they are children, we see the continuity of realization through lifetimes, we honor the presence of wisdom no matter what form it takes.
The mother watched them with wonder. The father, confused but respectful. And the child… the child simply was, radiant in his own nature, needing to do nothing more than exist.
The three Lamas remained in contemplation. They recited mantras of auspiciousness. They made aspirations for the benefit of all beings. And in that humble stable, surrounded by the warm breath of animals, they experienced the direct truth: the sacred manifests where it wishes, as it wishes, defying all our expectations of worldly grandeur.
The story tells that the three Lamas returned to their lands “by another route.”
This is not just geography – it is spiritual transformation. You cannot truly encounter an enlightened being and return by the same path. The path of return is necessarily different because you are different.
They had set out as seekers. They returned as witnesses.
They had set out with theories and calculations. They returned with direct experience.
They had set out asking, “Where is the enlightened being?”
They returned knowing “Buddha Nature is everywhere, waiting to be recognized.”
Some say they carried teachings back to their monasteries – stories of this Western master, predictions of how his Dharma would spread. Others say they simply remained silent, keeping what they had witnessed as a secret treasure in their hearts.
But all agree: they were transformed. The journey changed them. The recognition changed them. And that transformation flowed outward in ever-widening circles, touching all whom they met afterward.
Because this is how Dharma works – not in grand public gestures, but in silent transmissions from heart to heart, in recognition that passes from those who can see to those who are ready to see.
I share this story with you not as historical fact – perhaps it happened, maybe it didn’t – but as a beautiful truth. It’s a story that honors our cultural roots while opening doors to Dharma. It’s a story that says: “The recognition of Buddha Nature transcends borders, traditions, geographies.”
When I, as a child, moved those figurines of the Wise Kings closer to the manger each day, I was practicing something profound without knowing it. I was meditating on the spiritual journey. I was honoring perseverance. I was recognizing that encounter with the sacred requires patience, requires constant movement, requires faith in what we can barely see.
And now I ask you: Where are you in your own journey? Are you still far away, beginning to move? Or are you close, almost ready for recognition?
More importantly, can you recognize Buddha Nature when you encounter it? Not only in exalted teachers or sacred texts, but in the ordinary, in the humble, in the stable of daily life?
The three Lamas teach us that authentic wisdom is not impressed by palaces. It seeks truth wherever it shines. And when it finds it – even in a baby in the straw, even in the simplest circumstances – it kneels in recognition.
This Day of the Kings, when we celebrate this beloved tradition, let us also remember this deeper dimension. Let us remember that we are all travelers, following our own star. We all carry precious offerings – our generosity, our devotion, our renunciation. And we all seek the same recognition: the Buddha Nature that shines in every being, waiting only for us to open our eyes to see it.
May our journey continue with joy. May our recognition be clear. May our return be by a transformed path.
By the merit of sharing this beautiful story, may all beings recognize their own Buddha Nature. May everyone’s journeys reach fruition. May recognition blossom in every heart.






