Spanish boy leaves monastery after years as a Buddhist monk to seek freedom
As a child, I could not clearly remember speaking to a crowd. However, at 6 years old, I spoke to them solemnly, making every word feel wise. When I looked up, the audience seemed like an ocean of faces, looking at me with curiosity and reverence. Every day, for 40 minutes, I became a mirage for those who traveled far, seeing me as a presence they believed held magic or answers.
- 1 day ago
November 17, 2024
Osel Hita Torres, recognized as a reincarnated lama and taken into monastic life at 18 months old, broke from his role at 18. | Photo courtesy of Osel Hita Torres
MADRID, Spain — From an early age, people discovered a distinct and calm spirituality in me. My parents, Maria and Paco, nurtured this special quality. As natural seekers and free spirits, they explored alternative paths, seeking meaning beyond conventional boundaries. Their journey led them to Tibetan Buddhism, where they embraced Lama Yeshe’s teachings, feeling a profound connection to his wisdom.
After Lama Yeshe passed away, his closest disciple, Lama Zopa, visited us in Ibiza [a Spanish island in the Mediterranean Sea]. During the visit, he watched me closely as I played, seeming to read my spirit. In every small act, he searched for a trace of Lama Yeshe’s essence in me. This encounter led him and other lamas to believe I might be a chosen one. After months, they organized a ceremony in India to explore if I could be one of them.
[Lama Thubten Yeshe was born in Tibet in 1935. At 6 years old, he entered Sera Monastic University in Tibet, where he studied until 1959. In exile in India, Lama Yeshe and Lama Thubten Zopa Rinpoche, as teachers and disciples, met their first Western students in 1967. By 1971, they had settled in Kopan, a small village near Kathmandu in Nepal. In 1974, the Lamas began touring and teaching in the West, which eventually led to the establishment of the Foundation for the Preservation of the Mahayana Tradition. Lama Yeshe passed away in 1984.]
Destined for monastic life: a journey from childhood serenity to Tulku
I could not remember my first year and a half of life; I learned about it from my parents’ stories. At first, I found those stories challenging to understand. Eventually, I pieced together a picture, almost like watching a hazy movie filled with powerful emotions.
Living simply and in harmony with nature, my parents shed their attachment to material things and modeled a life with purpose and peace. Lama Yeshe, a charismatic and open-minded Buddhist master, taught Westerners about peace and wisdom, deeply inspiring many, including my parents. To them, Lama Yeshe was not just a spiritual guide but a path to something far greater than the conventions of their culture.
From the beginning, my parents sensed something unusual in me. My calmness had a serene quality. They described a quiet, solemn ceremony where they placed a series of objects once belonging to Lama Yeshe on a table. The worn beads of a rosary, a meditation bowl, and other humble items lay before me. As I reached out to touch them, something in me seemed to recognize them instinctively.
My parents often say this moment felt miraculous as if something ancient within me briefly surfaced. In that instant, my mother realized my life would not follow an ordinary path. I became a tulku [a person considered to be a reincarnation of a Buddhist master]. From then on, I received a monastic education and prepared for a spiritual role.
My parents accepted the destiny attributed to me and placed their trust in my journey to find purpose in Tibet. Though the separation pained them, my parents firmly believed in the path they chose for me. They felt confident in their decision, rooted in their devotion to their teacher and belief in karma. Sending me to the Buddhist community, they viewed it as both a sacrifice and a liberation. In their eyes, the universe set this mission for me. From that day, our lives diverged. They visited occasionally, but our meetings remained brief. As a result, my life took a different path.
Amid the monastic routine, the garden grants freedom and connection
In the monastery, daily life followed a steady rhythm of prayer, study, and silence. Rituals, sounds, and scents shaped life before me like an endless landscape. Each morning began before dawn, with mantras softly filling the cold stone walls. Even half-asleep, I felt the vibrations of those deep voices moving through the air like water. Somewhere, the gong echoed, its sound vibrating through the air and calling us to join the senior monks, wrapped in our robes. In that moment, we united in breath and rhythm.
Silence permeated almost everything. As I walked through the stone corridors lined with murals of Buddhas and bodhisattvas [the enlightened beings who have put off entering paradise to help others attain enlightenment], I felt small yet connected to something vast. Often, I looked out the window at the distant mountains, which stood eternal and silent beneath an immense sky. The view, with the cold wind on my face, sparked freedom and curiosity about the world beyond.
During rare moments of rest, I escaped to the back garden, seeking a quiet retreat from the monastery’s disciplined routine. Though it was not officially ours, I always found a way to escape there. As soon as my hands touched the soil, freedom stirred within me. I dug my fingers into the damp earth, feeling roots tingle and the ground’s coolness, alive with its energy. The garden carried the smell of fresh soil, and dew dotted the leaves and flowers. In these soothing moments, I let go of the weight of my role, allowing myself to simply be.
Unlike the solemn prayer halls, where elder monks and visiting guests always seemed to watch over me, the garden offered a space of solitude. Nature’s soft sounds enveloped me like a melody meant just for me. The sun, warm on my shoulders, felt closer and more comforting than any human gaze. In the garden, I cherished my childhood as I joyfully dug into the earth. After every visit to the garden, I washed my hands, yet the soil clung to them.
In the monastery, man lives each day in ritual and meditation
As a child, I lived in a world where each day felt like a ritual. Each step taught me a lesson and led me to discover something beyond my understanding as a tulku, or a reincarnation. The morning unfolded with classes on Buddhist philosophy, where I listened closely to the teachings. Mid-morning brought a short break for a simple, silent meal including a bowl of rice or vegetables. Afterward, I spent the entire day immersed in the rituals, studies, and ceremonial practices.
As I grew older, I extended and deepened my meditation practice in the afternoon. Sometimes, I let my thoughts drift to the mountains visible from the window, but I worked hard to stay present and focused. Measuring each moment, I weaved every breath and movement into a sacred routine.
Over time, the monastery became both my home and sanctuary. Gradually, I learned to read and speak before others. I welcomed the reverence from monks and visitors, who viewed me as special. Occasionally, monks brought me before followers, each hoping for a word, blessing, or comfort I was not sure I could give.
As a child Tulku, man became a silent presence of wisdom for those seeking answers
As a child, I could not clearly remember speaking to a crowd. However, at 6 years old, I spoke to them solemnly, making every word feel wise. When I looked up, the audience seemed like an ocean of faces, looking at me with curiosity and reverence. Every day, for 40 minutes, I became a mirage for those who traveled far, seeing me as a presence they believed held magic or answers. Seated in the great hall beneath intricately carved wooden ceilings, I faced them, wrapped in my robe.
I remember one woman, her face deeply lined with age. She approached me with trembling hands, holding a faded photograph of her son above her head. As she placed the photo before me without speaking, her eyes filled with a silent plea. Although I was just a child, I smiled gently and bowed my head to show respect. I felt the heavy weight of her grief as she started crying softly, her tears falling onto her hands.
Another day, a young man dressed in Western clothing approached, his curiosity mixed with skepticism, clearly not sharing the devotion of the others. He crouched before me and softly spoke about his life. Discussing his doubts, he shared how he started questioning everything. He did not expect anything from me; it felt as if he needed a judgment-free space to unburden himself. Quietly, I listened, allowing him to hear his own words and perhaps find his answer within them. After he finished, he sighed deeply and walked away. As he left, I felt a sense of mutual understanding, as if we shared an unspoken bond.
Burdened by expectations, man seeks freedom amidst the sorrows of others
I vividly remember a boy, a little younger than me, who visited me with shyness and reverence. He shared his worry about his sick brother at home and asked if I could help. As I listened to his story, a genuine, childish impulse to do something stirred within me. Unsure of how to help, I handed him one of my rosary beads, hoping it would serve as a charm or symbol of good fortune. His eyes brightened as he clutched the bead tightly and walked away. That night, I thought of him and imagined how my small gesture impacted him. However, deep down, I knew he simply found something he desperately required.
Over time, the daily ritual of listening to people burdened me. At first, I felt curious and responsible as I watched each person open up, seeking comfort or answers I could not provide. But soon, I noticed the pressure in their gazes and the weight of their expectations. They approached me with their problems, longings, and sorrows. They expected me, a child still learning about life, to offer something to soothe their spirits. Every word, gesture, and smile carried a sacred or hidden meaning.
As I felt more torn, one part of me wanted to help, while another part longed to escape and break free from a role I did not choose. Slowly, my voice faded as I listened to them daily. The pressure to embody a role, imposed on me like an unshakeable mantle, drowned my voice. Even as I tried to accept my place within the monastery, a quiet curiosity about the outside world grew deeper.
Music becomes his refuge as man leaves the monastery for a new life in Spain
When I turned 13, the desire for freedom overwhelmed me entirely. Quietly, I negotiated ways to bring a few objects into my life, connecting me to the world beyond the monastery walls. With the help of a close friend, I acquired a guitar, a punching bag, and a computer. Every item turned into an act of rebellion, symbolizing my desire to connect with a more grounded, tangible reality. However, I kept these possessions hidden.
If the other monks discovered them, they might view them as a breach of monastery rules. As I held the guitar, excitement and trepidation filled me. Every note I played reverberated within me, releasing energy built up over the years. The melodies connected me to something beyond the monastery—a world brimming with new sensations and emotions. Ultimately, music served as my refuge, providing an escape from the regimented life of the monastery.
At 16, I discovered a few music CDs as an entirely new world opened up to me. Listening to those songs, I experienced a freedom I never felt before. They connected me to the outside world, transporting me to new places and emotions. Each melody stirred something inside me, introducing me to feelings I never encountered in the monastery.
Through music, I peered into a vibrant world, far removed from the routine discipline and silence I had always known. Each note and lyric strengthened my curiosity about this other life, the one I only imagined. Music cracked the walls around me, pulling me out of the silence and into a new realm. Eventually, I asked to leave and returned to Spain to study at an institute, eager to explore the world waiting beyond.
Struggling to fit in, man faces mockery and isolation at school
When I returned to Spain, my first assignment took me to a high school in the West, where I lived with other teenagers for three months. As I interacted with people my age for the first time, I felt out of place. My classmates laughed, talked constantly, and moved with a freedom I could not understand. Among them, they saw me as a mystery due to my Tibetan name and unusual background.
From the moment I arrived, I knew adjusting would be challenging. The world I entered was vastly different from the quiet halls of the monastery. Despite my efforts to blend in, every step I took seemed to amplify my differences. My peers often looked at me with a blend of curiosity and contempt. Laughter, whispers, and subtle gestures of disdain quickly became part of my daily life.
During physical education class, a particularly challenging moment unfolded. Growing up with the temple’s solitary discipline, I was unprepared for the fierce competition of team sports. One afternoon, I attempted a simple move with the ball, but I tripped and fell, causing the room to erupt in laughter. My classmates surrounded me, mocking my clumsiness. They imitated my movements and laughing openly. I stood frozen for a few moments, stunned, as I tried to understand the reason behind their behavior.
Another incident occurred in the cafeteria. As I sat quietly, lost in thought, a group approached me, bombarding me with questions as if I were a sideshow. “Where are you from, monk? Do you have superpowers? What are you doing here if you’re some kind of guru?” I answered calmly, but they mocked me again, imitating my accent.
One of them grabbed my food tray, smirking, and dumped it onto the table. The others laughed as I stared at my ruined meal. Right then, all my efforts to fit in felt utterly pointless. During a field trip, a distressing incident escalated my discomfort. We stopped in a meadow to rest when one of my classmates turned to me, laughing. “Hey, can you levitate stones or something? Did they teach you to talk to animals?” The mocking words stung, intensifying my isolation in this unfamiliar world.
Mockery turns to acceptance as man finds true friendship
Despite the rude behavior, I wanted to join in my surroundings. The pressure overwhelmed me. I tried to answer calmly, but each word sparked more laughter. Eventually, I stepped away from the group and pretended to search through my backpack, but I was searching for acceptance. Another painful moment emerged when I brought a Tibetan book to school.
One of my classmates spotted the book, grabbed it from my hands, and began flipping through its pages. He mocked the contents with an exaggerated, reverent tone, blurting out random words. The others laughed as he held the book, treating it like a bizarre relic. When I tried to take it back, they laughed even harder, passing it around and turning something I cherished into a joke. I felt exposed as if they were trivializing my memories and former life in a way I never experienced.
Continuously, I felt my classmates’ eyes on me, their laughter echoing around me. Sometimes, a wave of heat would rise to my face, causing me to blush with embarrassment. Then, slowly, things began to change. At a school party I reluctantly attended, I tried joining a group of boys dancing. One of them looked at me and asked, “Do you know how to dance, or do you just meditate?” The others laughed as one of them struck a mock meditation pose, closing his eyes. I tried to brush it off, but it stung. Nevertheless, a girl in the group noticed my discomfort and passed a kind smile.
In another instance, during a literature class, the teacher asked me to share something about my life in the monastery, marking a turning point. The teacher’s genuine interest surprised me as I shared a simple story about our meditations, hoping to show a glimpse of myself. After I finished, the class fell silent while a few classmates approached me with sincere questions. For the first time, I felt someone genuinely wanted to listen to my story.
From then on, some classmates began to see me in a new light. I was no longer just “the monk” or “the weird kid,” but instead someone with a story who faced challenges and experienced growth like anyone else. Every time I spoke and saw their genuine interest. The armor I built around myself softened a little. Gradually, I formed my first real friendships. These friends showed me I could be myself and did not need to fit into a specific role. Each interaction drew me closer to a world that once seemed unreachable, captivating me with its complexity.
Man embraces freedom, love, and cinema
When I turned 18, I decided to explore life beyond the temple, so I moved to Ibiza to join my mother and siblings. There, I discovered what normal family life felt like, filled with small responsibilities and a new freedom. Living in an ordinary house, running errands, and slowly adapting to the rhythms of everyday life, I tried adjusting to this unfamiliar world. I vividly remember my first visit to a nude beach; it left me stunned. People moved freely, embodying uninhibited freedom I never felt before.
Similarly, my first trip to a nightclub felt exciting. The pulsing music, flashing lights, and people dancing created an overwhelming display of life. I felt out of place, yet a part of me longed to join the energy. Then came my first kiss, which completely disarmed me. As my partner and I took a break from our walk, time blurred. My heart raced, and everything went silent. The kiss stirred powerful questions about the path I followed until then. The moment liberated me, pushing me toward discovering my own identity.
Over time, I discovered a deep love for music and film. Both offered me fresh ways to express myself and connect with others. Studying film felt like stepping into another universe. Naturally, I chose to pursue cinema. Its unique ability to reveal the world from different perspectives resonated deeply with me. Eventually, I immersed myself in documentaries and joined a master’s program to tell stories with authenticity. Spending those intense years learning with a camera, I explored new ideas and techniques.
Man’s journey to parenthood transforms his relationship with family
At the monastery, my parents appeared sporadically, playing the role of characters in my movie. Their visits, filled with affection, well-wishes, and smiles, always carried a sense of formality. The love existed, but it felt more abstract than the bond other boys shared with their parents. Their hugs, though warm, remained somewhat distant, as if they were strangers in my life.
Everything shifted when I became a father. The thought of bringing a new life into the world filled me with joy and awe. I even enrolled in a childbirth course to be fully present for every moment during birth. With each lesson, I envisioned myself holding my son, guiding him into the world with my hands. Parenthood demanded more from me than I ever gave before; it required total surrender and dedication.
As I practiced the techniques, I grew more connected to the experience. I learned breathing techniques, positions, and, most importantly, how to create a safe and loving environment for my child’s arrival. Picturing the moment of his birth, I imagined holding him in my arms for the first time. I stayed by my partner and supported her through labor, making the moment intimate and powerful.
Welcoming my son into the world became one of the most meaningful decisions of my life. When I finally held our son, everything else faded away. As I felt the warmth and softness of his breath, life gained new meaning. All my past, upbringing, doubts, and fears melted away, leaving only one certainty: I was where I was meant to be. Watching my parents embrace their new roles as grandparents, with such emotion and devotion, revealed a side of them I was unaware of.
A new chapter of peace and purpose beyond traditional beliefs
Today, my life is on a completely different path. Although I left the monastery behind, spirituality still lives within me. I immersed myself in a forestry project that connects, nurtures, and gives back to the earth. Nature became my sanctuary, and my son is the truest reflection of my soul.
Through this project, I discovered the peace I yearned for and a purpose beyond any dogma or prescribed role. At 18, I left the monastic life and renounced my vows. I left behind the beliefs that once defined me, but I carried their love and values, shaping my worldview. Now, I no longer follow any specific religion.
Instead, I stay open to all paths, cherishing the simple act of warming my heart and offering my best self to those around me. My teachers taught me patience, empathy, and humility in their purest forms. These values inspire and guide my life today more than any dogma.
