When the world around us descends into chaos or when we perceive that people are no longer acting in accordance with higher principles, we fantasize about a perfect time that existed in the distant past or that may come to be in the future. Yet past and future do not lie within our immediate reach. So we aspire to go to a real place where we can leave the disarrayed world behind, along with its social and political chaos.

In the 1930s, Hollywood made a movie called Lost Horizon. Its plot concerns a British diplomat named Robert Conway who finds himself in an unexpected, mythical-like valley after a plane crash, where people live an idyllic life. He even meets a 200-year-old lama. This place became known as Shangri-La in the West and played in the collective imagination as a perfect paradise, at a time when the Western world was enmeshed in endless conflict. Shangri-La eventually became such a popular phenomena that there are hotels and neighborhoods named after it.

Many early European settlers might have held a mental image of America as the perfect land of opportunity, where one could live freely and start a new life. It would be a life that was much brighter than what they would leave behind in Europe, where they suffered from poverty, political turmoil, and religious persecution. This imagination became a powerful force bringing about historical change, which had both positive and negative aspects. This very imagination had a dark side as a catalyst for bringing a great deal of damage to the native culture as well as inflicting other forms of ugliness. It had a positive side for creating one of the most powerful and advanced nations in the history of humanity, one that is responsible for the modernization of the whole world, and has acted as a beacon of democracy and liberty; a nation that welcomed people from across the globe along with their culture and knowledge. It was an unprecedented experiment to create an advanced society of people from all over the world living as one tribe that was prosperous, powerful, and creative.

In Tibetan Buddhism, the beyul, or hidden kingdom, is an idyllic place that lies beyond the horizon of the known world—a sanctuary that cannot be easily touched by any form of social or political conflict, such as war and materialism. This is often an actual place instead of an imaginary one. From the 14th century on, the beyul became quite a popular notion among the people of the Nyingma lineage of Tibetan Buddhism. This was caused by big changes in Tibet, including interference by the Mongols that lasted for a long time. Although the Mongols became supporters of Buddhist institutions, they also brought plenty of chaos and were not particularly friendly toward certain sects. Many in the Nyingma tradition felt that the Mongols were a destructive force that would bring harm to Tibet. This was clearly shown even in early liturgies. For example, in the Vajrakilaya liturgy, revealed by the 17th-century Nyingma master Dudul Dorje, there are prayers for preventing the army of Mongols.

Some frontier regions less affected by the influence of the central power of Tibet were designated as hidden kingdoms by lamas of the Nyingma school. Pemakö is one such kingdom due to its geographical distance from mainstream Tibetan society, where religion and political structures were often intertwined. Many Nyingma masters perhaps felt that the frontier places were where they could teach the Dharma and not be bothered by the politics of those days. These hidden places were often picturesque with relatively warmer weather than the rest of the Tibetan Plateau. At the same time, passage to those places might have been quite difficult for many Tibetans, as there were a variety of challenges, including indigenous people who were not keen to welcome outsiders.

The great 14th-century Dzogchen master Longchenpa wrote a poem about his longing to retreat from mainstream Tibetan society and to journey into a beyul. He poured out a litany of grievances about the society around him. Longchenpa’s words might resonate with us today more than ever. These days, many people feel disillusioned with the way things are going. There are numerous factors for such societal malaise. Today, it would be exceedingly hard to find a place where we can escape from the rest of world. Indeed, it might be wise not to indulge in such wanderlust ideas that will remain pure fantasy.

Some might propose that the notion of a hidden kingdom is archaic and devoid any applicable value. It’s easy to be lured by such proposals in an age of rampant rejectionism where everything is subject to dismissal if it doesn’t fit into the dogma of the religion called pragmatism. This trend can be dangerous if we don’t resist it. It can lead us to “throw the baby out with the bath water,” to use a well-worn idiom.

So, instead of tossing away the idea of a “hidden kingdom” completely, we should interpret it as a state of mind where inner peace and insight lie. Each of us has the capacity to enter such a realm, here and now, while remaining in this wild world. The way to it is called Dzogchen meditation. Personally, I feel that the teachings of Dzogchen masters such as Dudjom Lingpa and Choje Jigme Phuntsok are timely and have the potency to show us the way to discover the hidden kingdom in our own consciousness. This is a good time for us to study and practice their precious teachings and reach the hidden kingdom.

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