There's not a whole lot to see in the boxy, two-story building at the corner of 11th and Market in Portland's Central Eastside Industrial Area. The structure was an auto repair shop and a warehouse before Sierra Construction came in five years ago, gutted the building and made professional offices out of it. Fresh paint, new doors and some side rooms were added to the floor plan. There's now a wooden banister around the wide stairwell that leads up to the second floor, where Sierra makes its Portland offices.

One afternoon this winter, Lama Zopa Rinpoche, clad in a sleeveless maroon tunic and with four students in tow, came striding up the staircase and subtly transformed the place. The U.S.-based foundation of Lama Zopa's Buddhist followers had made an offer on the building and, as the Lama arrived, his dark, intense eyes searched the walls and beams. He wasn't looking for dry rot. He peered deep into the building's eaves and inhabitants to see if it had the right karma.

"He was checking the invisible connections," says Massimo Corona, the lay director of the Foundation for the Preservation of the Mahayana Tradition. "We believe that the world we see is not the only thing. There's an infinite, invisible world beyond."

Rick Magistrale, Sierra's Portland principal, emerged to greet the Lama. He followed the Lama's cue, bowing and placing his hands together in prayerful pose. The Lama grasped them with his own.

"It was a cold day and he was walking around outside with his shoulders exposed," Magistrale says. "But his hands were the warmest I've ever felt in my life."

Magistrale is a sturdy Catholic of Italian descent with thick arms and eyebrows. He's been a Navy SEAL and a Eucharistic minister (he's also the husband of an Oregon Business account manager). Magistrale says he's guided by some Old Testament dogma. "I'm an eye-for-an-eye guy," he explains.

But Magistrale tempers his beliefs with a fair helping of openness. "I respect anybody who's committed to religion," he says, noting that several years ago he knelt and prayed with Buddhists at the dedication of a new Thai restaurant in Clackamas, a construction project he oversaw.

Lama Zopa, a Nepali from the Mount Everest region, and his mentor Lama Yeshe, started their foundation in 1976 to teach Buddhism to Westerners. Corona, a Buddist Italian, runs the foundation's administrative arm and late last year he was looking to move the headquarters out of Taos, N.M. He liked Portland's open-mindedness, its growing Buddhist community and its proximity to the foundation's teaching centers and retreats in Northern California and Eastern Washington. Corona eventually found Magistrale's building through a Portland broker who is also a Buddhist. But before the foundation made an offer in Oregon, Lama Zopa had to conduct a divination on the building.

The Lama — a squat 59-year-old with thin arms poking out of his tunic and buzzed grey hair — began by sitting in meditation for some 20 minutes. Then he reached into a box and pulled out a pair of blessed dice. Over and over, he rolled the dice, noting the combinations. The significance of the combinations has been followed through the ages and written down. Lama Zopa knows them in his head. After a while, it became clear: The Sierra building had the right vibes.

The divination complete, the Lama then swooped into Southeast Portland for a decisive personal visit.

He toured each room and passageway in the building. Palms open, he hummed to himself. In the office of a manager Magistrale had previously fired, Zopa's disposition sank. He grew quiet and slowly backed out of the room.

The Lama and his followers floated into Magistrale's office. Here, Lama Zopa grew excited, opening up his palms to the walls and moving quickly around the room. His round face broke into a broad smile. "Whose office is this?" he asked. "It's mine," Magistrale replied.

Down the stairs they went, to a Web design firm and a promotional film company that fill the first floor. Lama Zopa walked up to a pug that one of the employees was holding, cupped his hands around the dog's ears and broke into a chirping chant. The pug barked and flashed with energy. Magistrale was both stunned and hooked by the Lama: "There was this reverence, but I also felt like I could belly up to a bar with him."

Lama Zopa and crew finished their tour and went outside. And standing on the sidewalk of Southeast 11th Avenue, he reached into a satchel one of his assistants was holding and produced a bracelet of 21 clear glass beads. He handed the bracelet to Magistrale. Then, the Lama clasped Magistrale's hands and chanted a mantra, repeating it for a couple of minutes.

When the chanting finished, a wave of contentment swept over Magistrale. "I don't know if it was psychosomatic or what," he says.

A month later, Corona arrived to buy the building for some $1.5 million. He is shooting to move the group in by the end of September. Before then, Sierra will seismically retrofit the building and convert some of the space on the ground floor into large teaching rooms. It will be a major undertaking — a $300,000 project in all. Meanwhile, Magistrale and the other tenants must find new homes. He's already decided that Sierra will move across the street into a building that's just come open.

Looking ahead and pulling gently on his beaded rosary from the Lama, Magistrale isn't too worried about what's to come.

"I have a sense of peace about the journey," he says.

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Copyright 2005 Oregon Business magazine