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Venerable Chögyam Mukpo,

the XIth Trungpa Rimpoche



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The Trungpa Tulku was born in Ge-je, near the celebrated mountain of Pa-go Punsum, in eastern Tibet, in 1939. He was born in a cattle manger. Soon after his birth a Lama from Tashi Lhaphug Monastery came to Ge-je to give some public lectures. He saw the child amongst the crowd and recognized him as a special incarnation. This was the first indication that the boy was in some way unique.

A little while later His Holiness the XVIth Karmapa was visiting Pepung Monastery in Kham, when at the insistence of Jamgon Khontrul Rimpoche of Sechen he had a meditative vision showing him the rebirth of the Trungpa Tulku. He said that the child had been born in a village five miles north of Surmang Monastery. The name of the village was composed of two syllables 'Ge' and 'Je,' and that if Khontrul Rimpoche went there he would find a family with two children, of whom the son was the reincarnation. "The door of the dwelling," announced His Holiness, "faces to the south. The family owns a big red dog. The father is called Yeshe and the mother Chyung and Tso." Hearing this, a party of monks set off from Surmang immediately.

In a peasant's tent, in the village of Geje, they did indeed find a family which matched the Karmapa's vision. The entrance of the tent in which they lived faced to the south. They had a big red dog. There was a boy and a sister, as predicted. But there was one problem — although the mother's name was Po-Chyung Tung-tso, the father's name was altogether different from that described by the Karmapa. This delayed the recognition, until it was discovered that the boy was the natural son of another man, named Yeshe Darjay. When this hidden fact was exposed, it became clear that the boy was exactly the child described by the Karmapa Lama, and he was accepted as the true Trungpa reincarnation.

Chögyam Trungpa was the spiritual head of Surmang Monastery. He was purportedly the eleventh 'reincarnation in a line of great masters and monks, beginning with a famous siddha ('adept') named Trungpa Kunga Gyaltsen.

In the latter portion of the fourteenth century there was a very famous yogi-disciple of the Karmapa Lama who was known as Trung-ma-ze Rimpoche. Trung-ma-ze was the son of a king of Menyak, in eastern Tibet, who de­serted his father's palace to become a homeless religious ascetic. He studied under the Vth Karmapa at Tsurphu and entered retreat for ten years, after which he acquired considerable fame as an enlightened master. Disciples, one of whom was Trungpa Kunga Gyaltsen, flocked to him, prepared to practice utmost austerity and voluntary hardship in the hope of receiving his precious guidance.

Trungpa Kunga Gyaltsen rapidly advanced on the spiritual path and soon began to spontaneously display miraculous powers for the benefit of others. He was therefore recognized as a great incarnation — the Tulku or 'emanation' of a previously Enlightened-being. Through clairvoyance and meditation, his teacher Trung-ma-ze Rimpoche came to the conclusion that Trungpa Kunga Gyaltsen was the reincarnation of an Indian yogi-saint known by the name Mahasiddha Dombi-Heruka, whose fame was well known to the yogis of the East.

Sri Dombi-Heruka was originally an Indian King who, according to legend, deserted his throne so as to live with an outcaste washerman's (Dombi) daughter. Historical research has shown that this king was the tenth-century king Cakravarman, who ruled in Kashmir. In the year 936 A D. King Cakravarman came to power due to the military support of a group of feudal barons called the Damari, but was to hold the throne no longer than a year. His fall came when -as in the legend of 'Dombi-Heruka'— a 'Dom' entertainer named Ranga and his two dancing daughters, Hamsi and Nagalata, appeared at court and began to win his favour. Enchanted by the Dom-girl's feminine charms, he elevated them to the status of royal consorts, while their 'outcaste' relatives rose to high positions in the government. The result was a revolt by his earlier supporters, the Damari, and an attempt upon his life. He fled the court with his wives, entered the forest, and then with time became a spiritual seeker — a Yogi.

Dombi-Heruka is remembered in Buddhist literature as a miracle-working Mahasiddha, a Great Adept who rode about mounted on the back of a wild Bengal tigress, with cobras wrapped round his body. The tigress was said, by the village folk, to have been Nagalata. Hamsi, the older sister, is portrayed in legend as seated beside him, on the tigress' back.

Whatever the legend, the fact is that Sri Dombi-Heruka was a very great Yogi; a man who lived in Kashmir and the Himalayan regions during the tenth century AD. He was a noted exponent of the Sri Hevajratantra, the root tantra of the Vajrakapalika spiritual tradition.

Once that the Trungpa child, the 'incarnation of Dombi-Heruka,' was recognized, preparations were made for his 'enthronement' at the Monastery. The full story of his early life and education is well recounted in his autobiographical account Born In Tibet, now published by Shambhala (Boston & London 1995).

In brief, the Trungpa Tulku was groomed to become the head of the whole Surmang complex of monasteries and meditative retreat centers, firmly rooted in the great Kargyu Lineage of the yogis Tilopa, Naropa, Marpa, Milarepa, and the succeeding monks Gampopa and Karmapa. Surprisingly, although the Trungpa Tulku was a Kargyu Lineage representative throughout his life, his father-like guru, Jamyang Khontrul Rimpoche of Sechen Monastery, was in fact a member of the Nyingma school. It was through Jamyang Khontrul Rimpoche that Trungpa received all the great teachings of the Mahasamdhi-yogacara tradition, which in later life continued to have an exceptional impact on his spiritual development.1 Thus Trungpa Rimpoche became an expert in both the Mahamudra and the Mahasamdhi meditative traditions.

Trungpa Rimpoche would have remained molded in the established feudal and ritualistic framework of Tibetan Buddhism, but for the total disruption of his formal education at the age of 19 due to the Chinese Communist invasion of his homeland. Like so many other young Lamas he had to flee south into India, where he came under the care of a 'young lama's orphanage' run by a Mrs. Bedi, now deceased.

For Trungpa Tulku the loss of Tibet also meant the loss of his root guru, Khontrul Rimpoche of Sechen. Chogyam Trungpa's love for his guru held an absolutely central position in his life.

It was Trungpa Tulku's love for his guru that carried him through all the years of extreme hardship and loneliness which were to follow him for the rest of his life. Years later, in a time of inconceivable loneliness as a monk in England, Trungpa Rimpoche would write of his longing for his father-guru, in a poem some lines of which ran on as follows:

Who is lost?

And who has lost?

In any case, never discovered;

But there remains complete devotion......

Completely intoxicated by you,

This longing for Padma Tri-me.

There is nothing to conceal,

Yet hardly anything to expose

For my faith and devotion is beyond word or melody.

A kind that no one would be able to hear or understand.2

The Trungpa Tulku was selected along with a number of other young refugee-lamas to receive an English diplomatic training at Oxford. At that time various agencies were closely concerned with assisting certain Tibetans to become future leaders for the Tibetan people in exile, and funds were made available for their education.

It was while receiving his education at Oxford that Chogyam Trungpa dictated his autobiography, Born in Tibet, to Esme Cramer Roberts. While this book was in production, Venerable George Dawson the Namgyal Rimpoche took the young Trungpa Tulku and certain other refugee Tibetans under his wing, offering to assist them in founding the first (outside of Russia) Tibetan Monastery in the Western world. This they did by converting the Namgyal Rimpoche's establishment, Johnstone House Contemplative Community, into a Tibetan centre. Chogyam Trungpa named the new establishment 'Samye-Ling' in commemoration of the first Buddhist Temple constructed in Tibet, which bore the same name. This new establishment, formerly an old hunting lodge on the moors of Scotland, has since expanded into a full scale Tibetan-style monastic building and is now quite famous under the name of Kargyu Samye Ling. The present head of the establishment is a boyhood friend of the Trungpa Tulku, Cho-je Akong Rimpoche.

Impeccably dressed in his formal robes, Trungpa Tulku was a very traditional Buddhist monk at that time, and played the part of 'abbot' of the new monastery with considerable care and decorum. Yet he was being forced by circumstance to live a life that was incredibly isolated, lonely and foreign. He was a stranger in an utterly strange land, a 'displaced person' without friends or familiar surroundings. His English following, largely imbued with Theosophy, in those first years of the 'Tibetan Diaspora,' really expected him to be a fully 'all-wise' Master and to com­pletely live up to their image of an occult 'sage' from the East. The expectations placed on him were far more than that of being a simple Tibetan 'abbot.' People thought he could read their minds. They placed the entire responsibility for their lives into his hands.

At Samye Ling he was put under immense pressure to be far more than simply a Buddhist monk or even an abbot — he was literally viewed as something like an all-knowing 'god.' This was far more than a human being is meant to live up to, and it was very hard for Trungpa to fulfill the expectation of his Western followers.

Lama Kunzang recalls how, one day, an elderly woman with obvious neurotic tendencies, began reading to Trungpa Tulku from a theosophical pamphlet. In effect, she was preaching to him, although he was supposed to be her teacher! In a moment of cool rage, Trungpa took the pamphlet from her hands, and tore it up in front of her. Her poor face was frozen in shock, and I think she quickly fled from Samye Ling, never to return. But no one could blame Trungpa for his actions, which were absolutely appropri­ate to the situation.

The Trungpa Tulku also came under the considerable influence of other Buddhist meditation masters, to whom he was never adverse to look to for advice and guidance. Not only was his first 'great protector' the indomitable Namgyal Rimpoche, but at Samye Ling he was soon to meet Japanese Zen roshis, Thai acharns, Burmese sayadaws, and even Christian 'meditators' such as Thomas Merton. Isolation amidst a foreign people, high expectations on the part of his naive Western students, and the considerable influence of Buddhist traditions which until then had been unknown to him, all contributed to push Chogyam Trungpa towards awakening. To live up to the expected role placed on him, he needed to be enlightened. A great striving to fulfill this role was born in him.

As Zhabdrung Rimpoche says, "It is difficult when one is said to be the reincarnation of a great lama, a Tulku. People believe that you automatically know all things, that you are reborn with all the great insights and realizations of the former man. Actually this is not at all so. Such a person, myself for example, needs to learn all over anew in every lifetime." 3  So it was with Trungpa. His aim was to re-acquire full Awakening, and to do so, he set himself the shortest, most difficult path possible. In this regard, he launched himself on the course that would make him one of the greatest heroes of the spiritual life.

The Trungpa Tulku's struggle for realization culminated in an overwhelming visionary experience which he received while practicing devotion to his guru, His Holiness the XVIth Karmapa, on a trip back to India in the early 70s. He was meditating in a famous cave known as the Tiger's Nest in Bhutan, when he saw his guru in the visionary form of the magnificent, powerful Dorje Drollo, ablaze with light and glory, riding on the back of a fierce tigress.4  This vision burst the bubble of Chögyam's ego. He was never to be quite the same again.

In the West it is little appreciated to what degree a religious "vision" may approximate to self-realization. It is thought that the path of visionary experience is quite different, and possibly even adverse, to the way of awakening. Indeed, many visions about which we hear, may well fall into the category of induced hallucination or extreme imagination. But there are certain religious 'pure visions' of an entirely different character, which act as vehicles of personal insight and wisdom. There is no doubt that the vision which burst with intense brilliance on the matured consciousness of the Trunpa Tulku was illuminative and intensely transformative.

When he returned to Samye-Ling in Scotland there was a noticeable change in Trungpa Rimpoche's personality. He systematically began to shed all the formal rules and ritual of his abbotship and of his Tibetan culture. Where previously he had always come down for the regular sessions of morning and evening 'prayers' that made up part of the daily routine of the monastery, now he remained conspicuously absent. In fact, henceforth he entirely put aside the 'chanting of prayers' that nominally occupies most of a Tibetan's 'spiritual practice.' In its place he started to teach silent 'mindfulness' meditation. Instead of encouraging Tibetan ritual practice, he began to focus on Mahamudra, the view of absolute Presence, to the exclusion of all else. He even scorned many traditional religious articles with which he had previously been strongly attached, like the rosary used for counting mantras, or the elaborate shrines which he had previously encouraged his 'novices' to erect in honour of Tibetan deities. He started to refer to his Buddhism as 'non-theistic.' He spoke of his earlier role in Tibetan Buddhism as a form of 'spiritual materialism,' which he had to renounce.

Lama Kunzang recalls well how previously everything seemed very magical when students chanted in Tibetan. Chanting was converted to English, and it suddenly seemed to those attending that much of the exotic element was lost. Now, what was chanted differed little from Christian prayer, full of devout sentiments to do with mutual love, compassion and devotion. Most students being at that time rather immature, there were those at Samye-Ling at that time who entered into Tibetan Buddhism in part because of its exotic, occult and seemingly mysterious nature. So many were quite disappointed. But this was exactly what Trungpa Rimpoche wanted. Knowing too well how "Buddhism" had become an oriental fantasy and a retreat from the real, he dashed the illusions and deliberately did all in his power to bring students down to earth.

Chogyam Trungpa Rimpoche cast off all the externals of his religious upbringing in favour of a naked confrontation with reality. Trungpa decided to stop teaching the way he had been, because he found that people used the teachings of egolessness to, ironically, solidify their egos.

Initially, as he moved away from the strictures of his previous monkhood towards a more open view of life, these transitions and departures from his earlier mode of life remained virtually imperceptible, both to himself and to those who knew him. But as the disparity between 'wearing the robes' and what he was actually exploring became impossible to ignore, he started to realize that he would have to also shed any last vestiges of his old role. He may well have been hesitating on this very point, when a serious accident occurred which radically changed his life for ever.

While driving in Scotland with a young Welsh girl he had a stroke and crashed. It is uncertain to this day whether the crash resulted in him having the stroke, or whether it was the stroke which resulted in the crash. Chogyam Trungpa said that all he could remember was that he blanked out. He was removed to hospital and the doctors gave dire warnings about the possibility of brain damage or permanent paralysis. Fortunately after the recovery there was no sign of brain damage. Unfortunately, when he came out of hospital, he was definitely paralyzed and unable to walk.

    Reduced to being wheeled about in a chair, Trungpa Rimpoche began to work on himself to overcome his paralysis. He visibly began to heal. Little by little he resurrected the lifeless nerves of his shattered body. Entirely on his own, without any form of physio-therapy, he learned to walk again, first on crutches, then with a cane, and eventually freely. He likewise learned to free the left side of his face so that he could again talk and give teachings. But he never once put on his abbot's robes again.

Chogyam Trungpa said that when he awoke in hospital he found himself, not (as some might imagine) in a state of depression, but in a state of overwhelming love. He experienced this intense love as a veritable divine ambrosia coursing through every fibre of his being. It soon became evident that he had undergone a wonderful change, like that of a butterfly emerging out of its chrysalis. He began to talk about love, and the cen­tral importance of love, as the very essence of the Buddhist way. He uplifted our lives with a new, splendorous view of 'love' as the very energy of creation itself.

However Trungpa Tulku's transformation from that of a formal 'traditional abbot' to a loving 'crazy yogi' caused considerable consternation amongst the board of directors of Samye Ling. Trungpa had emerged a full-blown Siddha. He was too controversial and everyone dropped him like a hot potato. He was forced out of Samye Ling and found himself without means of support.

Once more it was Namgyal Rimpoche who stepped in and gave assistance. The Canadian diplomat Mr. George also helped, receiving Trungpa Rimpoche at his house in Canada. From Canada the Trungpa Tulku migrated to the United States, where he gradually acquired a large following and immense popularity.

The venerable Trungpa Tulku has been one of the most significant figures in the introduction of Tibetan Buddhism to the West. He has had — and will continue to have — the greatest impact, because he more than any other Tibetan was aware of the need to mold the Dharma into Western culture, rather than try to turn Westerners into Tibetans.

Unfortunately from the time of his accident in Scotland his health was never quite the same again. He died in 1987 at the age of 47, but he left behind a lasting legacy in the form of some wonderful teachings, and a nation-wide organization to continue his work.

Prior to his death, he stated that his one wish was to be reborn in Japan; that he would like to grow up, and become a Japanese scientist in his next life. It has been reported that Kyabje Dilgo Kyentse predicted that the Trungpa Tulku would take five incarnations. His incarnation has been found in Tibet and is installed in Surmang Monastery.

"Birth and death are expressions of life," Trungpa Tulku wrote in a statement unsealed after his death. "I have fulfilled my work and conducted my duties as much as the situation allowed, and now I have passed away quite happily.... On the whole, discipline and meditation practice are essential, whether I am there or not."

    Trungpa Rimpoche in general, throughout his life, lived fully, without hesitation or inhibition, in the style of an enlightened yogi and Mahasiddha. His accomplishments in planting Vajrayana and Shambhala Dharma in the West were enormous. These include not only complete teachings on these lineages in English, but also founding of organizations (Vajradhatu/Shambhala International), retreat centers (Karme Choling in Vermont; Rocky Mountain Dharma Center - now Shambhala Mountain Center - in Colorado; Gampo Abbey in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia; etc.), a Buddhist-inspired university (Naropa Institute in Boulder, Colorado), and bringing many thousands of American, European and other students to the Dharma.

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 1 A number of Trungpa's personal books encapsulating the Mahasamdhi teachings which he received from Jamyang Khontrul Rimpoche was graciously given to Lama Kunzang for safe-keeping. Trungpa Rimpoche continued his studies in the Mahasamdhi-yogacara tradition under the guidance of Dilgo Khyentse Rimpoche. Rimpoche possessed a phenomenal understanding of the Mahasamdhi ("Absolute Totality") View.

  2 The full poem may be found in Mudra, by Chogyam Trungpa, published by Shambhala 1987. Padma Tri-me is the personal name of Jamyang Khontrul Rimpoche of Sechen.

  3 Quoted from The Yogis of Ladakh, page 250, by James Low and John Cook (Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi 1997).

  4  Dorje Drollo is an aspect of Saint Padmasambhava embodying the form of Sri Vajrakilaya. This image is closely related to that of Dombi-Heruka riding on the back of the tigress. The three icono­graphical images, Dorje Drollo, Vajrakilaya and Dombipa, came together for Trungpa in a single vision of the Karmapa Lama, which he integrated within himself and which became a transformative vision for him; a unitive vision out of the Kagyu & Nyingma lineages - Mahamudra and Maha Ati. This realization coalesces the manifestations of the Karmapa (e.g. Karme Pakshi & Mikyo Dorje), and of Padmasambhava (e.g. Dorje Drollo).

 
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A Spiritual Leader's Farewell

by Gregory Jaynes, Time, 6/22/87



"The night of my conception," wrote Chogyam Trungpa, who would be cremated in a Vermont mountain meadow before a sizable audience in the spring of this year, "my mother had a very significant dream that a being had entered her body with a flash of light; that year flowers bloomed in the neighborhood although it was still winter."

In his autobiography, Born in Tibet, Trungpa went on to say he was delivered in a cattle byre in February 1939, and that on that day a rainbow was seen and a water pail was found unaccountably full of milk. When he died in Halifax, Nova Scotia, last April 4, leaving eleven published books, five sons and a widow, Trungpa, who was called Rinpoche (a Tibetan honorific meaning precious one) by thousands of his Buddhist students, a remarkable odyssey came to a close — at least in this life. The journey actually began months before Rinpoche's birth, when a holy man died. "The monks of Surmang were feeling lost without their abbot." Rinpoche wrote, "And were eager that his reincarnation should be found without delay." After a vision and a sign or two, the Rinpoche baby was found and rather swiftly proclaimed the chosen one. The peasant infant became the spiritual boy king.

It was a quiet life until 1959, when Rinpoche, like the Dalai Lama, fled the country in the face of Chinese takeover. Rinpoche spent two years in India, then four in England at Oxford University, then moved on to Scotland to found a meditation center. In 1969, he relinquished his monastic vows. The next year he married a 16-year-old English woman, Diana Judith Pybus. The nuptial move drew criticism from lama quarters.

Now it came to pass that in America in 1970 there was a generation of young people who were in the habit of attending loosely programmed outdoor chapel meetings known here and there as love-ins, be-ins or demonstrations and punctuated, more or less, with the admonition, "Peace and love, pass it on." That was the year that Rinpoche came to these shores, taking off like a Roman candle lit at both ends. He traveled and taught indefatigably, setting up scores of urban meditation and study centers, the two most prominent in Boulder and in Barnet, VT. He had tapped a vein. A section of what used to be called the counterculture desired a guru, and here he was in the flesh. Bu 1975, after the establishment in Boulder of the Naropa Institute, a liberal arts college, his imprimatur was everywhere. One could stick pins in a map, connect the dots and, with apologies to Amtrak, call it the Angst Express. The confused came to be made sound.

Some of these people would have fallen for a shaman, any fool who claimed, say, he could bend spoons with his mind. But Rinpoche was not a charlatan. By all accounts, he was brilliant, he was the real thing. The easiest conclusion to draw, looking from the outside in, is that he was an astute businessman. His devotees ran to the upper middle class, white, with impressive academic credentials. They dressed like Dharma bums in the beginning, but soon the teacher had them shaved, suited and cravated. If they did not exactly turn their pockets inside out for their teacher — and some did — they made good fund raisers. Moreover, he encouraged them to be all they could be, in their professions as well as their heads. Successful executives, lawyers, doctors, dentists, shrinks, anthropologists, poets (Allen Ginsberg), novelists (William Burroughs) and composers (John Cage) dog-eared his card in their Rolodexes. Even the selection of Boulder as a center was a commercial brainstorm; it is a mecca for vagabond children with trust funds. He lived as ostentatiously as a televangelist —though not as tastelessly.

His teachings are harder to get a bead on, from the outside looking in. Cerebral, for one thing, which explains the attraction to an educated crowd. Pressed for specifics, his students tend to develop a moist eye, a bemused grin, an air of higher enlightenment and a condescending kiss-off; "Really too complicated to go into in depth." Certain words get great play: compassion, creativity, generosity, grace, humor, kindness, love, sanity, scholarship. It is, say religious scholars, more of a method than a religion. The relationship between teacher and student is similar to that between psychiatrist and patient, goes one definition. There has to be full trust, otherwise nothing is accomplished. "It's a particular type of religious devotion," says a former student of Rinpoche's, "Where you surrender all your critical faculties to a guru." Whatever it is, initiates have a tendency to tell uninitiates, it is inexplicable unless one is an initiate. This is when Frank Sinatra used to come in with a line like "Hey, whatever gets you through the night."

In any event, years passed, the Rinpoche influence spread, and a new headquarters was established in Nova Scotia. Now and then there was bad press. A party in in Colorado got rough. Rinpoche forced a coupe to disrobe. Everyone later disrobed. No charges were brought. No one denied the published reports. One of the Buddhist there said it was a a preparation for giving up privacy, learning to cut through ego clinging and fixation. Rinpoche said essentially it was no big deal. He drank a prodigious amount of alcohol, bedded many women, never denied either. It was "enlightened drinking," "enlightened sex." There was never a PTL-style scandal. It was simply The Way. In the end, the official Buddhist-reported cause of death was cardiac arrest and respiratory failure; the unofficial version was cirrhosis. There was no autopsy. Some, nay, many, said he drank a gallon of sake a day. They placed the body in the meditative position, packed it in salt and flew it to Vermont in a chartered Canadian Pacific Boeing 737. Until May 26, students meditated with the corpse.

"He was one of the most important Buddhist teachers of our generation," said David I. Rome, president of Schocken Books Inc., a New York City publishing company, and for many years secretary to Rinpoche, "because of the transitional role he played in transplanting this 2,600-year-old religion to the West—without compromising the religion, the depth of the religion." And yes, said Rome, "we definitely expect him to come back and beseech him to come back, but just as in his life he did things in unexpected ways, we cannot expect him to mind a timetable."

There was ground fog the morning they carried the body up the mountain, following a bagpiper in Erskine tartan and Tibetans blowing horns as long as young pines and scarlet-berobed monks, to a meadow quilted with dandelions and buttercups and 3,000 or so of the American middle class, their babies in Kreeger & Son slings on their backs. Behind the corpse, which was borne in a wood-frame box wrapped in silk, came visiting lamas, borne in big cars, or lamasines, as one wag had it. "Our understanding," one after another in the crowd said, and happily so, "is that though the body of the teacher has died and will be consumed by the flames, his mind still exists and will pervade all of space."

They placed the body in an ornate 25-ft.-high kiln, so to speak, made of firebrick. The body was wrapped with gauze and covered with ghee, or clarified butter. All around the people were not exactly somber—"It is primarily a sad event," a spokesman had said, "But it is also a celebration for our teacher"—but there was no undue hilarity, no dope, no booze, no Woodstock feel, though everybody said the vibes were good. The weather was spectacular, warm and caressing. Children gamboled in the wildflowers.

They touched off a cannon about noon and fired the crematorium, sending dark smoke into the clean blue sky, "He would have loved this," said one of the directors from Halfax. When the flames burned low, there were rainbows round the sun, and the clouds the smoke had formed were multicolored. A student said she wouldn't be surprised if they had put chemicals on the fire.

"For a holy man, he was utterly unpredictable," said Rome. "If he were here, he would do something unexpected. He was that spontaneous."

 

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Source: http://www.dharmafellowship.org

Update : 01-04-2003


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