Retreat Poem

as the suns’ first rays

begin to whisper over the horizon,

the swallows speak softly their good mornings

and the bats good night,

I step out into the crisp kingdom of sacredness.

the lake is still,

reflecting the dark red rocks

as I look out–

two mirrors quietly observing one another.

The world wakes up:

ripples begin to dance shyly,

geese skim the cool water’s surface,

and suddenly, like a fish leaping from water,

a fish leaps from the water.

The sun, emboldened in its proclaimation,

drapes my face in its warm glow

glistening off my golden armor and helmet

and sending rainbows ricocheting

from my diamond throne.

The water is waking up,

and the ripples confuse the images

(if never the mirror itself)

and as the first drone of the diesel boat

dipping its dirty little beak in the water

cuts the silence

with all the surgical precision of a dull rusty nail,

I see

that this sacred kingdom, this

enlightened society

that exists between me and you,

the objects of my perceptions, affections,

this has never disappeared,

it is only I who have forgotten

how to look.

Indian Summer Post Script

It’s a beautiful rainy day in Halifax, and despite the low pressure, things feel uplifted, cheerful, and relaxed. We have safely navigated an immense visitation by more or less the entirety of the Ripa clan, and have continued to help maintain a restful environment in which the new Princess of Shambhala can begin to explore her world.

I also just returned from a week-long vacation, which was wonderful in every way. After the long visit in the court, it was a big breath of fresh air to step back, sleep, hang out with my wonderful girlfriend, and explore the breadth of Nova Scotia from the inside of a Hyundai.

My new-found passions include coffee and clothing. I would by lying if I said I did not stay up way past my bedtime last night thinking of various outfits I could don today. If I had a lot of money, I would spend at least half of it on clothes. With the other half I would invest in a start-up that makes ingenious little kitchen gadgets.

The fall is coming, and the leaves are changing, and the wind is reminding us all that we’re in Canada (as if Tim Horton’s wasn’t enough…) I have to confess that while I hate subsidizing healthcare with taxes when I seek to fulfill my materialistic desires to own more clothes, and I hate Tim Horton’s for petty selfish reasons (they only accept Master Card, and once I was super hungry and was denied my doughnut because I only had a visa), I actually like Nova Scotia. I’m not saying I’m planning on moving here any time soon, but it actually might not be so bad… Don’t tell anyone I said that.

Indian Summer, Godzilla, Bad Martinis

I am sitting in a deck chair, watching the ocean, and resting in the ridiculously pleasant air of midday Indian summer weather in Nova Scotia.

It is not supposed to be like this.

The absence of rain and the abundance of delightful weather makes me think that something horrible will happen any minute: a swarm of locusts, a plague perhaps, maybe Godzilla.

The storm on the horizon might turn out to be less like a reptilian, city crushing, sky-scraper-sized blender, and one of a more terrifying sort: the manifestation of the mind and retinue of another enlightened being descending to the Kalapa Court. His Eminence, Namkha Drimed Rinpoche, comes tomorrow for three weeks, and what was an already full house is about to overflow. It will be delightful and auspicious; and halfway through, I’m anticipating that I will want to run far, far away.

In related news, I got a haircut last week. I’m happy with the results, although I am still somewhat distraught by by having paid $50 to subject myself to an inane monologue; sweet and folksy, I’ll grant, but vacuous and self-absorbed to be sure. Add to that the ambiance: the hipness of the exposed duct work, rotting pine, and European dance music that made me feel I was grinding my teeth at 4am; altogether I should have gotten a good $20 shaved (sorry…) off the price for my patience and good humor. The haircut itself was rather good though…

Other thoughts:

Martinis in Halifax are crap. Universal health care is good, but so is a decent pour.
Halifax could learn something about recycling from Boulder.
Maggots, generally speaking, are pretty gross.
Bathing by filling a water glass is dangerous, inefficient, and highly unsatisfying.
Espresso and steamed milk is a delightful combination. I would drink it more or less continuously if my adrenal glands would allow it.
My suffering is unquestionably caused by my lack of willingness to surrender to the situation, but I am also resisting surrendering to that truth.
While most of this post is dominated by kvetching, things are generally resplendent, brilliant, and overwhelmingly beautiful here in Kalapa.

Timelapse

It has been a month since I’ve written anything. That’s not to say I haven’t been thinking about writing, but I know as well as you that that doesn’t count.

Anyway, since my last foray into the blogocasm, I have run at dizzying altitudes among beautiful mountain scenery, received the transmission that reveals the nature of mind, seen two moose, almost walked into a rattlesnake, celebrated the 49th day of my good friend’s passing, clothed myself in nothing but white for an extended length of time, spent approximately four nights with my girlfriend, walked into a tree, hugged another tree, and most recently ate a delicious piece of seared tuna, which I followed up with a room-temperature dutsi-filled beer.

Trungpa Rinpoche said something to the effect of: “If you can feel the pain and heartbreak of the setting sun, and simultaneously hold the vision of the Great Eastern Sun, then the warrior can make a proper cup of tea.” So here I am: tenderized like a piece of roadkill, and bursting with joy from the depth of my heart. For those of you who don’t get to serve that many cups of tea, I can tell you that this is the real deal. Your heart’s blood is the ingredient that will make one infusion of hot water and herbs different from another; it will make it glow with warm light of compassion.

If you can’t serve tea to anyone else, just make yourself a nice cup.

There is now a new addition to the Mukpo household: a beautiful baby girl. Jetsun Drukmo Yeshe Sarasvati Ziji Mukpo was born on August 11 at 10:24 am. She is a gorgeous little bundle of sweetness, whom no doubt will find new and profound ways to enrich and terrorize those of us lucky enough share her life.

Return to Great Highland Colorado Desert

7/1/2010

This morning we depart for Colorado, leaving a queen and her retinue to the sunny devices of the Halifax spring. After a whirlwind visit, and some well deserved (dare I say) time off, we are back to Colorado for some of the only teaching of the summer.

I think C and I are both pretty exhausted, and the prospect of a new being in the court and all the joy and duty that will bring is both daunting and inspiring. The afterburners will go on, the show will continue, and hopefully we can maintain our sanity in the midst of it all.

A few days ago, in the midst of one bout of frustration and exhaustion, I went on a long run along the water and through the woods, emerging finally at a small park where I was able to walk down to the ocean. As my mind churned and boiled, I felt a swell of sadness and tenderness well up. I remembered my friend Daniel, and for the first time in a week or so, allowed myself to cry. I am waiting to see him in a dream; hopefully he’ll tell me how he’s doing over there.

The inspiration to forge on comes at auspicious moments, and the reminders to do so cheerfully are like little jolts of happy lightning. I’m finding out that this is a very difficult job to do, and not just to do it, but to remember that the situation is nothing short of sacred. Realizing this sacredness is the gateway to seeing the world as sacred; relating to the environment and people with whom we live day in and out with an attitude of appreciation is an incredible reminder, and one that is not always appreciated in the midst of the occasional claustrophobia of the environment.

when you fly

it’s best not to think about it

and when the ground falls out from under you

there is no way to get it back.

amidst the echo of discursiveness

there is an intricately blooming

melody that bends in the rain

and rises as steam off the ocean.

the kindness of friends and mentors

is a precious jewel,

worth enduring unbearable sadness

and difficulty to enjoy.

the hole left in their absence

is like the space between

the nucleus and electron–

essential to the unceasing play:

the silence that makes the music.

with the joy of space,

while we will always be alone

we will never be separate

from the essence of our own

profound, vast, and

unshakable heart.

A Call to Arms, R and R, Death's Afterglow

the world is small within an airplane.

death is vast, even within a small mind.

getting here is a surprisingly long journey.


I am sitting in the airport on my way to Halifax, heading back from my first official bout of R and R. I haven’t posted in a while, as I the impetus for my return was the death of a dear close friend. I wrote two posts before I left, which are posted below; the first I wrote the night before I found out about Dan’s death, the second the day after. Having disposed with these apologetic formalities, I will commence with today’s observations.

When I heard about Dan’s death, one of the things that saddened me the most was that I would most likely be unable to attend the services. The thought of not seeing his family, and having the opportunity to grieve with the people who knew and loved him pained me deeply. Having the stars align for my return was a tremendous blessing. It gave me a vivid experience of the importance of the sangha, or community, in the grieving process. I didn’t have to explain to anyone how much Dan meant to me. I didn’t have to try to tell anyone why this crazy and self-destructive man was so brilliantly lovable. We just cried and sang and talked together, and it was beautiful, healing, and deeply nourishing. Although the initial shock and tremendous, gut-wrenching sadness has subsided, I still get teary when I think about him, and miss him terribly already. There is nothing I would like to do more than sit with him, having cooked a meal together (he having demolished my kitchen), smoke cigarettes, and drift into the cool breeze of a summer night’s effortless conversation.

From the clear sea of mind

ripples of sadness and waves of longing

dance on the surface

and in the depths.

The warmth of the heart

is occasionally unbearable,

but I hold within it my comrades:

when a hole opens

and one of us slips through,

we all stand together at the brink

looking down, all the way down–

our tears cascading down like a hole in the ocean,

giving us all a glimpse of

death’s beautiful intimacy.

Retroactive Post #2: 6/2/2010– Packing and Learning of Danny's Death

6/2/2010

Today the retreat closed. The closing of this monumental three months, however, has brought with it an event of incredible sadness.

The news of the passing of one of my dearest friends reached me today among the piles of clothes and maelstrom of dishes. I heard of his sudden and accidental death first thing this morning, and needless to say, I have carried him in my heart all day.

Rinpoche was very helpful. He did a prayer for Daniel and gave me advice on how to practice, in particular, tonglen. I am doing a fierce, almost violent tonglen, trying with all my might to send out brilliant white light and inhale with the ferocity of a lion taking its final breath all the negativity that may afflict my friend in this crucial time. Since it was sudden and in his sleep, Rinpoche told me to tell Daniel that he’s dead. I circumambulated the great stupa at Boudha and offered butter lamps. I am praying for him in every breath and with every thought.

I am so exhausted.

My dear friend, you have passed.

Before I embarked on my long, strange journey,

and you on yours,

you asked me to remember the angles and

the slants of light.

Now unable to tell you,

we will see them together.

You have dissolved into my heart

so that you can see all that I love

and hear all the things

I hoped to share with you.

You have passed:

and there will be great uncertainty.

But as you were my most loyal friend

so will you remain steadfast

in the sadness of my mind.

I offer whatever joy I have to you,

whatever cool breeze

may drift through the Dublin botanical gardens;

whatever warmth and safety we enjoyed

listening to your father’s LPs on the living room floor,

like the security I so often felt

wrapped up in your big arms.

Consumed as I was,

I disappeared into your embrace:

Big Dan, small James.

So now are you completely enveloped

by my heart, and if you would like,

we can just stay right here.

You have passed, my friend.

Go now to the Great Sun

with the same reckless abandon

with which you blessed your world.

Splatter the cosmic kitchen

with your culinary creations–

fill every pot in the universe

with the magical blood of your heart.

May the kindness you have shown,

and the joy that you have radiated

be your muse and guide

at this crucial time.

May your unflinching generosity

feed the hungry, those who

are starving for the nourishment

of your overwhelming love.

You have passed, my dear sweet friend.

Your journey has just begun

and there will be no turning back.

There is only your big, beautiful mind,

and your big beautiful heart,

and the love of all of who shared your joy,

your laughter, your food, drink, song, dance, words, thoughts

and your insatiable hunger for the enigma

of limitless and undying love.