Meeting the Guru face to face

Once again I don’t know where to begin. A few weekends ago I traveled to upstate New York to attend the cremation puja for Khenpo Karthar Rinpoche. This event will be one of those before and after points in my life, defining everything that surrounds it, but I can barely express why it was significant. Have you ever watched reality unravel before your eyes, turning every frame of reference inside out? Can you describe what salt tastes like? It’s that sort of conundrum. The danger is that the more I try and recall the experience, the further away from it I get. My memory gets in the way and tries to solidify and reify the whole thing, the experience of reality itself as something less than solid. Trying to relate it or capture it with words or concepts defies the experience itself, but the real lesson learned is that spaciousness is always available to drop into. The nature of mind is the same in Delhi, New York as it is in Chicago, Illinois. It’s no different in Lhasa or Berlin. It’s there for any of us to realize, but it takes constant practice to see clearly. Our concept addicted minds are usually too busy throwing barriers in our way, all in an attempt to make sense of that which ultimately can’t be pinned down.

Khyabje Khenpo Karthar Rinpoche was born in East Tibet in 1924. He is one of a very few who received their monastic training in traditional Tibet prior to the communist invasion of the late 1950s, and managed to flee to the West. At the bequest of the Sixteenth Karmapa, Rinpoche came to the United States in the 1970s to establish a monastery and three year retreat center, which eventually blossomed into a network of dharma centers, continuing the 900 year old tradition of the Karma Kagyu on a new continent. Rinpoche was a living treasury of knowledge, widely respected across Buddhist traditions, known for his boundless compassion and also tough as nails.

I had not originally planned to attend the funeral ceremonies for Rinpoche, once they were announced. I was already scheduled to attend a group retreat in Wisconsin that weekend, and besides, upstate New York is quite a drive from Chicago, much farther than Wisconsin. I was content that I would at least be on retreat that weekend, and that I would try to honor him in that way. But then Lama Sean let it be known that another member of our sangha was making the drive, and looking for a co-pilot to share the wheel. With two drivers, the roughly twelve hour drive could reasonably accomplished in one day, and I could attend the ceremonies without missing any more work than I’d already blocked out for my retreat. I had only met Khenpo Karthar Rinpoche once, on the occasion of His Holiness the Seventeenth Karmapa’s visit to Chicago KTC, and I had on a few occasions attended teachings he gave via webcast. I was saddened that I would never again have the opportunity to study with this great master, but here was perhaps one final chance to strengthen that connection. I decided to make the trip.

Impermanence is one of the underlying tenets of Buddhism. This life is seen as transitory, and death is merely another stage on that journey, a seamless transition from birth to rebirth. More so than perhaps any of the Buddhist traditions, Tibetans have developed a number of practices to prepare for the moment of death, with the aim of maintaining awareness throughout the dying process. When a great master, or even an accomplished practitioner dies, many signs are demonstrated which fly in the face of Western medical reasoning. His Holiness the Sixteenth Karmapa achieved parinirvana in November, 1981 at a cancer treatment center in Zion, IL, and there are tales scattered across the internet of the many signs he demonstrated, seemingly returning even after clinical death, in the presence of hospital staff. On October 5, Khenpo Karthar Rinpoche had suffered a stroke, and after it was determined that there was nothing that doctors could do for him, he was brought back to his room at Karme Ling monastery, where he passed away the next morning. His body was left undisturbed and he remained in samadhi, a state of meditative repose. After three days, the area around his heart remained warm, and he was again left to continue his meditation.

One of the most astonishing features of Tibetan Buddhism is the demonstration of the rainbow body. After seven days in samadhi, Rinpoche’s body is reported to have begun shrinking in size. At the same time, multiple rainbows were observed around the grounds at Karme Ling. Were he not to have been cremated, it’s possible that eventually there would have been nothing left but hair and nails, as this material is already dead to begin with. Rinpoche’s kudung, or body relic, was wrapped in ceremonial brocade and displayed in the shrine room for several days at Karme Ling prior to the cremation. I was able to make it into the shrine room briefly, before the pujas began, and witness this relic for myself.

Karme Ling is a closed retreat center, where retreatants participate in the traditional Tibetan three year retreat. There is no time off, and there are no visitors. It’s a spacious enough center for the few dozen lamas who are attending or administering the retreat, beautifully nestled in the Catskills, but on this weekend it was a bustling hubbub of activity, crowded with hundreds of visitors from around the world coming to pay their respects. Our party of three was gathered near the columbarium where the puja was to occur when we heard that we were allowed to visit the shrine room. We made our way to the Lama’s House, ridiculously crowded, and as we entered one of the lamas told us to proceed upstairs, even as visitors were streaming down the stairs. I fought my way upstream, losing track of my companions, past some tables where breakfast had been set out, and into the small shrine room where Khenpo Karthar had been seated upon a throne, shrouded in brocade. Lama Karma was already requesting that everyone leave the shrine room, so that the lamas could prepare Khenpo’s body relic for the procession, but I made my way as close as I could to the throne, offering prostrations along the way. I hoped that I might be able to offer a khata, a ceremonial silk scarf, but as I got nearer another lama swooped in and gathered all the khatas. I simply stood there for a moment, trying to take in the entire scene.

Here I feel compelled to pause, and explain a bit about what I do for a living. I’ve been a carpenter for probably more than twenty years now. I got involved with television in 2013, building the sets that allow the actors to inhabit their world of make believe, and allow you to believe it. I’ve been involved with theater even longer than that. I understand stagecraft. I know how the magician makes it appear that the lady gets cut in half. (Spoiler alert: It’s just cabinetry) Khenpo Karthar Rinpoche was a tough guy, a muscular dude even at 96 years old. He was not tiny, but if somebody had asked me to build a palanquin with a false bottom so they could wrap his body in silk and brocade and make it appear as though he were the size of a child, I could figure out how to make that happen. None of that is at all relevant.

As I stood in the shrine room, staring directly at Khenpo’s body relic, I couldn’t at all get my mind around what was directly in front of me. There was no clear boundary between where his body ended and the room began. It was if the space surrounding us had itself cracked open, and I felt as if my own being were dissolving into that space. My shoulders fell backwards, distinctions between big and small became meaningless, my head exploded and nothing at all happened, all the in the same instant. The room was emptying quickly, still a scene of commotion, and I didn’t want to linger where I wasn’t wanted. I gathered my khata and turned around, completely bewildered by what I had experienced, but also feeling grounded in that moment of groundlessness, a sense of connection at last.

It’s pointless to try and summarize what went on that day. It’s the winner take all in the category of “you had to be there”. I can sit here in my apartment in Chicago, a cold morning in early November, typing out words on a laptop, deleting, revising, coming up with better words, but the words are all going to fall short. The truth is they’re only getting in my own way. In some ways that experience is gone, never to be repeated, but the ability to tap in is ever present. I’ve had smaller experiences since that day, whispers of an understanding that is bigger than my day to day reality. They’re fleeting and elusive, and when they occur my instinct is to grab on to them, to try and hold on and define them, and that’s when they vanish, only to be replaced with the block of concrete that passes for my comprehension. It’s a very subtle practice, but I have faith that it can be developed, bit by bit. Small moments, repeated. To do anything else at this point seems futile.

Some notes from the abyss..

I have this weird job where it’s technically part-time but it could easily run 100 hours a week. The most I’ve ever logged is maybe 96. I’m not really sure but I try not to let it exceed sixty. Forget all the reasons why I’ve decided to put up with this compromise and for now let’s just focus on the middle of the shit storm that I’m enduring currently. Smashed through the point of absolute fatigue some while ago and since then it’s been mostly a black out state. Kind of weird to live through but such is life.

I did have this incredible experience where I got to see Mingyur Rinpoche speak in Evanston, IL  a few weeks ago now. Funny enough I was barely into this current jag but already well exhausted, and I had a difficult time staying awake through his teaching. Quite fortunate then that he gave a guided instruction on sleeping meditation. I’m not together enough to detail the full instruction here, but with his guidance I was able to remain in awareness and observe my mind during the transition from sleepiness through that in-between liminal state and then full on into sleep. Almost as soon as I became fully asleep I jolted myself back awake, but it was a valuable experience. I have had similar experiences before while on the acupuncture table or elsewhere, but they have been infrequent, and I credit the instruction (and his presence) with getting me to that state.

Since that lesson I have been trying to use fatigue as the object of my meditation. There’s no point in attempting anything else, really. I’m physically in too much pain to even attempt the ngöndro, and any attempts at visualization practices would be foolish as I can’t keep my mind focused on anything for more than a moment. Incidentally this is the working state in which most of my Union operates all of the time, and probably has at least something to do with the rate at which Death Notifications pop up in my inbox. I don’t judge my coworkers for their coping mechanisms, but I know that cocaine and norcos are ultimately not going to do anything for me, so I’ll just rely on the guru’s blessing and hope for the best.

It’s been an interesting few weeks. For a while I stopped dreaming entirely, then I had to take a few Wednesdays off just to catch up on sleep. Finally at the point where I am beginning to have scattered dreams again, none of them lucid but with hints embedded that could get me there, if I were able to pay enough attention within the dream. Physically it’s been quite a mess. I’ve already endured in just the last year something like six months out of work due to a work/comp injury, and have gotten very sophisticated at detailing my pain journal and so forth. Combined with my somatic and meditative training, I suppose my awareness is somewhat keen, but lately it’s like soup. Constellations of a dull sort of aching and shapeless pain that explodes in random locations and then fades back away, but not much of it rising above the horizon of awareness, more just sort of dimly there like it could be happening to someone else. Which may be a useful analogy. I have pondered where the ego resides in this fog and haven’t found anything there. All of my irritation, my pet peeves, the sliced fingers and band aids, everything bothersome about going on four hours of sleep each night for weeks on end, even that seems fleeting and ephemeral. I imagine the bardo state to be something terrifying and jolting, but what if it’s a narcotic sort of sleepiness that you can’t get your senses around, but too unsettling to actually rest in. All mind states are workable, and for the time being at least, and probably the next several weeks, this is what I have to work with. I guess it’s as good a practice as anything.

Grant your blessings so that my mind may be one with the dharma

Grant your blessings so that dharma may progress along the path

Grant your blessings so that the path may clarify confusion

Grant your blessings so that confusion may dawn as wisdom

The Four Dharmas of Gampopa

 

Breaking the Rules

There are a lot of dos and don’ts when it comes to composting, and if you’re running an urban compost pile, the list of rules to follow gets even lengthier. The basic premise is simple enough, though — keep a good balance of “green” and “brown” material, and turn the pile frequently. City dwellers are advised to keep various materials out of their compost piles so as not to attract rodents, but many of those materials are in fact great for making compost. I’m not trying to brag here, but my urban compost pile smells like it came straight from the farm, so I figure I must be doing something right. I thought I’d take a few moments to share a little about my haphazard route to success.

First a few words about those few words, “green” and “brown”. What we’re getting at is the ratios of carbon and nitrogen you want in your pile. Materials that are high in nitrogen are considered “green” materials, and materials that are high in carbon are considered “brown”. Not all greens are green, though. Coffee grounds are a great source of nitrogen in your pile, and while their color is brown they are considered a “green” material as far as your compost. Human or pet hair is also high in nitrogen, and is considered a “green” source no matter the color of your or Fido’s locks.

The biggest problem with most urban piles is not enough brown material. Some overlooked sources include shredded fall leaves, if you can get them, or shredded newspaper, office paper, or cardboard. No glossies, though. Most paper plates are coated in some sort of petroleum product, but plates marketed as compostable are becoming more available. They are heavier than typical paper plates and sort of resemble cardboard. Make sure to shred all of these materials well or turning your pile will become a chore. The smaller you can shred up these materials, the quicker your pile will break down. The ideal size for all materials, green and brown, is nothing larger than half an inch. Although I do trim all material with a hand pruners before it goes into my pile, I’m not that fastidious, and find that pieces up to a few inches or so in length compost adequately.

Now, what about the materials you aren’t supposed to compost? Meat and dairy products especially are notorious for attracting rodents to compost piles. Maybe it’s the prevalence of coyotes in my urban neighborhood, but I have been composting limited amounts of meat and dairy products in my compost pile with no sign of unwanted critters. I use two of those black plastic “Darth Vader helmets” for a two bin system in my backyard composting operation. I’m not a big fan of these units for ergonomic reasons, but they are fairly critter proof and present a tidy appearance if that is a concern. I have on occasion seen rats in my neighborhood and even inside my building (eek!), but never in or near my compost pile. After twenty years of urban gardening, I’m well familiarized with rats and their behaviors, and I speak with confidence when I say that they just haven’t been a problem with my current setup. Keeping those lids tight is your best line of defense against unwanted visitors.

I’ve heard that you can compost an entire cow, bones and all, in a well tended compost pile in just seven days. I would not advise trying this in one of those Darth Vader helmets, but I have thrown in a few steak and chicken bones as well as plenty of spoiled milk or yogurt. These are prime ingredients for getting real biology into your compost pile. Recently I made a few gallons of stock, roasting beef and chicken bones and boiling them overnight with plenty of herbs and root vegetables. That success should be another blog post entirely, but after straining out that spent material, I added the veggies and sludge to my compost pile (the beef bones went to the neighbor’s dog). This is exactly the sort of thing you are advised not to do with an urban pile, and I think it’s one of the prime reasons my urban compost smells like the best fresh manure.

The smell test is always your best test when it comes to judging your compost. The nose knows, as they say. Forty-thousand years of human biology are working to your advantage here. A good compost pile should smell like a forest floor, a rich earthy smell, not at all sour. If your pile reeks of ammonia when you turn it, you have too much green material. Add more brown and turn it in well. If it smells like sewer muck, your pile has gone anaerobic. Probably it has gotten too wet or has not been turned enough, and all of the oxygen has been used up. Giving the pile a good turn and adding plenty of fresh material will give the pile a kick start and you can still get usable compost.

There could be some concerns about bacteria or other pathogens when adding meat or dairy products into your compost system. My pile runs hot! hot! hot! and anything in there is definitely getting cooked. Again, watch your ratios and turn the pile frequently. I’ll throw weeds that have gone to seed in the pile without worry. You can also keep in mind the intended use for your finished compost. I’m not using my compost for veggie production, it’s mostly feeding perennials or filling in bare spots of lawn. I’ve thrown in expired pharmaceuticals and some other materials I might be leery of adding to my veggie plots, but it’s of no concern where I’m growing prairie plants. Since I have a house rabbit, I have plenty of manure to add to my veggie production beds, and I use the compost bins to generate soil for the rest of the yard (where it’s badly lacking).

Maybe I’m relying on experience, but I don’t think too much about my composting. I just make a habit of checking the pile at least weekly, burying any new material well in the compost pile and giving it a good turn when I can. I’ll adjust the ratios as I go. My “two bin system” is as follows – one bin is the active compost bin, and the other is pretty much for storing brown material until I need to add it to the hot pile. The brown bin might get some green material mixed into it, again I’m not fastidious, but the ratio is overwhelmingly toward brown and it won’t compost on its own.

Free as a bird..

There’s nothing here that’s not been said before

But I put it down now to solidify my own views

And I’ll be glad if it helps anyone else out too.

Adam Yauch

The thing about advice is sometimes you just need to hear it, in order to recognize what you already know. Good advice makes sense because the truth in it is so obvious, and you know bad advice the same way you know bad tofu — every part of your being is shouting “that’s wrong!” Sometimes the truth hurts because it’s too close to the bone, and sometimes you get the same pat and hollow answers no matter the question posed. It’s up to each of us to apply our human intelligence to our lived experience and hash out our own truths. Getting advice is part of the smell test.

I’ve been handed plenty of good and bad advice over the years, but one thing I’ve had to figure out is that a poor teacher doesn’t invalidate the teachings. If the advice is too far off the mark I might be left to figure out my own answers, but really that’s what I was going to do anyway so why not get down to it? This month marks the Lunar New Year and I’ve been dropping in on a number of Buddhist communities lately, in part to join in the celebration, and partly because I like to know what other people do all day. I had a brief conversation with an interesting fellow who told me he was once a monk. Now he lives nearby. I asked him curiously “So where do you practice?” and his reply was the best advice I’ve received all year. “I just practice.”

June update 2017

Still under a time crunch but feel I should get a few thoughts down before they vanish entirely. Spending a lot of time lately thinking about how to get the Fischer Farm started, and spending even more time lately working in the motion picture industry building all sorts of crazy pipe dreams. Can’t talk about that so much on account of all the NDAs I don’t remember signing, so I’ll have to reserve this space for farm dreams, which is kind of what the blog title was supposed to suggest.

Farming is real hard work and I’ve never had any illusions to the contrary. The Fischer Farm isn’t hardly ready for growing anything yet but sometimes you have to charge ahead just to get the momentum to do what you want to do. If it were up to me I would sow three acres in clover and let it sit two years while we figured out the rest of the plan, but right now we’re going 1/4 acre in pumpkins. Maybe. The seeds aren’t in the ground yet and I don’t know when I’ll have time to get around to it. I’ve got a farmer in charge of that 1/4 acre but he’s a little tied up with his own life these days. I won’t get into the particular setbacks that we’ve run into but there have been at least a few, and a lost day here or there is a big deal when you’re dependent upon the weather cooperating with a very limited schedule. There are bigger and longer term plans in the works, but I don’t want to spoil those details until they’re at least a little more fleshed out.

I decided to skip the Permaculture Design Certification course I was planning on taking this summer. I also bailed on a recent trip to KTD in Woodstock that I had been looking forward to since Winter. Both decisions were financially dictated. It’s feast or famine in the film biz, and while I’ve been working like a hurt dog lately, there were too many months in a row with no money coming in. Now I have to make up for lost time, and skipping town for two weeks just isn’t viable, even if it is in the interest of furthering other projects. Lama Karma was in town the other weekend, and while I was still too busy to even attend his teaching, I did at least get him to bestow a long life blessing upon My Bunniness. I opted to spend a small portion of the money that I won’t be spending attending the PDC and went in on an order of cover crop seed and two flats of goldenrod for the Fischer Farm. Thank you Johnny’s Seeds and Prairie Moon Nursery. Scored discounts on both orders. Somewhere in those two weeks I would have been gone I hope to find a day to get those plants and seeds in the ground.

My plot in East Garfield Park is looking all right even if the kitties and the workload haven’t been helping things along. I did get some more starts in the ground today, and the first Prairie Moon order I received is mostly thriving. The Liatris mostly got scorched but one or two are looking strong. Comfrey is thriving all over the yard and I have a few different strains of nettles growing. The chamomile is even coming back around now that I’ve got soaker hoses installed. Bought a new daisy, a Becky, and the seller told me she was pretty sure it was from Elite Growers. I keep track of that sort of thing on account of my years in the industry and watching which plants have thrived and which have fizzled in my urban gardens. I’m looking to cultivate several strong daisies after last winter killed off most of those I’ve had growing anywhere.

Tomorrow I’m heading to the Farm to build a bonfire that I’m going to light off on Friday night for Family Camp. Had a real successful work day at the Fischer Farm over Memorial Day weekend and camped over with a few of my friends. Decided after that weekend that it’s important to get to know all of the folks who have a connection to that place, and while I probably don’t have time to camp out again this weekend I can play Fire Marshall for a few hours one evening. Hoping I don’t get too much time off anytime soon on account of all those bills I still haven’t paid, but I have made some solid additions to my library lately and I’m looking forward to working my way through those texts eventually. Will be fun to report back.

That’s all I’ve got tonight. Haven’t really gotten down with adding photos to the blog lately so here’s a video. Not my work..

Loss Leader

This week I lost a number of seedlings. A tray I had been cold stratifying in the fridge up and germinated before I noticed and half of those babies died. Harvesting weeds for My Bunniness at 4 a.m. the other morning I accidentally uprooted the cilantro I’d been nursing from seed and had just transplanted. Today I came home and found that the neighborhood feral kitties had ransacked the trays I’d been hardening off and had planned to get planted tomorrow.

I’ve been working 60 hour weeks for too long now, and I’m keeping those hours low on account of I refuse to work weekends. Guys I work with are losing fingers and winding up in the hospital on an all too frequent basis. In the grand scheme of things I’m keeping my losses to a minimum, but there’s definitely a cost associated with keeping these hours. It’s heavy on my mind but I still haven’t come up with a better way to pay the bills. I’ll chalk my lost seedlings up to poor timing and note the experience, and I’ll continue to spend whatever spare seconds I can find throughout the week working out a better plan. It’s going to be a rough haul any way it works out. Hopefully I can still get those sunflowers planted this summer.

There are moments in all the chaos where tranquility just happens. On Saturday I got to drive a 1937 Allis Chalmers tractor around the Fischer Farm. I spotted a Monarch butterfly and tried to keep up with it for a while, jerking that big orange machine around the field as my target flitted and then vanished. It was but an instant but I’ll probably still recall that moment decades from now. Space gets bigger in moments like those and there’s room for all the aggravation and heartache to disappear. Almost room enough to lose sixty hours in.

That’s a Dandy Lion!

20170424_083441One of the great joys in working to restore the Fischer Farm is in witnessing how many visitors come by to enjoy the Farm each week. It’s not just the regular volunteers, or the groups taking wedding photos, or the attendees of the many events that are scheduled there. It’s not just the birthday parties, the 4H getting crafty or the ROTC or the Boy Scouts parading around. Most importantly it’s the casual visitors, some of whom have just discovered the Farm for the very first time, and others who come back every year.

As I was out walking the fields the other morning (on my birthday no less), I spotted a couple of strangers picking dandelions. You may not yet know, but I am a big fan of dandelions, and I can and will go on at length about their many benefits, both to soil and soul. I approached the nearer of the two strangers and met a wonderfully punk teen who reminded me just a bit of myself at his age. I asked him what he was doing, making it clear that he was welcome to as many dandelions as he could help himself to, and he told me that he was picking them for his mom. So I wandered a bit further afield and met a radiant woman closer to my own age, with glowing red hair and a pleasing accent. She told me that she was gathering the dandelions to brew a home remedy passed down from her father, and I asked her if she might share the recipe. She obliged, and I am glad to share that remedy with you here. It’s a general purpose winter remedy or immune booster, and will keep you in good health for a long time to come.

Gather 500 dandelion flowers, and let them sit out for some time for the ants to disperse. Simmer in one liter water for one hour, let sit for twelve hours and then drain the flowers, making sure to squeeze out any remaining liquid. Add 1 kg sugar and the juice from two lemons. Cook again, slowly, for another hour. Pour into a jar with a tight sealing lid, and turn upside down while the mixture cools to room temperature. Keep the jar in a cool, dark cupboard and it should keep for a few years. Take a few  teaspoons of this remedy at the first sign of any sore throat, or throughout the winter as a general immune booster.

Thank you Agnies for sharing this bit of your family’s heritage. You are welcome on the Farm any time!

Coyote Beautiful

As I was walking over to the Garfield Park Conservatory the other afternoon, I spotted a furry creature nosing around outside the Monet Garden. It certainly wasn’t a dog, and it was too big and too grey to be a fox. I wondered if it might be a coyote, but it was sleek and beautiful. The last time I spotted a coyote was in the Rockies, where everything is a bit rugged. I was whistling as I walked over, and the creature paused for just a moment to look at me, curiously, before it trotted off. I ran up toward the fence surrounding the Monet Garden and I could have hopped over, but my furry friend had already slipped away.

Instead I made my way through the Conservatory and back out into the Monet Garden, where a few kids were gathered – none of them older than ten years old if I had to guess. I asked them if they had just seen some kind of crazy dog or fox or something, and I was quite excited about it. A young girl, who was probably the oldest of the three, told me “It was a baby coyote.” The tone in her voice was the best part of the whole story. I got the impression that she has seen at least a dozen baby coyotes just this week, and that she was absolutely tired to death of having to explain such things to ridiculous and patronizing grown-ups.

I’ve lived in this general area of the city for most of the time I’ve been in Chicago – close to twenty years now. I’ve heard of coyotes in Lincoln Park, and I once saw one in Winnetka, but I’ve never heard of a coyote in Garfield Park. It’s about time! I know a few folks around here who keep chickens and other livestock, and I’ll have to let them know that there’s reason to keep an eye out, but I’m glad to see some more wildlife around these parts. I’m not sure how much one coyote is going to do to keep the rat population in check, but I’m sure there are other benefits to be had. Begin the trophic cascade!

Which paramita is this?

Today I had the opportunity to help a corporate office in Chicago get set up with a composting operation. I’m not going to name names (I signed an NDA) but it’s an internet company that everyone has heard of, and the office was replete with ping pong and shuffleboard tables, Skittles and granola by the hopper full, even Goose Island on tap. It was surreal to say the least. I’m sure it’s a great place to work, and I applaud them for stepping up their game and getting on board with a real composting program. They provide a catered breakfast and lunch for their employees, and there’s a lot of potential in all those salad scrapings and paper plates. Check out The Ground Rules to see where those eggshells and coffee grounds are going to end up. It’s the sort of project that gives me hope for the planet, and hope is hard to come by these days.

By way of contrast, I spent last weekend in Cicero with a bunch of Tibetan buddhists, reciting long prayers in an odd language and going nearly two full days without food or liquid of any sort. As difficult and challenging an experience as that was, I learned that I can get by on a lot less than I am used to (which can be not all that much). I once heard someone very wise remark that the thing about suffering is, “the more you have suffered, the more you realize how much more everyone else has suffered than you.” That stuck with me. It was pretty rotten starving myself all weekend and kneeling on a wooden floor, but it could have been a lot worse. It isn’t anything I’d just do on a whim, but there are plenty of people out there who had a tougher weekend than I did.

And back to Chicago, where if you’re lucky, you can get a job in a nice office with all the Starbucks coffee you can drink and banana smoothies and whatever else you can scrounge up from the snack bar. Or maybe you’re not so lucky. I noted a number of panhandlers and homeless folk on my way to the office this morning, and before I left I jammed my pockets full of Snickers and KIND bars. I also stuffed an empty potato chip bag full of salad greens for the pet rabbit that I left home alone the whole weekend I was in Cicero, and held onto a bar of bison jerky for myself. Nobody even glanced at me as I was pilfering the corporate stash. It seems like there’s enough to go around.

It wasn’t half a block before I encountered my first panhandler. I struggled to get the Snickers bar out of my back pocket, and it didn’t seem like it was appreciated. It was 91 degrees outside, and I was standing there with a bottle of pilfered Vita Coco handing out a smashed up, already half melted Snickers bar. I thought about handing out the coconut water, but I was also thinking that I’ve got a quarter acre to get planted tomorrow and not much to bring with me in the way of lunch. Work is picking up again, but it’s been slow for too long. That bison jerky is gonna be my lunch tomorrow. I had two more KIND bars in my pocket, but I figured I’d run into another panhandler before I reached the el. I didn’t.

Nothing about that exchange felt comforting, but I also didn’t notice anyone else doing a damn thing. I’m still unsure how I feel about the whole encounter. There is a big hazy area in between generosity and selfishness. If I don’t take care of myself, I won’t be of any use to anyone. At the same time, token generosity just so I can feel better about things is worthless. I should have given away the coco water, and all the KIND bars. I can drink tap water tomorrow, and it’s probably better to make a big gesture for one person than a lot of meaningless gestures for several people. One thing is certain, nothing is easy, and just because my intentions are good, that doesn’t mean that they’re well thought out. More lessons learned, or to ponder anyway.

I’m not sure that this post is really finished, but I’m tired, and I’ve got a lot on my plate tomorrow. I’m finally going to get planted, and then maybe I can start blogging about farming. I think that’s why I started this thing in the first place.

 

 

 

So that happened. .


“Although I wallow in the slime and muck of the dark age,

Still I aspire to see his face.

Although I stumble in the thick black fog of materialism,

Still I aspire to see his face.”

Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, The Sadhana of Mahamudra

How can I even begin?

In the past week, His Holiness the 17th Gyalwang Karmapa, Ogyen Trinley Dorje, visited Karma Thegsum Choling in Cicero, IL. For the unfamiliar, that’s an awful lot of consonants jumbled up against one another. I will do my best to explain.

The Karmapa is the spiritual head of the Karma Kagyu lineage in Tibet. The Kagyu lineage dates back 900 years and is one of the four major lineages in Tibet. As best I can gather,  it’s also the lineage that I was sworn into, although my vows were administered in Tibetan, and, well, frankly it gets a little complicated. For the past decade and a half I’ve been doing my best to make sense of things, hashing out my own liturgy as best I can, based on hearsay and observation. I have met some truly wonderful and inspiring individuals along the way, and I have also met with my share of deceit and betrayal. It’s been a bumpy ride, but the best intel I’ve been able to gather suggests that the Karmapa is the real deal, and for some time now I have hoped I might be able to make my own assessment of that situation. On Monday, I was granted that opportunity.

Given the extraordinary nature of international politics, the Karmapa is rarely free to leave his monastery in Dharamsala, India. For most of his two-month tour here in the United States, His Holiness has been visiting universities, packing auditoriums to capacity. Tickets vanished within minutes whenever they were made available. Karma Thegsum Choling is a modest Buddhist center, hardly an auditorium.  As a carpenter, I even had to make some modifications to the building exits just so we’d safely be able to meet our expected capacity (of less than 100). The event was deliberately not publicized, and tickets were given out by invite only, just to ensure that things remained manageable. In short, it’s incredibly fortunate for those involved that His Holiness decided to visit us at all.

And it almost didn’t happen. The day before he was due to arrive, the Karmapa apparently became ill. His visit was quickly rescheduled for the following week. Not long after that announcement went out via email, an earthquake struck Nepal, on the very same date that His Holiness was originally due to visit Cicero. Certainly no one would have been offended if the Karmapa deemed it necessary to cancel his remaining itinerary and head back home. Several of us expected that he would do so. And yet he stuck with the revised schedule, despite the inconvenience it certainly posed.

The actual ceremony, the pomp and circumstance, the incredible tension and release, that I cannot attempt to explain. The majesty and grace that His Holiness presented will sound like horse hockey if I try and describe it here, but I had the experience of being near some sort of quantum distortion field, as if his presence were larger than anything else in the room, or in the entire universe. All of that was undercut by his incredible humility. Browse through the webcasts posted on kagyuoffice.org  or on the Karmapa’s YouTube channel and you can get a sense of this quality. In person, it was overwhelming.

At the request of Lama Sean, center director at KTC, His Holiness offered some instruction for us that day on the practice of Chenrezik, or visualization of the bodhisattva of compassion. This is one of the main practices, or sadhanas, undertaken at Karma Thegsum Choling. While commenting on the 1,000 armed form of Avoliketeshvara, His Holiness related that he could personally empathize with the desire to manifest 1,000 arms, as he would need that many arms to fulfill all of the requests for help he receives each day from countless beings. Was there a hint of sadness in his voice as he said this? Was it resignation? Was he simply still feeling ill?

“His Holiness wants to see you. .”

After the ceremony had concluded, I waited to see if there was anything else I might help with. The room was filled with electricity. Some folks had already headed downstairs, but many were hanging around the main shrine room, chatting excitedly. As I stood there not knowing my place, a head poked out of the crowd. “Rob! His Holiness wants to see you.”

I was not expecting that the moment would become any more surreal. I suddenly felt like I had swallowed a ball of molten iron. I wasn’t sure what to do next, but I made my way through the crowd as quickly as I could and headed downstairs to the apartment where His Holiness was waiting. What was this feeling I was experiencing? Panic? Bliss? Terror?

I entered the room and bowed, completely unsure of what to do next. Should I approach him? Keep a respectful distance? Time was an abstract. Seconds were frozen, and at the same time they raced by. It was as if the room were on fire. Here I stood face to face with the Karmapa, and still I could not gauge his presence. Was he seven feet tall? One hundred? Up close, it was apparent that whatever illness had plagued His Holiness was lingering with him. He appeared a bit fatigued, a little sweaty, and yet he stood larger than life. I’ve met Presidents who didn’t have as commanding a presence. The Karmapa extended his hand and I approached. We shook hands. “Thank you,” he said. Apparently Lama Sean had related that I was essential in preparing the center for the Karmapa’s vist . “Thank you!” I gushed in return. I did not know what else to say. “Rob is a carpenter,” Lama Sean repeated for His Holiness. “Let’s build a stupa!” I exclaimed, stupidly. A stupa is a traditional buddhist monument of sorts, and plans had been announced earlier that day for a stupa in Zion, IL, the site of the 16th Karmapa’s passing. His Holiness had explained that this was, in fact, the main reason for his visit to the region, that he might recall his previous experience here. Suddenly I was embarrassed. I had spoken half a dozen words and I felt I had overstayed my welcome. “Yes, stupa,” the Karmapa repeated in his halting English. The next visitor was already on his way in, carrying a small child.

I left hurriedly, unsure whether or not I was going to pass out, fall over, or wake up. In the days that have passed since, I have tried to make sense of all that happened, and I am at a loss. At first it was as if I was in some sort of post-karmic depression. Not so much a feeling of sadness, but a sense of the weight of the world, of everything that the Karmapa must bear on a daily basis. Despite his limitless burdens and obligations, he not only went out of his way to visit our little dharma center in Cicero, IL, but he took the time to thank me personally for installing some door hardware and laying some carpet. Who knows how many thousands are praying for him this very moment to relieve their very real suffering, and I installed some carpet. The dude rolls with Secret Service escort, and he took the time to thank me. I have worked harder for guys who drive cargo vans, and they have not so much as said “nice job!”

As I reflect upon it, I realize that even my exclamation about the stupa was in a sense, selfish. Certainly I would like to see a stupa in Zion, and certainly it would bring joy to many others, but currently, I am without a full-time job, and if there were some work to do to prepare the stupa, I might have something to do for a little while, and then I could feel useful. It isn’t for the sake of all beings that I want to see a stupa. It’s just so that I might gain some personal satisfaction, or perhaps deepen my own spiritual practice and connection in some way. After the Karmapa left, Khenpo Karthar Rinpoche answered some questions from those who had stayed behind, and he spoke about the benefits that a stupa could bestow. Many who visit a stupa wish that they might gain material satisfaction, win the lottery, or some such thing, and that is the wrong approach. If one instead visits a stupa and makes a sincere aspiration to be of benefit to others, the stupa will speedily grant that wish.

If there is an overriding theme to the Karmapa’s many public comments and teachings on this tour, it is the importance of developing compassion. When he spoke to the crowd at KTC on the practice of Chenrezik, he told us that if we want to know if our practice is truly deepening, we need simply look at our own compassion, and see how it is developing. The proof is in the pudding, as they say. As I think back on the few seconds I had to share with His Holiness, I regret that I didn’t simply ask him, “how are you?” or wish him a speedy recovery from his illness. I am sure that he took no offense, and admittedly I was overwhelmed and more than a little off guard, but it remains a valuable lesson nonetheless. How many times have I walked into a room and been too distracted or hung-up on my own agenda to acknowledge that anyone else was present? This being human business takes constant practice, but it is an opportunity worth perfecting. Some years from now I may be able to judge what effect meeting the Karmapa had upon me. In the meantime, I will be paying more attention to how I pay attention to others. That may be the greatest teaching he could grant me. For now, it is what I will be working on. It’s a start, anyway.

Some edits for clarity and factual correctness. 

UPDATE: Karmapa’s visit to Chicago KTC can now be seen here: