Meeting with Bairoling Rimpoche

Yesterday we met with Bairoling Rimpoche. He is old; he is fragile. Julie says that when he is out of retreat, he has a Parkinsonian tremor and when he is in retreat; it is gone. He needs two people to help him walk. Two young men, one on either side carry him into the room while his legs move in harmony but clearly are not bearing any weight. He is gently settled into his chair. Then he looks around and smiles. He smiles with such love that my heart catches.

I have seen this look before. I have seen it in some of those I have tended who are dying. When the body is making its demands known, its intention to stop heard, something changes. The mind hears a call from another world; you can feel it. There is a kind of detachment filled with peace, filled with love. Rimpoche radiates both. And my heart is filled with it. It is a love that is not based on good works or behavior. It is a love based on being. All are welcome. It is the look of joy free from wanting something from me, just the pleasure of seeing me and everyone else in the room. There is no shortage here, no sense of limits. Yes he will tire, his hands tremble as he touches each of our heads as we come up, one at a time, to be blessed. But the the love, the love is clearly not bound in his aged body. His love is everywhere, enfolding, comforting, rejoicing. Afterwards, after we have quietly filed out and I am walking from that place, my heart seizes. How can I leave him? How can I live without such love, such acceptance? And grief roils up. I am back in hospice watching the family collapse around their beloved, grief pouring out and me vibrating with it.

I tell Julie of the love I felt and the grief that followed. "Ah," she says, "the love you felt will not die with his body." Then she paused and looked at me. "Although that kind of consciousness it is a kind of death, you don't have to die to have it." I ponder this. I hold it close. He is not the source of the love but a beacon glowing the way. This love, she tells us over and over again, is here already available to all. He is a door, marking the way, a light illuminating the path. He tells me, this tiny old, trembling man that it is possible for me to grow into this love and hold a place within it.

Thank you for being there, thank you for listening. I hold you all close in the skein of light, the fibers of love that connect us.