Encounters with the Guru

I first met Chogyam Trungpa, Rinpoche at a reception in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Jim Sacamano introduced me to him as being from Dartmouth, a culture-less bedroom city to Halifax and synonymous in the province with a mental institution on the outskirts of the city.

In fact, I was born and lived until I was seven years old in Hilden a town of five hundred people outside of Truro, a hundred kilometers north of Halifax. I must have cringed when Jim said I was from Dartmouth because after that occasion Rinpoche always made some reference to it when he spoke to me. The first few times he did this he got a rise out of me. He seemed to like that but as the years went by I slowly appreciated the fact that he was teasing me and remembered me. It was not always pleasant though. In the eighties he liked to have groups or individuals practice pronunciation with him. During this time he asked me to pronounce Dartmouth, I did and he castigated me saying, "no, Dart-mouth" with his perfect Oxonian accent. I imagined that he was disgusted with me that I could not pronounce the name of the city that I was supposedly from.

At the 1986 seminary at the Rocky Mountain Shambhala Center (RMSC) in northern Colorado I spent what would be my last day with him while he was still conscious. Again the Dartmouth theme came up. "How do you pronounce Dartmouth?" he asked me in his squeaky voice as I drove him to the encampment grounds on a large open field 150 meters above RMSC. I replied with just one word, "Dartmouth" but he said nothing this time. The next time I saw him one-on-one he was on his back in the critical care ward at the Victoria General Hospital. He died days later.

Shortly after our first meeting I had the opportunity to serve him breakfast at the first Keltic Lodge gathering in November of 1980 in Ingonish, Cape Breton. It was sometime in the afternoon and myself and some others were gathering his food on a trolley in the hall outside the room where he and a friend would dine. There was a lot of anticipation. When the huge plates arrived they were covered with large silver covers – half a sphere with a handle on the top.

I didn’t examine the contents of the two plates. I waited anxiously – will the food be too cold? – should we send it back? Finally they arrived. He and his companion were seated in the rectangular shaped room with a large dinning table in it. Rinpoche and his guest sat at the side of the table with their backs to the door.

The place settings were elaborately set with the hotels finest silverware. Slowly and with all the precision I can muster I brought in Rinpoche’s plate and set it down in front of him from his right. Next I removed the bell cover to expose a succulent steak covered in a cream sauce and some potatoes and vegetables on the side. Then, I went for his friend’s plate and following the exact same procedure, placed the plate down and removed the silver, half-globe-sized cover. But instead of a wonderful display of food there is just a single hard-boiled egg in the middle of a large plate. "There must be some kind of mistake", I thought to myself. I did not mention that, hoping that if it was a mistake, it would go unnoticed. Mistake or not it did not go unnoticed. Rinpoche said, "What happened to the chicken?" "Oh god", I thought, "there was supposed to be chicken on her plate as well!" I looked at Rinpoche stricken with horror, he chucked and I left the room, my body flush with embarrassment, mind flipping.

Our team of drivers, servers, secretaries and guards had just gotten Rinpoche into his new house on Dutch Village Road in Halifax. There were only thirty people in the Buddhist community in Halifax at that time and I think they were all in the house helping or serving in one capacity or another. Rinpoche had just arrived from the United States and the place was buzzing with excitement and confusion. I was on guard duty, my job to protect him but also to administer the ebb and flow of people in and out of the house, especially once things settled down.

My personal objective on these shifts was first of all to perform my duty and secondly to get as much contact with Rinpoche as possible. I bent the rules as much I dared to accomplish the latter. So, instead of sitting in front of the door where I was supposed to and would not have been able to see Rinpoche, I stood in the middle of the lobby and watched Rinpoche through the open French doors in the sitting room. People were scurrying in and out in last minute preparations. It was as though he was the calm at the eye of a hurricane; all around him swirled his attendants.

He looked over at me through the buzz of attendants and with his upturned right hand curled his index finger just enough to be construed as a "come here". I looked behind to make sure he was not motioning to someone behind me. No one was there. Dodging several people and completely unnoticed I went up to him and knelt down in front of him. He asked, "How are you?" I said, "Fine thank you sir." Then there was a long pregnant pause. It was unbearable. I stayed there as long as I could, milliseconds I suspect, then awkwardly said, "Nice to see you again", and quickly followed with, "Well, goodbye sir." "Goodbye", he replied.