```poetry When we met I did not know I was thirsty You passed me a cup anyway For the first time, I drank deeply with greed Most of it spilling on the ground You laughed And poured once again From the inexhaustible font ``` ___ Namo samantabhadra. Namo all buddhas. I am so grateful to have met you. So many things I wrote in frantic misspellings[0] in Apple notes from our early conversations are just a daily part of my life now: Deity Yoga, the Avatamsaka, Samantabhadra, vajrayana, Michael Owens, lojong, tonglen... I could go on. I didn't know how to write this, because of what a profound impact you have had on me. I remember the day we met. It was a weird day because I didn't want to go into San Francisco. I was very close to cancelling on lunch with Erik. I was irritable and mildly annoyed, and doubly so when I arrived to find that there was a guest at lunch I hadn't been informed would join us. It was you. We talked about open source and the state of web3. Both of us doing devrel stuff and it all made sense. It was a pleasant meal, a normal business-day lunch, and then it was time to leave. We were both headed to East Bay. I offered a ride. We were both headed to Alameda. We lived within a minute from each other. Funny coincidence. We didn't waste a breath on any lunch topics in the car. We dove head first into something else. I didn't know what we were talking about. I thought you were crazy but in a very interesting way. It turns out I was the one who was crazy. I just didn't know it at the time. I was right about the interesting way. From there, each of our conversations was a whirlwind for me. It's crystal clear in my mind when we were eating at Vik's in Berkeley and you slammed your hand on the table, and shook it: "You have to understand that even this table is empty[1]!" I was having fun, but still thought you were crazy. I loved talking to you. Something was calling me. Then my life fell apart. My ship sank. I felt like I was in hell. Nothing would make me feel better until I happened upon tonglen on a random Thursday night at Berkeley Alembic. I told you I had resonated with the practice; it was so different. You pointed me to Training the Mind by Chogyam Trungpa. The first time, I listened to the audiobook in one sitting. I didn't know what bodhicitta was. I didn't know what alaya or vijnana was. I didn't know most of the important words, but I got the message: breathe in the bad, breathe out the good. What a radical idea: take in the shit, puss, blood and death. Breathe the black smoke into your lungs. Breathe **out** the light, the good. Breathe in the bad, breathe out the good. Breathe in the suffering, breathe out compassion. I was desperate, so I did the practice every waking moment. Things started happening. Later, before my first retreat, you gave me these core instructions: **Three Points of Practice** 1. **Giving Up the Causes of Suffering** - Progress in Dharma is only possible to the extent you’ve given up the causes of suffering (so you have to find the causes by looking hard). 2. **Generating Bodhicitta** - Lock in and sustain the proper intent to cultivate compassion and selflessness. 3. **Yoga/Tantra/Vipashyana** - Stare straight at desire with all the energy you can, funneling it into the stability of the first two practices. I used those instructions during the retreat, I didn't know how recursive this was until much later. I didn't even know what vipashyana was at the time. The unconscious dharmas I was holding with a tight grip sort of exploded. It was progress. Then I felt good. Really good. For the first time in years, I felt bliss. I grabbed it with both of my hands and thought I would stay there forever. I remember sitting in front of you when it all fell apart again. You laughed and said: "Ah, ya fucked around in the God realm too long." I responded: "Everything is like wet newspaper now." You: "I like to think of Thich Nhat Hanh: the lotus grows from mud. If there's no mud, you cannot grow a lotus." I can picture your smile after you said that. It made me feel better. Later still, you showed me the Yogacara mandala. I remember sitting in a vajrayana class, taught by a distinguished lama and thinking "oh, I get this!" Clear vajrayana through emojis on a Notion site. It's beautiful. The mandala continues to unfold, containing all and itself and nothing at all. Then we were eating sandwiches in your living room. Then your son was on his way and I brought food. Then we were meditating at sunrise on your birthday in Crab Cove. Then we were playing Super Mario Run in your kitchen. Then we were drinking Chai. Then we were in a video call: "the wound never closes, that's the thing!" Then you brought food when my son came. Then you gave me the chair I'm sitting in now. Then we sat in front of my house. Then we talked about compression and tornadoes. Now your body has cancer. In a way, you're in a privileged position. You have no excuses or distractions from the truth. This is not the end because it never began. If you are to leave this pureland, I will miss you and I pray for you to come back and visit. I feel a deep sadness at the thought of you going, but I remember my favorite line from the Avatamsaka: "if my mind is disturbed by this suffering, I have not mastered myself." I offer these tears running down my face. Each drop is a flower treasury adornment of worlds. Thank you, teacher, thank you, friend. I love you dearly. -Peter ![[95DE5004-0ADD-4680-9F68-B996009CBBE9_1_105_c.jpeg]] Footnotes 0. Some funny ones: Akshobya = "akshovia"; dzogchen = zochan; hinayana = Inahayana. 1. Later, you suggested I take the Sunyata class from MC Owens, and because I had meditated for a few months I said: "I think I got the whole emptiness thing." Big lol. 2. Also published here: https://github.com/mikeal/cancer-diaries/pull/14