The first time that we gathered to watch you die,
I experienced great joy at seeing you again.
There was no doubt that you were yourself–
magnificent in spite of tubes and bruises.
This brought great faith in the only father guru.
The second time that we gathered for your death,
I made a vow to fulfill your wishes:
May I be haunted by that samaya through the kalpas.
May your word spread across continents and reach the ears of
countless sentient beings.
The third time that we gathered for your death,
Before your breath stopped, mind stopped.
The power of your nonthought lineage is seared into my brain.
May I carry this imprint throughout many lives.
On the day that you died, I became a Mukpo.
Until your death, there was someone else,
But now there is only Mukpo.
These feet are Mukpo feet,
These toes are Mukpo toes,
These legs are Mukpo legs,
These thighs are Mukpo thighs,
Mukpo loins and Mukpo belly,
Mukpo breast, arms, hands, fingers,
Mukpo spine and neck and chin,
These Mukpo lips utter Mukpo words with Mukpo tongue
and grinding Mukpo teeth.
This Mukpo nose smells the scent of Mukpo,
And these Mukpo ears listen for the thundering beat of Mukpo
riding on the wind and dust and ocean of Mukpo world.
These Mukpo eyes see the vision of Mukpo,
And this Mukpo brow bears the Ashe brushstroke of Mukpo.
Mukpo brain thinks Mukpo thoughts,
Mukpo heart pumps Mukpo blood through Mukpo arteries, veins,
muscles, tendons–
Mukpo cannot be dismantled.
Mukpo is no mausoleum.
Mukpo will not budge.
Yes come from Mukpo.
Mukpo knows how to say no.
Mukpo gives yes and no to those who know Mukpo.
Mukpo is no personality cult.
Mukpo is Gesar.
Mukpo is His Holiness.
You can take the Mukpo out of Vajradhatu,
But you cannot take the Vajradhatu out of Mukpo.
Mukpo can slice.
Mukpo can cut.
Mukpo can purr like a lion.
But Mukpo does not chatter.
Mukpo cannot be defeated.
Beware of Mukpo.
Let us be aware of Mukpo.
Let us celebrate Mukpo together.
Let us give Mukpo to our children and our children’s children.
Born as Smith, Jones, Rich, Rose, Rome, or Baker,
Let us all die as Mukpo.
What else is there to do in Nova Scotia?
-Anonymous,
24 July 1987
