I think of the guru I remember Trungpa Rinpoche. I remember the wide smile and Cheshire teeth, the cowboy shirt with suspenders, and sometimes a cowboy hat. I think of the crazy wisdom guru and remember velvet eyes looking over glass rims. I think of the guru. I remember Chogyam's chubby hands gracefully playing with a vajra, skillfully playing with a damaru, or holding a glass to his lips, sipping and setting the glass soundlessly down while teaching dharma. Distracted, I'd watch and forget to listen. But his movements were dharma too. I remember the guru, walking like mahakala, holding a kasung's hand. I remember the guru, I remember his giggling while dribbling rice on my head or ticleling me on the sofa. I remember the guru, his pride in his wife and sons. I think of the guru-- his face sweating before the Karmapa's first visit. I think of the guru, his tears of joy greeting and parting from His Holiness Khyentse Rinpoche. I remember Trungpa Rinpoche and the various experiential ways he pointed out the true nature of mind. I remember the Druk Sakyong, suddenly self-arisen monarch in yellow robes, proclaiming the Great Eastern Sun not exactly to be confused with the dawn of Vajrasattva. I remember the guru screeching the Shambhala Anthem. Decades have passed and new old photos appear, but better than remembering, the first signs of his Kingdom can be seen And I feel the guru smiling as he moves from Dewachen to Glorious Copper Colored Mountain to Akanishta to Shambhala-- enjoying the realms spiritual and temporal. And I feel the guru living in my heart. April 15, 2009 Linda V. Lewis