Born a poet between breaths of the infinite, John Brown aka O John Brown passed beyond the visible horizon in Lima, Pennsylvania, on February 20, 2026. He was born on May 6, 1941, in Longmeadow, Massachusetts, to Martha and William.
John’s life was a pilgrimage. Drawn early to devotion and large, luminous questions, he entered Catholic seminary as a young man and explored many spiritual paths before finding a home in Vajrayana Buddhism. He moved through the world as both seeker and storyteller—serious about wonder, playful about certainty.
He studied in Pennsylvania, Washington, and France, completing graduate work in poetry at Naropa Institute in 1974. Returning to Pennsylvania with Ralph Basch and Trudy Pomerantz, he was a founding member of the Philadelphia Dharmadhatu. An active presence, John lived in the Dharmadhatu practice house in West Philadelphia in the 1980s. John attended the 1980 Vajradhatu Buddhist Seminary. He was lucid until his passing – during a visit a few weeks ago, we remembered early times in Philadelphia, Karme Choling and at Naropa.
For John, language was a doorway, where a well-placed word could invoke the sacred within the ordinary. For over fifty years he taught English, French, Religion, and Poetry at Cardinal O’Hara High School, encouraging generations of students to meet the world with patience, curiosity, and wonder. At the Wallingford Community Arts Center, he shared his love of poetry in readings and classes for over two decades. Many of his students became lifelong friends and meditators.
He was predeceased by his siblings Bill, Jeff, and Justine. He is survived by his nieces, nephews, grandnieces and grandnephews, and countless students and friends.
A Sukhavati ceremony will be held at the Philadelphia Shambhala Meditation Center in March, date to be announced. Please check the Monthly Calendar – Shambhala Meditation Center of Philadelphia Shambhala Meditation Center of Philadelphia or contact info.philadelphia.shambhala@gmail.com for updated information.
When a sentence shimmers, when a breath stills, when a pause feels full of meaning—John is there, with a trace of laughter, that spark of wonder, and a quiet, knowing wink.
Had Mr. Brown at O'Hara back in the '60s. He was the best. As interesting as any teacher I ever had, and he taught something much more important than French, recognizing and comprehending what things were.
God bless John Brown.
Poet - Teacher - Friend.
John was a dear friend and mentor to my children and their friends at our home in Westtown. John was always available to give support and add a sense of humor. He was funny, wry, awake, and sensitive to the needs of others. I enjoyed his company every time we met. The last time I saw him was about 20 years ago in Vermont and we had a terrific time reminiscing then. I am certain John is in the Pure Land with a wide open interest in his next adventures in being a bodhisattva. Lovely human being. May he be happy, free from harm, with peace and ease in his transition. Love always.
One summer day after graduating high school I went to visit Mr. Brown. I can’t remember who else was there but I’m certain others were present.
We were sitting on the floor at his house in Media, talking about life, the universe and his plans to visit a witch later that day.
At the end of my visit, he rolled up an old Persian rug we were sitting on and without saying a word, he handed it to me as a gift. Somehow he was aware of a need I had never verbalized, nor had I even realized at the time.
I sat on Mr. Brown’s rug many times in many bedrooms; West Philly during college, North Philly during medical school, Upstate New York during residency training and during my time as a physician in the Indian Health Service on the Navajo reservation.
I can’t remember when and how I finally parted with Mr. Brown’s rug. I just hope I gave it to someone who needed the rug as much as I did in 1971.
Walk in Beauty Hosteen Brown
… to finish my thought: while most of us taught 2+2=4, John taught 2+¥=I don’t know let’s talk about it!
What did John teach? Joy, laughter, appreciation, creativity, balance, perspective, gentleness, etc., etc. While most of us were teaching 2+2=4, John taught
You were an inspiration to many budding lives.
Embrace eternity knowing you’ve lead through infinite means.
Although you will be missed, most things are temporary.
I remember the first time I crossed paths with Mr. Brown. I was a freshman at O'Hara and he overheard me using profane language in the hallway. He turned to me and with a stern look on his face and chided me saying, "Hey F__k Face, you can't talk like that in here. This is not church". I froze, having zero idea how to respond to that. We locked eyes for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he winked at me and went on his way. A few years later I had him as a teacher. It was one of my great joys in high school. When people asked, what class he taught me, I always responded; LIFE 101. I had the pleasure of knowing him again in my adult life and even visiting him at his home on a Father's Day a number of years ago which allowed me to share with him how blessed I have been when I introduced him to my 4 beautiful children. They still speak of that day. It was the last time I saw him in person. Though I still see him from time to time in my mind's eye whenever I see or read something that brings me to pause, or reflect, or if something interesting is happening in the night sky. I can say with 100% certainty that my life has been more fulfilling because John Brown passed through it. Fare thee well, my friend, fare thee well.
Hoping to transmute the sad I try reframing as John’s latest writing prompt like in the 1983 Wallingford class when he’d say “Start the poem with a child’s question” except this time it’s “Start with meeting me in 1968 and make it a list poem” so here goes: Riding shotgun in his blue beetle to see 2001 at Cinema-19 the senior year afterschool writing class we practically begged for the Jackson Street cool-place-to-bring-a-date apartment with the glow-in-the-dark bedroom ceiling moon and stars and tea cups that whistled the Morrison-like “swim to the moon“ in the Springton Reservoir the Wallingford classes Geese the sweat lodges at Ridley Creek and in his Wawa house backyard woods the solstice party on Engel my kids marveling at his treehouse The White Farm House the dinners the readings the chapbooks the inscribed ex-libris gifts the Good Friday Last Temptation gatherings the Candlemas party . . . Stop. Feeling like the Oscar winner hearing the opening notes of the play-off music and blurting “I know I’m forgetting something” so will have to zoom out like Hamlet to Horatio Act 1 Scene 2 grandiose maybe a cliche maybe but nonetheless true: “He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.”
John took me in at the lowest point in my life and gave me a space to recover and rebound. He was the most generous person I’ve ever known. He gave away everything: books, poems, insights, caring and friendship. I’ve never known anyone like him.
Mr. Brown was one of the best teachers I ever had. I gained an appreciation for literature and language.
I can honestly say, he had a huge impact on my decision to become a teacher.
I loved ever minute being in his class.
Mr. Brown and I had an opportunity to catch up in 2010 at our 35th reunion and I am so glad I got to tell him what an impact he had on my career decisions. ♥️
Mr. Brown was an inspirational renaissance man. A teacher that most, if not all of the students who were lucky enough to sit in his class, will never forget. Rest easy good sir. I am grateful for your life.
My favorite teacher of all time!! I think if Mr Brown so often with the fondest of memories. RIP Mr Brown.
My ALL TIME FAVORITE TEACHER Ever !!! RIP Mr Brown… you were one in a million and I will never forget you 😞💜
POETRY AS ORDINARY PRACTICE
- O. John Brown
Now, there are some poems that tell you things
in a story:
This is a house and a yard.
This is what your childhood was.
The willow trees, water flowing,
three seasons. To miss someone
And over by the chair,
the cane your grandmother used.
And the doorway out
And some poems ,
well some want you to dance with them.
You like the fast ones.
But the best move up close and slow,
and sway their gentleness into your heart,
where it shows.
Some, to be honest, are not easy friends.
You laugh when you should be crying,
and vice versa. But you go on with it.
You don’t show them to your friends,
they have no clothes. Or the clothes have no discovery.
And some take you, clean and simple,
like the right woman at a Fair, without baggages,
without images. Or with an image that dissolves
as sudden as a whisper - and leaves you there.
And some just look at you,
like you some kind of translucent grape.
And in spite of the calendar, the stars, the car repair,
the roses, the hunger and fears, the lilacs,
the essential loneliness, the awe,
the music of the spheres,
tropical forests and your mother’s voice
You see in all their eyes
yourself, still green in a golden room,
holding the pen that you are writing with,
that everyone gave you,
that no one gave you.
- John submitted this poem to Metaxy, a poetry magazine published in 1993. John was a close mentor until he reached the end of his direct teaching cycle to start a new cycle as a student. Like a brilliant diamond, John’s essential intelligence showed many facets to those who crossed his path, and this piece encompasses many of those facets. It spoke directly to me, about those facets, and the basic grounding that brought all this together in one being, one heart. What an absolute pleasure it was to have know this being and to have studied under this heart for even the briefest of moments.
FOR MR. BROWN
As you taught without teaching,
we learned without knowing.
I once tried hard to write like you,
whom I so admired, and so wrote
This and then That or even
That again, and again, until
I began to live a life of my own
and recalled without knowing
what I really had learned from one
who had taught me without teaching.
FOR O. JOHN BROWN
I was pretty down today
with petty gripes about
aches and strains of the
aged variety, over the
result of a soccer game for
chrissake, over precious
little. But then I thought of
your sad passing, sad for us,
no doubt an adventure for you.
And I sat at the computer with
sweet memories of your faithful
Olivetti and banged out a verse or
two in much the way we do. We
who knew you and wanted to do
what our magical mentor was
able to do so dutifully, so well.
Early on in my Shambhala career, attending a John Brown dharma talk at the Philadelphia Center, I heard this from John:
When someone says, “thank you,” if you answer, “no problem,” that’s the Hinayana. If you say, “you’re welcome,” that’s the Mahayana. The Vajrayana is, “my pleasure.”
Unforgettable.
Say
you are swimming in the presence of being here:
say that the subtlety of sounds, the season, the company of spirits,
Say nothing now,
Say all the conditions are met;say someone next to you
whispers something in your ear, say it sounds like nothing
you have ever heard before;
Say you should stop reading for a minute and let the silence
catch up, overtake and wake you up. John Brown poem 1979
My deep friend, my colleague,my teacher,60 yrs we travelled
together and apart. My delightful guide, I feel your presence
in your absence.
First, he pointed out to me
Vastness over a cup of tea.
Next, he handed me a diamond sword
In order to “cut through “.
From there
We danced and smiled
Singing poetry together
For decades and decades.
The generous friend
The artful trickster
A master of kindness
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