A Toast to the Dorje Dradul of Mukpo Dong

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It is amazing how fearful I am when facing you. I always was and may always be. Here I am again–a simple request to make a toast to you–has roused that fear again.

As I sit at the feet of the most profound, the most brilliant, the most just, the most powerful, the most all victorious person I have ever known, and may ever know for lifetimes,

Why should I be so afraid of that cosmic mirror you always hold up?

Without you I would never have learned what that quivering heart is all about and that is where the stroke of Ashe begins.

It is in that moment of fear that werma and drala begin to gather and their horses begin to stir.

I sometimes hear the sound of the harnesses, the clinking of the crystal armour, the stomping of the horses’ hooves, all that energy preparing for descent into my heart and all hearts in that one, quivering moment.

Here we are in Nova Scotia.

Believe it or not, along these craggy, ocean worn shores, there are chrysanthemums growing.

It worked! Your smile produced them petal by petal,

And our tears of longing helped them grow.

Why are you not presently with us?

You are, I say, always, always, always with us, which makes me cry more.

Will my tears produce future warriors?

That is my aspiration, that is my offering.

I love you so much, I miss you so terribly

From the pain of that heartbreak I cry Ki Ki, So So

And I vow to perpetuate your world.

To the Dorje Dradul

(This is a toast that was offered some years ago at a meeting in Halifax, Lady Diana presiding.)
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