Seemingly doing Kora around KIBI, where Mipham Rinpoche’s Kudung sat during the final weeks of pujas and ceremonies to prepare for the cremation. I’m not one for miracles, defiant to the end, but this was something. Each day I would gaze up, and there they would be. Everyday the Stupa would get more beautifully adorned and painted, intensity would rise, we all knew what was coming.
On the day, the Kudung was brought out and made three koras around the Stupa before being placed inside. I was dumbfounded to see Karmapa’s jubilant energy, relaxed and serene, this didn’t look like an ordinary man about to cremate his father. It was a Buddha, without attachment to emotions, understanding impermanence like none of us ever could, seeing it all for what it truly is. If I ever need a reminder of miracles, this is far more impressive than bending a knife or floating in air. As Karmapa lit the fire almost immediately there was a torrent of smoke spilling out in all directions, covering the courtyard in golden mist, I could barely see my hands. Looking up, the sun poked and streamed in through cracks in the drapes creating cascading lines in the smoke and ash. Sunstars creeping over the stupa’s golden tower, it was incredible.
The ceremonies began, drums pounded and bells rang, offerings were thrown into the blazing inferno. I gazed up once more, and there were the eagles again. This time in pairs, sweeping across the sky, loop after loop. Through the top of the cremation pyre, with the sun in my eyes, I couldn’t look away from these majestic creatures as they paid their respects to Mipham Rinpoche, the Magnificent, the Great. A day of miracles, simple and divine. Such is the power of a great master, as he leaves this world, and passes on.
