I would say without question that it was one of the most powerful moments of my life.
The Stupa. This was a grand undertaking to say the least - when the Kudung had finally arrived there was an empty ice covered field and no real plan for how to build it, other than detailed sketches. In a funny twist of fate, my dad -who was there also- was asked by Gyaltrul Rinpoche to lead the team in building the stupa. While he runs a construction management company in Los Angeles, and yes he was also the construction manager for building the Dharmakaya Center itself, the stupa needed to be built in 6 days, while we’re in the middle of nowhere, nothing is prepared, with zero precedent to boot. In an instant our trip transformed from a family Dharma pilgrimage, to a full fledged construction project under the tightest scheduling and pressure possible. So, he found stone masons and a construction crew from a local town and our emergency Stupa crew was formed. Scaffolding and a plastic enclosure was put up, gas power heaters installed to make it warm enough to work and for plaster and paint to dry. Under freezing rain, and howling winds they worked late into the night, essentially non-stop for six days. It was such an experience to see this all come together firsthand, and to see the genuine connection, inspiration and extra work these crews put in to get it all done in time. These were regular folks, with absolutely no Dharma backgrounds, and one could clearly see they were visibly touched by what they were doing. They braved hunger, cold, crazy hours and a litany of problems in stride, always with a smile. I was very touched by their seemingly unprovoked devotion. Finally a Thangka painter from New York came up to do the decoration, and miraculously it all came together literally minutes before the ceremony began. I know my dad didn’t sleep the whole time, rushing around for missing supplies, trying to accommodate the constant changing of plans or circumstances, or out in the cold filling up the diesel generators at two in the morning to keep the heat going. I felt very proud of him, for this momentous work, all the while documenting every step, father and son.
On the day, it was bitter cold, with ice and wind covering the ground and air, nerves and emotions flying sideways all around me. The sky was dark grey and foreboding. Sitting in my room as the rising sun tried feebly to break through the heavy clouds, I ran over the plan in my head, thinking of how best to document, and where I might stand to attract the least attention to myself. Thinking back to Shamar Rinpoche’s cremation in Nepal, I was struck by how momentous an occasion this was, and how I was the only one there taking photos this time, a staunch difference from the crowded and sun-stroked rooftop of Shar Minub. Standing in the freezing cold, they brought the Kudung down from the Shrine room, I followed the best I could as the wooden box was slowly and gracefully carried by eight pallbearers across the freezing snowy terrain. A solemn walk, gritting under the weight, Rinpoche’s closest held him high. Many hands were required to load the Kudung into the stupa, after which everyone present lined up to offer their final kataks and prostrations to the great master. More than one hundred had braved the cold and dangerous travel conditions to be there. Their devotion was clear. It was at this point that I was struck hard in the heart. I was surrounded by Rinpoche’s closest students and attendants, their shoulders heaved and shook, sobs and tears of sadness reverberated all around me. While I knew Rinpoche, and had seen him and received teachings several times, these were people who spent their lives with him. Cared for him. Loved him. I found myself crying too, hard. I was absorbing their sadness through my lens, and the more I documented, the more I was touched. I hardly ever cry, but I was overwhelmed by the devotion, sadness and longing I felt in the eyes and hearts of those whom Rinpoche had touched most. In this moment I felt very honored to be there in this moment, allowed to document and preserve this sadness and devotion, a beautiful and tender mix of emotion that expressed exactly what Rinpoche had meant to these people. These tears in the wind and cold.
The ceremony began, and in that instant the whole environment changed. The wind stopped, the cold faded. The sky grew brighter, and it started to snow. Not a heavy cold snow, but this beautiful light and fluffy snow, with giant soft flakes that seemed to dance and flutter in space. It was remarkable, breathtaking really. The dark muddy ground became white and soft. The air was filled with a sense of joy and calm. It was a clear sign of Rinpoche’s blessings; sadness became glowing heart, teary eyes dried, becoming clear and sparkling. I saw it myself, everyone and everything was transformed before my very eyes. Speaking with Gyaltrul Rinpoche afterwards, we spoke about the ceremony, and all that he had seen. He told me when a great Master passes away and it snows in this way it is the ultimate sign of realization. Equal to a sky full of rainbows and miracles. He told me that when you look at a snowflake up close, it looks like a mandala, a perfectly unique and beautiful naturally occurring phenomenon. He stressed how rare and powerful this was, for the environment to be so impacted by Khenchen Rinpoche’s blessing and power. This was cause to be joyful, and to revel in Rinpoche’s final gift to us. In Tibetan, he told me the translation is “Flowers of The Sky”. The ultimate sign.
I can still feel it now, the roaring flames, the billowing smoke. The chanting, the beautiful soft white snow. The whole of space filled with the miracle and celebration of Rinpoche’s life - how those tears in the wind and cold had faded, and the Flowers of the Sky came down to cover the world in a blanket of beauty and inspiration.
