On April 17, the Los Angeles Shambhala Center was honored to host Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche, lineage holder of the Shambhala Buddhist lineage, for a very special gathering. In his talk to the community, the Sakyong emphasized both the importance of embodying Basic Goodness and of gathering as a community to work together in establishing enlightened society here and now.

We are honored and grateful to share his talk with you in this video.

The Official YouTube Channel for Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche has been updated. It now has over thirty videos of the Sakyong and Sakyong Wangmo. Many of these have captions in up to twelve languages including Spanish, Chinese, Portuguese, German, Greek, Swedish, Italian, Czech, Persian Farsi, Arabic, Korean, and Ukrainian.

The channel provides a diversity of topics that can attract a wide audience. With hundreds of millions of people using YouTube, this presence helps make the dharma more available and easier to find. For the billions of non-native English speakers throughout the world, and everyone who does not speak English, the videos make these teachings even more accessible.

You can read more about the project on the Shambhala Times:
http://shambhalatimes.org/2010/10/28/official-youtube-channel-for-sakyong-mipham-rinpoche

The Sakyong’s Official YouTube Channel:
http://www.youtube.com/user/officialsakyong

This year’s ball, put on by the West Siders as a fundraiser for their future building space, was a huge success. It was also a lot of fun. Click here to visit the LA Shambhala Photostream on Flickr and to see Ed Anolin’s photos from the event!…

Shambhalians were lucky this year. Our new year – “Losar” in the Tibetan tradition, aka “Shambhala Day” – coincided with Valentine’s Day.

“Love” became the theme of the day, appropriately enough. The Sakyong, in his address, emphasized that we work with love and kindness as the basis of our interactions with the world. To access a recording of his talk, click here.

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And Joel Wachbrit, Co-Director of SMCLA and musician extraordinaire reports our own Shambhala Day celebration:

This year’s Shambhala Day had the largest turnout I have seen in my 21 years as a sangha member in Los Angeles – Kasung counted 130 at one point during the Sakyong’s address. What really impressed this year (especially from my vantage point in the director’s seat) was how happy everyone looked. I never felt the old urge of “speed it up Joel, they’re getting bored!” while Melanie and I went through the morning’s announcements and program events. And when it came time to have our fundraiser for the Westside Shambhala Group I had a ball playing off of Greg Lubkin as auctioneers. We raised over $7000 for the Westside and I think we could have kept going. But Indian food was calling and we still had the I Ching to toss, the Sadhana of Mahamudra to do………

I came home and shut my eyes around 3pm and the next thing I knew it was after 5! I awoke with a tender heart of sadness and delight for my fellow LA Shambhalians.

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The celebration continues, fortunately. Don’t miss our Ball, this Sunday at the Shambhala Center. Click here for more details! All are invited!

Post your own Shambhalentines Day memories in the Comments section below!

While the Shambhala Sun is always in the East, the West Coast Shambhalian certainly knows how to enjoy a good setting sun once in a while. Especially those of us who live on the West Side of Los Angeles, a good 25 miles (that’s L.A. miles, folks!) from our main center over in Eagle Rock.

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Although the hard core amongst us will brave three or four highways through Hollywood and other exotic locale to visit our East Side brethren for a good talk or a Werma Feast or our routine check-ins with acharya and mentor Allyn Lyon, most people visiting the West Side Shambhala group for the first time have trouble believing that we actually drive all the way to Eagle Rock for programs. In fact, most West Siders (myself included!) are reluctant to go east of the 405 very often.

Because of the increased amount of foot traffic at the West Side Shambhala events – Sunday evening sittings (4-6pm), Thursday evening talks about Shambhala Arts, “The Way of Shambhala” courses, Shambhala Levels, free meditation instruction, and so forth – the L.A. sangha is rallying to find a larger, permanent home for the West Siders.

Most significantly, this year’s Shambhala Ball (February 20 at the Eagle Rock Center) will dedicate its proceeds to the West Side Shambhala group and its building search. West Siders have been assigned with the task of planning this year’s party. They have been practicing for this task for months, organizing occasional forays into local dance clubs to sample of the DJs.

Being a West Side Shambhalian is not just party-planning and sunsets over the beach, however. A few dedicated sitters make up the “West Side Steering Committee.” This group meets regularly, discusses administrative and financial matters, and cultivates leadership amongst its ranks. I hasten to add that these meetings often mitigate any fatigue they might engender by featuring delicious cookies and chocolates! This is the sort of committee I can commit to!

And no discussion about the West Side Shambhala group is complete without mentioning the fearless duo that has lead it fearlessly for four years:

Stanley Weiser and Tom Gottlieb, both deeply devoted students of the Sakyong and his father, attend nearly every sitting session, maintain the financial stability of the burgeoning organization, and even make sure all the doors are locked when we leave the Santa Monica Zen Center on Sunday evenings.

So, West Siders, don’t despair! While the trek to the East Side might be long and hard on your gas mileage, and though that trek is usually worth it, you can look forward to a future in which some of those East Siders might venture West. And they’ll probably want to see the setting sun while they’re at it.

submitted by Chris O’Hare

Ron Erlandson
Born – Aug 21, 1937
Died – Died – Nov 30, 2009

Ron, at 70 years old, living with prostate cancer in temporary remission, started his journey on the Shambhala Buddhist path. In June 2009, he completed “The Sacred Path of the Warrior.” In that same year, he joined the Kasung, taking shifts until his illness prevented it.

After college, Ron attended seminary and became an Episcopal parish priest. His career had many chapters, including being counselor at a Catholic social service agency, being a chaplain at a home for the aging & dying, and being the attending clergy at numerous funerals and memorial services.

During the Summer of 2009, Ron was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He related to this with equanimity. With the help of his dear friend and care giver, Orlando Campbell, he travelled to Berlin, the one major city in Europe he had not visited. He came home and did what he needed to do to get his legal situation in order. During this time, he also celebrated his 72nd birthday, with “heart connected” friends, good food and laughter.

During his last few months, Ron was visited by numerous friends, clergy and Shambhala sangha members. He was generous with his attention, and interested in relating to people as they were, neither more nor less. Up to the end, he continued to be curious about living and dying. His often present soft dry wit and sparkling eyes elicited many smiles and heart felt chuckles from his visitors.

On August 28, 2009, Ron took Refuge with Lama Gyatso in Los Feliz, L.A., California, at which time he received his refuge name, Padma Dorje, i.e., Indestructible Lotus.

In his last ten days, he requested and received appropriate pain management. On November 30, 2009, Ron died peacefully at home in his own bed, with friends present and sangha practicing.

Ron’s Sukhavati was held December 11, 2009. Acharya Allyn Lyon officiated. At the Sukhavati, Ron’s brother, Barry Erlandson, with a chuckle, noted that he and Ron were born to a Swede father and a Hillbilly mother. Barry characterized the two brothers as being complete opposites, Ron left of left, Barry right of right, and Ron’s livelihood being priest and spiritual seeker, Barry being an engineer. They shared a good sense of humor and a commitment to doing what needed to be done.

* * * * * * * * *

[Ron’s requested that at his Sukhavati he wanted read his “Statement to Friends.” What follows is a moderately edited version.]

Ron Erlandson’s Statement to His Friends

One afternoon while I was still a young priest, a man approached me at a church function having been brought there by a mutual friend from Chicago. His name was Ken Bailey, and our mutual friend had told me Ken was living with cancer. Taking me aside and bringing up his situation, he said, “If anyone ever tells you he’s going to beat something like this, you can tell that person it isn’t necessary. When I encouraged Ken to continue, he insisted that taking a combative stance toward cancer or any serious disease is inconsistent with trying to follow a spiritual path.

That was the only time I ever met Ken. I suspect he died shortly after, but his message has remained with me over all these years. “Tell them they don’t have to beat it.” The idea that serious illness must be battled is strikingly evident in our culture, as we’re all aware, and the use of euphemisms to avoid the word “death” is firmly entrenched. A favorite saying of my mother was “if something happens to so-and-so”, meaning, of course, “if so and so were to die”. The allopathic medical profession, whose approach sometimes seems more about curing the disease than attempting to assist the healing of the whole person, speaks of looking for magic bullets or knocking out viruses. It speaks of a war on cancer like our recent administration spoke, and still tries to speak, of the war on terror. A website called cancercenter.com touts the shrill motto, “We are fighters, and fighters win.”

Back in the 60’s, while a student at the University of Chicago, I listened to a talk by Kubler-Ross, who was just then getting her start. She told how hospital administrators responded to her request to interview terminal patients by insisting there were none, only patients who were said to be “beyond medical help.”

The media regularly speaks of battling as the experience of people living with cancer. As I write this, the expression is being applied on TV to Elizabeth Edwards and Farrah Fawcett.

An obituary will often read that the deceased died after a long battle with cancer, suggesting to me the writer’s belief that the person might possibly have failed by not battling enough.

An April 20 edition of the LA Times Health Section reviewed a recently published book, “Anticancer: A New Way of Life.” Though the book prescribes a more gentle regimen of diet, meditation and exercise as complementary to aggressive medical treatment, the story’s headline nevertheless referred to these as “Daily Attacks Against Cancer.”

My curiosity about death began during childhood when I discovered a dead bird in the road which passed by our house. Being the oldest kid in the neighborhood, I had no difficulty enlisting playmates to join me in mounting a proper funeral for the poor creature. Decked out in a bedspread as a makeshift “Cope,” I led the entourage up the long driveway and into the garage where the last rights occurred. The body, encased in a cigar box coffin, was laid to rest in a nearby field and covered with flowers stolen from a neighbor’s garden.

My earliest memory of a people funeral was the one held for my oldest uncle’s wife, Lizzie, who had died of lung cancer. Her demise was considered to be most unfair as she’d been a devout Nazarene who never smoked. I was unable to see Lizzie’s body, since my uncle had opted for a closed casket. I was taken to the house for the reception, where I was warned by my mother not to touch anything because I might catch the cancer.

Years later, now being a person who’s been present at many deaths and conducted countless funerals, I was in my doctor’s office for a routine yearly physical. When he attempted to prescribe a new medication, I resisted, reminding him I was already taking several other medications and was beginning to feel like a geriatric patient. “But don’t we all have to accept our mortality?” was his abrupt reply. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” I sighed. “And how can I connect with those facing death if I haven’t begun preparation for my own?”

Then, advancing this story to the year 2003 and in the office of another doctor, I was catapulted into my own mortality by the discovery that I had prostate cancer. A mandatory drug screening for employees detected some red-flag concerns. This led to tests for possible infection, kidney stones, and cancer. Disclosure of the results was to launch a dramatic change in my life. As the doctor prepared to reveal the results, I noticed a definite shift in his demeanor, which told me what was to come. I began to feel like a butterfly specimen about to be pinned to a felt board.

There was a surrealistic air about the room as he told me I had a particularly aggressive cancer and then went on to declare my options. Dressed in his white jacket, the doctor’s outline appeared to flow into the stark whiteness of the wall behind him, and now it seemed like the wall itself was speaking. “Are you hearing me?” he asked. I answered that I was trying to listen through my fear and anxiety.

At home, I called a close friend, Gail (not her real name): “I’ve just found out I have aggressive prostate cancer.” Without leaving any space, she exclaimed, “Ron, you’re going to be OK”. As she continued her reassurances, I felt more and more isolated. “How does she know I’ll be OK? After all, the doctor doesn’t even know that.” Somehow it seemed she could not be OK, now that I wasn’t OK. Did it mean that she could only be OK with me, if I was OK? Her response to my call was like telling parents who just lost a child that they’re fortunate to still have another one.

I was scheduled to leave for Sweden in a few weeks. The doctor told me to go ahead. He would do the surgery after I returned. Following the surgery I would go on a regimen of hormonal therapy and receive injections of Lupron every three months. Chemotherapy was offered, and I declined. “How long will I have to take this stuff”, I asked. “As long as it works for you”, was the cryptic reply.

Three years later, I was in Vroman’s, a large Pasadena bookstore, where a book, as they say, jumped off the shelves – a book that led to a new dimension of my Spiritual Path. The book was titled “When Things Fall Apart” written by Pema Chodron, a 72 year old former Roman Catholic. She is now a Buddhist nun, spiritual director of Gampo Abbey in Nova Scotia, the author of many books, and has appeared several times with Bill MoyRoners. She is one of the foremost students of Chogyam Trungpa, a revered Tibetan meditation master and author of many books on Buddhism and the path of meditation.

In 1970, he moved to the U.S., settling in Boulder, Co. He was a dynamic teacher, establishing meditation centers around the world. In 1976, inspired by the ancient Asian Shambhala vision of enlightened society and spiritual warriorship, he developed a series of contemplative workshops called Shambhala Training – non denominational and open to people of all persuasions. Besides learning meditation, Shambhala Training deepens ones relationship with the total environment, helping the student to experience their embededness in the always present Sacred World, and the ever present opportunities for practicing loving kindness to self and others.

Shambhala Training is designed to awaken to ones true nature, as described either by Buddhism or Christianity. Chogyam Trungpa calls the Shambhala journey, “The Sacred Path of the Warrior,” to emphasize its counter-culture quality, its approach to conquering this world, not through violence or aggression, but through gentleness, courage and self-knowledge.

Now, before saying more, Yes, I’m aware of the controversy about the bishop-elect of Northern Michigan. Some of you may wonder if I’m on a slippery slope. If the Michigan priest’s experience has any parallel to my own, it has only deepened his Christian faith. No one has pressured me to take Buddhist vows. I have no intent to take vows which would place me in denial of my Christian roots. [Editor’s note: Ron requested and received Buddhist Refuge Vows about three months ago.]

During Shambhala Training, I learned the ancient Buddhist practice of Tonglen. This profound practice has changed my life. In contrast with meditation, it actively uses concepts, images and emotions to develop compassion for oneself and others. It has a universality that for me is the secret heart and meeting place of Buddhism and Christianity. It helps connect us with our suffering, rather than attempting to fight it or to escape it. Paradoxically, this dissolves the armor around our heart and awakens us to the compassion that has always already been there. Tonglen cuts through our habitual patterns of spinning a cocoon to defend against past hurts and future anxieties.

This practice begins by breathing in someone’s suffering. First you breathe in the person’s pain, fear, greed, hate, denial, whatever. As you breathe out, you send out whatever you imagine would mitigate their pain.

As you can see, Tonglen goes against the grain of how we usually hold ourselves together. It goes against the grain of wanting life on our own terms. It cuts the habitual reaction of trying to beat obstacles rather than first giving them space, getting a fresh perspective. It goes against our efforts to keep our mortality under wraps. It enables us to let go of self-centeredness – the ME PLAN – which is the source of all our suffering. Connecting to the vast, open dimension of our being that Buddhists call “shunyata” and Christians call the Kingdom of God, we find that painful things are no longer a big deal, nor are they as solid as they first appeared.

Now 6½ years later, I still visit the clinic in Pasadena for the monitoring of the monthly tests. I call this the “reading of the tea leaves.” The most critical test goes up and down; however there’s no longer any anticipatory anxiety as I walk from the parking building to the examination room. There’s curiosity, of course, but not anxiety. This is because I’ve moved beyond hope and fear, into a larger reality that can’t be found by the medical numbers game.

In the waiting room, I sit among many others, a motley group of those sharing membership in a club to which none of us aspired. I breathe in my suffering and breathe out peace and compassion to the others. I breathe in their suffering and breathe it back to them as peace and compassion. Last, I breathe in the suffering of all persons living in these circumstances anywhere in the world and breathe it out to them as peace and compassion.

I have come to notice how the embracing of my illness rather than fighting it has gradually brought new meaning and sense of purpose to my life. I feel such a strong sense of communion with all these people at the time even though I don’t know most of them, and without any sense of needing to be OK in the sense my friend Gail had meant it.

At last month’s “reading of the tea leaves,” the oncologist observed a rise in the my PSA level. When I asked about the implications, he reminded me that the hormonal therapy can’t fool the cancer indefinitely. “Nor,” said I, “can one fool oneself forever.” Whether we’ve accepted the truth of it or not, we know that the sand castles we’ve constructed at the beach will be washed away without a trace when the tide changes.

Sir Thomas Moore said before his beheading, “We are all in the same cart going to an execution.” So how can I hate anyone or wish anyone harm? To feel the full force of mortality, and to open our hearts to it, is indeed to recognize we’re in the same cart, to experience our interbeing with all beings, and from this will arise a determination to help alleviate their suffering; even to consider them as more important than our cherished self.

One modern figure who dedicated her life to seeing the sick and dying and who radiated the joy of giving and receiving was Mother Theresa. There’s no more inspiring statement of the spiritual essence of Tonglen than these familiar words of hers. (Editor’s note: three words [in parentheses] are added to the last line.)

“We all long for heaven where God is, but we have it in our power to be in heaven with him at this very moment, but being happy with him now means:

Loving as he loves
Helping as he helps
Giving as he gives
Serving as he serves
Rescuing as he rescues
Being with him 24 hours
Touching him [NOW] in [whatever is] his distressing disguise.

The end…

* * * * * * * * *
[Three days after Ron’s Sukhavati, our sangha received this letter from Orlando Campbell, Ron’s friend and care giver.]

Shambhala Meditation Center
12/14/2009

To Ron’s Sangha Family,

I’d like to personally thank you for the warm and loving support you all provided to Ron and me during the final sacred months of his life. Rather than my attempting to single out individuals and run the risk of leaving someone out, I will simply refer to you collectively as his “sangha family.” He cherished the many wonderful friendships built including the heart filled visits from so many of you to his home. We were both very impressed by the way you opened your hearts from the time he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in August until his very peaceful end. You responded to his dying as “sangha family” by sitting with him during his active dying at the end and for some time thereafter, including having a Sukhavati Liturgy & Ceremony to help him in this transition on his spiritual path. Ron and I discussed donating to the building fund on a number of occasions, but only in concept. Knowing him as I did so well, he is resting comfortably knowing that I gave generously to a cause very dear to his heart. I did what he would have wanted. As an expression of our gratitude, I’d like to say thanks to all of you and gift the Shambhala Meditation Center $10,000 to support the building fund. You have made an imprint on my heart that will last forever.

Respectfully,
Orlando
Orlando L. Campbell
ol.campbell@cox.net

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May Ron’s death, his sharing of his dying, and his & Orlando’s gift be of benefit to all sentient beings.

by Allison Conant and Ed Anolin

Let us see.
Let us do.
But do before we see.
On the other hand see before we do.

from Mantric Keltic Incantation
a poem by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche

available here

Chat with Alexandra Milsom, August 7, 2009
(Excerpt)

10:17 PM
me: u there alex?
10:19 PM
Alexandra: yes! hey!
me: ah it works
Alexandra: where you at?
10:20 PM
me: home
just set up ichat to work with google talk
nice
welcome back
Alexandra: yep
thanks!
how was WA??? did it happen yet?
me: i leave tuesday por la mañana
10:21 PM
me: =]
Alexandra: coooooo
10:22 PM
are you going to write up a blurb for the la.shambhalatimes.org?
please?
thanks!
me: taking photos
i think allison c is gonna write something
Alexandra: and a little bit of stuff for your trip to kalapa valley
cooooooo!!!

Allison Conant’s Response (Photo-Commentary by Edgar Anolin)

Ah, Alex Milsom…

What did I learn at Warrior Assembly this summer, you ask? Mmm…. Not easy to put into the words. Not easy at all.

Well, here goes:

I learned where Nova Scotia is. I learned that the Official Shambhala Breakfast of Champions the world over is oatmeal and hard-boiled eggs. I learned that they do give speeding tickets in Halifax, but the police are very friendly. I learned what a tidal bore is and I learned what a busker is. I learned that you really do need a sheet when sleeping on a plastic mattress. I learned about Retreat Smokers. And I learned that if you keep your sunglasses on you can chop twenty-five pounds of onions every day for ten days without crying.

I learned that the strangers I first judged and kept at bay would, if I let them, become people I cherish, people that I know I will love until the end of my days.

I learned that the end to all wars lies within our grasp, and that it takes the strongest and most courageous of warriors to comfort someone in tears.

I learned that the rudest little places, bunks made out of two by fours become havens, especially when shared with folks you care for. That no matter how hot or cold or wet and windy it gets, there is always a place to call home.

I learned that astonishing things happen in the most unlikely places — in the middle of nowhere, on a hayfield laid bare by hurricane winds there can be ladies in tea dresses and sparkling jewels, men in suits, china and silver, bagpipes, and Chopin.

I learned that there is beauty in everything – mildewy towels, stacks of cereal bowls, squash on a red table, and plastic-walled shower rooms.

I learned about some ineffablesomething, call it dralacall it enriching presence call it whatever you like. I know it exists because even though I am a thousand miles awayI can still hearthe anthem ringing in my head, still hear the soundof the flags snapping in the wind, can still see the sun shimmer through the green of [aspen?] leaves above me. And every time I look at Ed’s pictures I see andsmell andtaste andfeel it all over again. Because it’s in me. I don’t know what it is. And I don’t care to give it a name. I’m just glad it’s there.

I learned that those days of great warriors and great queens and wise ministers are no mere myth, no fantastic legend – these people exist. I’ve seen them, listened to their council, been buoyed by their courage, and been inspired by their generosity.

I learned about Kalapa Valley – an ocean of gold and butter. It is what I always dreamed home would be like – comfortable, beautiful, welcoming, a haven. It is a gift from a King to all his people. Magnificent and vast, familiar and close, unbreakable and broken wide open — like my own heart.

I learned how precious it is to be the given the opportunity to fall and get up again, and again, and again.. How rare to be the freedom and license to be truly outrageous. How easily laughter follows tears and how much comfort there is to be taken in the smallest of things – a clean sheet, a pillow, a shoulder to cry on.

Open your eyes wide and let it blind you with brilliance.
When this transmission is complete, nothing will be left-
Only a rainbow.
Looking close, you will see Shambhala vanishing into the heavens.
That is where I will go,
Since that is where I came from.

from “Shiwa Ökar and the Valley of White“
a poem by Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche

I learned that we have been given a directive — to go out into the world and engage as best we can. That in this lifetime we “manifest no retirement”. That we are all truly kings and queens and that we can reveal the sanity of a situation in any moment. I learned how precious it is to be given the weapons we need to manifest our best selves. To be given a command and to be trusted to carry it out. And when I begin to doubt myself, and I do – Lord knows I do – I learned that there are a thousand, thousand warriors ready to come to my aid at a moment’s notice.

But I didn’t know until I got back, until I sat down in my room far away from the pure fine air at DDL, far away from the sound of Handel’s Water Music mixing with the rain on the roof of the pavilion. Back in LA where there were no warriors poised beside me taking their oaths, nor was there a dragon in the corner keeping watch. There was only me in my bedroom with the inkpot I bought at Target and the paper I got from Staples wondering if it would be the same. There were fires raging, and work starting, and my checkbook tightening, and my head aching. And there was doubt. Would this practice ground me? Give me the strength it had? Would I see the beauty? The magic? Or would I just feel duped?

It was in that moment, bringing brush to paper that I learned how truly unbreakable the Vajra Grip is. And I learned that there is enduring magic in the practice. Transformative magic.

And that, Alex Milsom, was what I learned at Warrior Assembly this summer.

by Ron Schultz, Founder ISAFF

Angelinos, mark your calenders: On October 10, 24, and November 7, our center in Eagle Rock will host the second annual International Social Action Film Festival (ISAFF). After running festivals in nine countries, sixteen cities and seventeen different venues in its first year, this extraordinary social entrepreneurial effort returns home to Los Angeles.

Join us over the course of the three nights of the festival and see a variety of films, from short-shorts to a feature length documentary. All of the films screened highlight the remarkable and often selfless work of local and international social action organizations and the efforts they are making within our communities. These films are a heartening and uplifting testament to our ability to help others and realize our connection to our community.

We will screen the only feature-length film of the festival on November 7: the award-winning documentary — War Dance. This moving story of the struggles and resilience of children living in a Ugandan war region and their remarkable presence in a national performance competition demonstrates the powerful impact our actions can have on the most difficult situations.

On October 10th, join us for a pre-festival screening of a feature documentary — Recalling a Buddha, about the life of the 16th Karmapa.

For a special treat, stay late on November 7 for a post-festival screening of Waiting for Tomorrow, the work of local filmmaker and sangha member, George Gomez.

For a full listing of ISAFF events and screenings, click here.

To make reservations. click here.

Admission by donation.

by Alex Milsom

When I woke up Monday morning this week, on a bunkbed in an uninsulated cabin in the Buddha North fields of Dorje Denma Ling, I had one question on my mind: is this really worth it? Yes, I had slogged through my Rigden Ngöndro, yes, I was excited to see the Sakyong and find out what this mysterious Rigden Abhisheka was all about, but it was definitely too cold to get out of the sleeping bag to go to morning drill with the kasung and it was certainly too cold to practice! I’m no Milarepa, after all! I asked myself, “What am I doing here? What is anyone doing here when they could be living in California?”

Fortunately, I ran into some fellow Angelinos – Pearl Werbin and our fearless center co-director Melanie Klein. They seemed to be better-prepared with elegant some shawls and jackets. Despite the threat of zero-degree weather (that’s Celsius; and whatever that is in Farenheit, it sounds cold to me!), we managed to remain cheerful throughout.

Tatamagouche, a little outpost village a couple hours from Halifax, is the closest urban area to Dorje Denma Ling, the Shambhala land-center located in Nova Scotia. For those of you who resemble me in your total ignorance of Canadian geography, Nova Scotia is a peninsula – quite nearly an island – connected to the Province of New Brunswick. It is nearly at the same latitude as Maine and is also nearly the size of that state. In other words, it is quite remote. People there say “eh” sometimes, they don’t switch lanes gratuitously like we do in L.A., and are even friendly at ten at night in the drive-through line at the fast-food restaurant when you can’t figure out their coins and you are used to nice weather.

View Larger Map

Did I mention that it’s cold there?

Despite my early-program jitters and my fear that I would freeze to death in my cabin, upon seeing fellow Angelinos and seeing all the people with whom I had endured dathüns, oryoki meals, endless toasts, long hours in shrine rooms all over the world, and Vajrayana transmission, I knew I was where I belonged. Next time, though, I will bring a warmer jacket.

Marcia Sibata practicing Kadö at the L.A. Shambhala Center. Photo by Anne Saitzyk.

Marcia Shibata brought the elegant vision of Kadö, the “Way of Flowers,” to the Los Angeles Shambhala center in two workshops in August. Shibata has studied Ikebana extensively in Japan and had received instruction from the Vidyadhara, Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, on the contemplative aspect of flower arranging. It is a practice rich with an appreciation for the natural world. As Shibata explained to her students, even the word “Ikebana” reflects the Japanese school’s empathy with the life and death of flowers: it is derived from the words “Ikeru” – to keep alive – and “Hana” – flowers.

The “Way of Flowers” is a tradition that goes back thousands of years in Japan and China, but in recent times has evolved into more of a decorative art. Shibata’s vision is to return Kadö to a meditative practice of subject and object. Flower arrangements become a reflection of the mind of their creator. During practice, the room in which Ikebana is done becomes the kado-jo, or practice hall in which the Way of Flowers can be explored. The journey of creating the flower arrangement is as important as the final result. The ultimate outcome is an Ikebana that mirrors a harmonious and balanced world.

Ms. Shibata lives in Vermont but will return to Los Angeles in January of 2010 to conduct another series of workshops on the way of flowers.

And go to the L.A. Shambhala Center’s Flickr Page to look at the full array of photos by L.A.’s own Anne Saitzyk from the weekend!

*Blume