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.

This entry was posted on Sunday, September 20th, 2009 at 2:02 am and is filed under California, Arizona. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can also leave a comment.