For Robert Thurman

I woke Wednesday morning and an expletive moved spontaneously to my lips. I rolled over, pulled the covers over my head. I didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to face the new reality—a world without Tenzin Robert A.F. Thurman

We had been with Bob so recently at Menla retreat center—his and Nena’s divine lokah in the Catskills, where we played with Krishna Das. How could he be gone? His light was unique, he was so precious and dear, and I didn’t know if and how we could pull it together without him. As all great teachers in our lives leave us forever changed, Bob’s mark was profound, and indelible.

Tenzin had taught me so much, taught so many of us so much. Not just through his words, flowing abundantly from his shockingly brilliant mind, but directly through his heart. Bob’s unstoppable love for the world, for people, and for the Buddha’s teachings touched me and all of us, I think, in ways that go beyond the mind. 

Bob’s voice resonated like a musical instrument whose notes and rhythms brought joy to the parts of me wearied by the world. His vision of humanity—teaching like the Buddha that our essence is Love and Bliss—was hopeful and hope-inducing. Visiting Menla, I was sure to leave uplifted and refreshed. Ready to face samsara once again. 

I once heard Bob say that life is a gym. The idea stayed with me because it came from somebody who was clearly working out in that gym. I asked myself: If I had put my own eye out while changing a tire (as Bob had as a young man), would I spend the rest of my life pouting in endless anger at myself, or could I use the experience, as he had apparently done, to get stronger, to serve others more deeply, and to live ever more deeply in joy?  

Meeting Bob on Maui in 2019, at a retreat he co-taught with Ram Dass and others, I was reminded of his embrace of life. There I saw him, stretched out by the pool, sunbathing in his white speedo and mirrored sunglasses. He was saying yes! to the moment, to being here now, and absorbing its offering completely. On stage, his brocade vest, coral and turquoise rings, perfect hair and mala curled just so around his fingers, displayed his tremendous sense of style. Through his appearance he taught that spirituality need not be dry and pious. It can be alive. It can be sexy too! Why not?

After the retreat, my cello and I were blessed to share a cab with him to the airport. I got to hear some of Bob's own concerns, as well as ask him all my questions about my budding Buddhist practice. Bob listened and answered them all generously. His enthusiasm for the Dharma was unlimited, like that mythical pot that delivers unending rice to all those around. That enthusiasm inspired me also. I began to ask myself if I too could devote myself to sharing dharma.  

Of course, Bob’s erudition was unparalleled in his field, and beyond. His rendition of the word shunyata was a good example of how he could convey profound wisdom by means of his scholarly depth. Shunya means “empty,” but Bob taught an additional meaning. Shunya connotes that space within a husk in which a seed develops. "Emptiness" is not a dispiriting void (as we might misunderstand it to be), but instead the womb of possibility, without which nothing we know—love or resist—could be born. His definition became the one I hold in my heart. A translator as deft and deep as Bob could change our understanding of the world with words, and with that understanding, our lives. 

By the end of this week, after Bob’s body was cremated, I began to feel some relief, a little lifting of the grief. I could get out of bed a little easier. The repeated heart swells, bringing tears to my eyes despite all attempts to suppress them, began to calm.

Instead of feeling Bob was forever gone, I began to think that he might live forever after. His essence was eternal and ever-present, so I could take it with me. I could install Bob in my heart, his memory, his presence, wisdom and love. I could carry him inside and never be apart from him. This wouldn’t necessarily quell the grief or the longing to see him again, but would exist alongside them, and be a consolation. I’ve been trying this out for the past few days and the experiment seems to be working. 

Though my heart may still swell uncontrollably now and then, I can feel Robert Thurman is still here. He will always be here.