I visited the Cape Breton highlands on thanksgiving weekend 2023. On the way up, I listened to a podcast between Ken and Michael Taft on this book. I found many things in their discussion resonated: how the teachings could be shared in anything from a formal guru relationship to a fleeting interaction, or how art can transmit the same teachings. Michael loved the beauty and poetry in the book, which was something I was starting to be able to return to, having been kind of bummed on writing and art for a couple years due to the accumulated stress of editing and publishing a magazine, doing grad school, and having a whirlwind with my favorite poet.
Cape Breton was very stormy that weekend. I spent the weekend hiking through rain, circumambulating the stupa at Gampo Abbey, which was closed, hiking kilometers to find the statue of Avalokiteshvara. When I came home and looked up the cover of , seeing it looked just like the highlands did that weekend, I knew I wanted to work with this book.
When I read the first section of the book on invoking Niguma, I was visiting my family over Christmas in my hometown of Kitchener. Ken describes reaching out for the teacher as if in a dark misty forest at night. Restless, I walked through the mist and to Waterloo park, sitting at the edge of the walkway, watching the duck population of Silver Lake tread water. Mist rose, cut by strong lights on the other side of the lake, where the recently developed boardwalk featured a wide and gently graded retaining wall. Numerous spotlights at each level faced me, beginning to dance and convey more as I sat.
Later on that trip, I walked through the park while practicing social metta over the phone with someone, who said, "true love that never ends." When I remember that, I am home. When I cannot remember, it's as though something is deeply wrong.
The second part of the book deals with becoming White Tara, embodying wisdom and compassion, taking in the suffering of all being and breathing out love from a place of clear empty knowing. The practice is meant to be direct and felt--not intellectual, not imagining oneself, but seeing directly from the perspective of the deity. Sitting on my couch at home, reading and working with the practice of taking and sending, I looked down to realize that I was wearing the same adornments as Tara--my grandmother's old rainbow knitted blanket wrapped around my legs, white bathrobe, idk man it was just funny, it made me laugh . . . I found rainbow mala beads at value village, om tare tutare ture svaha, need to remember to use them!
I threw everything I had at the mahakala practice, really taking to heart the premise of offering myself, including all my suffering, at the level of inner/outer/secret--from the gross objects and patterns to subtler waves of influence in my life, offering it, to the protector for the benefit of all beings, and for my own clarity and understanding, to see these things for what they are, but also it's like, you're already suffering anyways, you may as well lean into it or make use of it. IDK if you're doing it wrong if you puke (and obviously shake and cry and make sounds etc), but honestly I feel like I could do a lot more of this practice because the ability to bring deeper more painful material into awareness does bring life into sharper relief. There's more dimensionality to experience, less numbing, greater self-honesty and ability to laugh at bullshit, more wholeness.