Del

Del and I first crossed paths in 1971 in Los Angeles where we both met the Vidyadhara. Subsequently we knew each other casually during the various Dharma Art installations and other dharma programs, but it wasn't until he moved to Boulder, seven years ago, to run the Trident Cafe's bookstore, that we became good friends. Del had a rich and varied history as a Catholic, a Mormon, a follower of Ramana Maharshi, and on and on. He finally found his heart's path as a Buddhist practitioner, a student of the Vidyadhara and more recently a student of Lama Tharchin Rinpoche. A deeply devoted practitioner, Del also had a wonderful appreciation of Taoist poetry, not to mention a broad understanding of the literary and contemporary world. He was a book man and as such earned his livelihood in the publishing industry. I had the marvelous opportunity to spend much time with him over the past five years, and when he got word this spring, that he had terminal leukemia, it brought us even closer. My good friend and dharma brother Douglas Penick also made a close connection with Del, so the three of us spent countless hours drinking tea and coffee and discussing the sorry state and the beauty of the world.

Del was a very contained man who always seemed to know exactly what he wanted. He never shied away from the fact that his time was very limited, but rather was able to be fully in his skin. He was at times a bit of a curmudgeon, but always seemed concerned about others and always inquisitive. He never hesitated to let people know his feelings even if they were contentious at times, but he never seemed to hold onto a grudge. About three months back he told me of a dream he had. A handsome tall black man in white silk robes accompanied by a black panther appeared. He looked directly at him before he walked away. Del felt it was death paying a preliminary visit.

As Del's health failed, Douglas and I would check in with him everyday. What struck me about Del was, he never complained, he never was emotionally needy, so any assistance we gave was almost pro forma, very ordinary, never a sense of a big deal. He had a near invisible footprint. Having taken care of his affairs, Del was as clearly ready to face the passage from the known to the unknown. He received many blessings and lots of dutsi. In fact, Del said if he was to write an autobiography he would title it: Dope to Dutsi, the Story of Del.

Two weeks ago Del's health plunged. Susan Spaulding, his ex-wife, took him to the hospital. He was transferred the next day to hospice. Susan, Douglas and I accompanied him. He was very talkative and energized, interacting with the hospital and hospice staff. I was sitting with him when the hospice doctor and nurse met with him. The doctor asked him what his agenda was and his wishes. He said with great clarity of speech that he was there to have a good death. He told them he was not afraid to die and that being a buddhist practitioner for 37 years he had already died many times. He requested peace and quiet and wanted sufficient morphine so he would not be distracted with the pain. He was like someone looking forward to an adventure. He repeated that he was not afraid to die. Shortly afterwards he told Susan, Douglas and me that he was tired and wanted to rest. Douglas asked him if he wanted anything from his home. He said no. He was a man without baggage ready for express check-in. He lovingly dismissed us, and shortly afterwards fell into a semi-comatose state. I spoke to Lama Tharchin who instructed me to tell him that he loved him, and he should return home, to go to the Copper Colored Mountain of Padmasambhava and he would meet him there. Del died the next day, quietly and with dignity.

Teachers can show us the way, but a friend and vajra brother, like Del, can be the greatest teaching by example, by their life and their death.

Good journey dear friend, I have no doubt.

Ken Green
Boulder, Colorado
November 25, 2007