Robin

I have known Robin for about the last ten years, far less than many in the sangha. But he was nevertheless my most important and beloved spiritual friend. The news of Robin's demise was much more of a shock than I expected. After years of practice, death still surprises us. As I sit with my sense of loss, I provide this posting in the hope that some of you who knew Robin from long ago might like to know about his more recent activities. He profoundly influenced many young meditators right up until the end.

For several years around 2000, while a postdoctoral researcher in Madison, I attended "pre-seminary" classes Robin offered at the Milwaukee Shambhala Center. These magnetized the center, and soon he had a following, of which I was a most enthusiastic part. As an academic scientist, his depth of understanding and his tight logic were instantly compelling. But his approach was irreverent, hilarious, and yet deeply serious all at once. In this way he was channeling CTR, and through Robin I felt I was meeting him. Robin often strayed from the "curriculum," in a confident way that only a deeply grounded teacher can do without becoming self-indulgent. I recall one whole class dedicated to appreciating the subtle distinctions in different types of fine Chinese teas. I don't drink tea the same way anymore.

After class Robin often shared a late meal with the students at a nearby Mexican restaurant. He was always greeted by the help as "Maestro!" ("Teacher!"), and these nights of conversation over enchiladas were memorable to many of us. The group that attended these classes eventually became guinea pigs in a pet project of Robin's, The Gesar Group, in which students with a stated commitment to the Dharmadatu path take the Shambhala Training levels as a tight cohort and on an accelerated timetable. This was intended to make some sort of point to the chiefs in Halifax, I believe, but for us it was first and foremost an opportunity to get more time with Robin.

I saw Robin regularly again a couple years later (roughly 2002-03), when I had moved to suburban Washington to take a faculty job and Robin spent a year as a visiting scholar at the Library of Congress. He had become completely consumed with the Gesar epic, and was already fighting the cancer that eventually claimed him. It was a wonderful year of brilliant colleagues and a stimulating city, but also hard. His health was declining, and his beloved Lhasa Apso (whose Tibetan name I cannot recall) died soon after. We shared the joy of a modest advance from his publisher (Penguin) that, though hardly enough to support him, was at least confirmation of the work's importance. We ate a grand meal at a Chinese place in DC to celebrate, and as usual he ate a lot. An unexpected panic occurred, though, upon my ordering of a fish that was, at that point, still swimming in the tank next to us. Robin got rather agitated and began chanting "Om Mane Padme Hum" as the fish was extracted from the tank and taken to the kitchen to meet its maker. But he nevertheless ate it quite gleefully a few minutes later.

I last saw Robin in the summer of 2006, when a biology conference brought me back to Wisconsin. We had a lovely time, and spent some time with some very young Virginian dharma students who had heard about Robin and wanted to meet him. In his living room on Kramer Street, Robin patiently corrected various misconceptions regarding various sutras, Madhyamaka, and other topics I wish I could recall specifically, and for a few hours it felt like old times. During all that, an installation guy from the audiophile stereo shop was busily drilling holes in the floor to put in his new super-sweet sound system. But there was an unmistakable melancholy about Robin that I found unsettling, and I left wondering whether I'd see him again. This past February he asked me when I was coming to Wisconsin again. I moaned about the demands of a new baby, and said that along with my faculty job I was now so busy that it was not likely to be for a long time. He wrote back the following (my last message from him):

"Yep. That's a baby alright. Well, you'll have personal time when it's about fifteen. I can't wait that time to see you. The cancer is in remission, but it won't last that long. Anyway, congratulations. You've got the whole thing now. I'm doing pretty good myself. I've sued myself into a position of modest wealth and I'm working hard on translation.

love,

Robin"

I see that I never replied to that message. I suck. Or I'm just human. Still feels like guilt, though. Clearly I totally misread his condition--he had seemed to be so improved that I expected he'd live for another decade or more.

Robin Kornman in many ways lived his life as if there were no tomorrow, and gave up stability that would have naturally accrued to someone of his intelligence in order to share his devotion with anyone and everyone as a sort of intellectual nomad. It's extraordinary to meet someone like that, even as the conventional part of myself was often impatient with his refusal to be practical or plan for the future. In this way he was very much like his beloved guru, CTR, who burned out fast but left a huge legacy. I hope Robin knew that as he was leaving us. He will be missed.

Eric Haag

Hyattsville, Maryland