The statistics for recovery were stacked against me, but I had zero interest in meeting Death. Back in 1985, I knew nothing about Buddhism or its teachings on how to use suffering to access an inner reservoir of equanimity as a basis for clear seeing and intelligent action. I was looking at myself and the world through a huge lens of hope and fear.

I was allergic to cats but volunteered to sit for Petey Cat, the pet of a close friend’s new sweetheart. The two lovebirds were stunned when I offered to hole up in Jane’s place through the July 4th holiday weekend so they could enjoy a romantic getaway. Perhaps the selfless wish for them to be happy was the spark required for igniting my karmic link with Tibetan Buddhism in this lifetime and for meeting the wisdom mind of Chogyam Trungpa.

Sogyal Rinpoche’s teachings that summer unfolded a magic carpet of Buddhist practices. When I returned home from Lerab Ling in the fall of 1992, several sangha members noticed how differently I sat on my cushion: my posture was “inspiring,” “so straight!” and “confident.” One sangha brother said bluntly, “You’re just much nicer to be with than before.” The teachings had exposed my timid heart and helped me to recognize self-deception, and how to cut through it.

The day with Zenkar Rinpoche began innocently enough with packing up his books and other items for his flight back to London. For our tea break, I filled the kettle, turned on the stove and left the water to boil, expecting it to whistle. I didn’t know that Rinpoche’s hosts customarily used the oven shelving as storage space for things that should not be stored in an oven. The kettle whistle didn’t work, but the smell of smoke did as it…

This was the first time I was practicing in a Tibetan Buddhist temple among Tibetans. How could I sit there and not be distracted by their authenticity and by their impoverishment? Prayer itself was major sustenance for this community. For my own dharma practice to be meaningful, I needed to open my heart more to all beings. It wouldn’t do to simply voice prayers in the manner of a well-trained…

“Your guru is Chatral Rinpoche?” I asked in disbelief. This was more than a stroke of good luck for us Western dharma girls. HH Chatral Sangye Dorje Rinpoche enjoyed a reclusive, ascetic lifestyle and he was notoriously hard to meet. His monastery, Rigzin Drubpe Ghatsal, nestled in the mountains of Yangleshö, overlooks sacred pools of turquoise waters populated with exotic fish, and is just steps above the cave in which Padmasambhava…

Someone else more spiritually attuned or more open might have recognized the dreamlike nature of that moment and awakened from this life’s deep sleep of ignorance. But for me the sight of Khenpo’s nakedness simply exposed my own uptightness and undue concern as the host of my teacher’s teacher to “do the right thing.” I relaxed gratefully.

That same year marked Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche’s arrival in America. Students in New England and elsewhere were gathering to hear Rinpoche’s dharma talks on work, sex, and money, teachings that would have helped me release a few inhibitions for sure. However, I had yet to even hear the word “dharma.” Instead, my ears were attuned to the Beatles’ Abbey Road album whose lyric Here Comes the Sun…