View full issue in PDF - The Mindfulness Bell

Remembering Greg
by Grace Sanchez
I
first met Gr~g .Keryk at the 1993 retreat held with Thay
at Camp SWig III Northern California. He was hearty,
strong, and straightforward. After the retreat, we attended
Sangha meetings in Santa Cruz. Gradually, the meetings
stopped happening, and I didn't see Greg until two years
later.
We met again in 1995 for another retreat with Thay.
When I first saw Greg, I knew right away that he was ill. He
told me very directly that he had cancer and was expected to
live only two more months. I was somewhat shocked by his
direct manner, but realized he felt safe in the atmosphere of
the retreat setting. Greg was very happy that his wife, Irene,
and daughter, Diana, were able to attend the retreat with
him. At the retreat, Diana spoke with the young people's
group about what was most precious to her. She said that to
her, life was the most precious thing. I was deeply moved by
her sharing and clarity, which seemed to be brought about
by the knowledge of impermanence.
Being so close to death, Greg understood the importance
of the Sangha in supporting practice. He had an incredibly
intense desire to learn from Thay, as well as to share his
understanding of the Dharma. He lived much longer than he
anticipated, and took leadership in sharing and teaching with
the Sangha. At one of our meetings, a small group of us had
a tea ceremony together. I knew it would be my last tea
ceremony with Greg, but it was okay.
Greg's death came just a few weeks before my own
brother's death. I am the only Buddhist in my family . While
my brother was dying in the hospital, I sat by his side and
read from Thay's book Touching Peace. I felt very peaceful.
I felt the Sangha holding me with compassion so that I could
be present with my brother and my family . I feel this was a
gift brought to me by Greg.
I think all of us feel Greg's presence when the Sangha
meets. We have learned how important it is to take care of
and nourish this precious jewel.
Greg's Tree
Soft rain sweeps over pliant meadow grass.
Sparrow flocks scatter
as we slosh along trails pungent with bay.
Fog-veiled curtains hide an entire world from our view.
Through laughter and tears we press on,
remembering, approaching, Greg's tree.
An image steals into my mind:
You, sitting there cross-legged,
smiling impishly, waiting for us
on a carpet of damp fallen leaves.
Wispy sprays of mist blow sideways around your tree
like the soft ash particles sprinkled
from a bone white vase.
Dressed now in green finery of damp velvet moss,
your solid trunk supports us
in our need to lean against your strength.
To trust this firmly rooted reliability
is to touch, once more, the same solidity that
your living, breathing human form once gave us,
in our need for you to lean against our strength.
Spouse, Friend, Father, Son, Spiritual Brother to us all .
Jewels glisten on spider webs,
trusting permanence
until they evaporate.
Wind gusts tear
at such delicate threads.
Acorns stashed
in a hidden crevice
remind us of how we try
to hold on to what we love.
Stephanie Ulrich, Santa Cruz, California
Grace Sanchez is the mother of two children and practices
with the Hearth Sangha in Santa Cruz, California. She is an
occupational therapist.