No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

John Donne

In Memoriam: Roshi Daido Loori (1931-2009)

It has finally happened. I am one of those who scans the NY Times Obituary pages from time to time. Not obsessively. And not out of morbid curiosity, more an interest in people and their lives. People I had heard of or seen. Celebrities, Scientists, Politicians….

Over the weekend, someone featured in the column, an American Zen Teacher, was actually someone I had known. Met. Talked with. Heard speak & Teach in public. Read his Books. Sat across a table, sharing a cup of coffee & conversation.

Granted, I knew more of him than I actually knew him; having heard stories from his Friends & Students.

But to read his Obituary gave me pause. Reading those of others’ from time to time, reading of their lives, how they were notable enough to be so honored by inclusion in the NY Times, it was as if reading an old book; one of only little interest. Interesting, but Lifeless. Words.

But this one was different. Someone I had known. Not well, but known. Had his Voice & Laugh in my Ears & Heart.

I remembered a project I had thought of years ago, the 2nd time when I lived in New York. There is a “Potter’s Field” in New York. In fact, it is the largest in the World, containing over 800,000 bodies. (A potter’s field is a burial place for indigent or unknown people; where all the homeless & John/Jane Does find their Rest).

I had this idea pop in my I head: To go to the potter’s field to perform services for the people there. Since they are unknown, impoverished, chances are they went unmourned.

So, the passing of the Zen Teacher reconnected me with that idea.

And, as Fate would have it, I live less that 1 mile from Hart’s Island, the site of the NYC Potter’s Field.

Gonna carry the Zen Teacher with me (figuratively), when I travel across the water to the Potter’s Field to mourn the forgotten.

And perhaps, read the NY Times Obituaries a little more closely. For all those people known by someone else.