Manjusvara

Manjusvara: friend, colleague, poet

I've been working with Manjusvara teaching writing workshops for upwards of sixteen years. Sometime in the 80s, I remember walking with him through the botanical gardens in Oxford and having a long intense talk (our talks were never less than intense) with him about his interest in composing, becoming a Buddhist and joining the Order. He was having doubts that he could be an Order member and an artist at the same time. I think I said something like, if you really are an artist , go for it with every possible speck of energy and vision that you have. In the end, you’ll be a better Buddhist when youve committed yourself to your art. I said that because thats what Sangharakshita had said to me ten or more years earlier, when I was having exactly the same doubts. I believe he took my advice .

Since that talk our friendship has grown into something rich and strange. More complex than I could ever have imagined, and full of contradictions that have s tretched both our minds and comfort zones further than we would ever have contemplated we could allow without the Dharma or poetry to provide the overriding need. Our relationship has often been like a stormy ocean crossing, when we’ve reached the midpoint and lost sight of both shores, and had only our faith and our practice to stop us jumping overboard. I doubt if Manjusvara ever doubted we could come through it alive - he was a person of far deeper faith than me - but I came terrifyingly close to it at times. We were utterly different in every aspect of our lives except two things: poetry and dharma. He loved sport, I was infinitely bored by it; he loved cars, I detested them; he loved jazz: I was supremely unmoved by it; he loved talking to strangers, I was always uncomfortable with them. He loved airports, I found them emotional deserts. He even liked Tesco, which had me baffled beyond words. I could go on. But in those two realms of poetry and dharma we were as one, never for a moment doubting the true road.

Manjusvara was without any question the most generous person I ever knew. He was generous in giving whatever was needed when it was needed: he often offered me money if he thought I was in financial straits; he would without exception offer me a lift to the shops or whereever without thinking twice about it. In short he put himself at my disposal without stint whenever he saw a need. He would plug my poetry on every occasion, praising it far beyond its merits; he would ferry books and packages around the country for me, without consideration of his own inconvenience. If we needed to talk, he would cancel other commitments to spend time with me and try to understand the problem. He was, in short, a friend that very rare and precious being born on this planet to alleviate the limitless ocean of suffering. We need many more of him.

In his death we have lost a great being; but perhaps in that same death we’re offered a great opportunity to rise above our separate selves and create a truly creative, loving and enduring community on earth.

Ananda, Bristol, 19th June 2011

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