I drove over to Stockton. I arrived late at night and felt a gloom in the hot summer air. Bhante had been very sick. I could see an extra bed out in the reception area and his sitting chair was gone. Little brother's sister told me that Bhante couldn't come out. I noticed that the monkster was gone. " Oh, he ran away with a woman, " Little sister giggled.
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I called my psychic friend and he told me not to worry. " Everything is in chaos now. It'll blow over, " he yawned. The next day the Cambodians brought out Bhante's chair. He had suddenly made a miraculous recovery. The crones piled up heaps of delicious food for us. The love was constant here. It never died. The phone suddenly rang and Bhante decided to fly off to India right then and there. It was all just really too much, like a weird scene from the Twilight Zone.
Something weird started to happen inside my tent. As I was doing puja, Nakpa Yeshe Dorje's picture kept falling off my altar. I thought it was the wind at first, but it kept falling even in the stillness. I called Yeshe Dorje's people in LA. They told me he was in new Mexico dying of cancer. " Who the are you? " They asked. " Ah, just a friend. " I said. " How do you know him? " They flapped. " I met Rinpoche in LA a few years ago. " They were satisfied with that.
I quickly called my psychic friend again. " It looks like he's on the way out. " he stated matter of factly. I sensed he had known this for some time. " What about Bhante? " I asked. " He'll be fine. Remember, you're the connector. " Gene said.
" The connector? " I quizzically asked.
" Yeah.." Gene replied.
" To what? " I asked.
" To everything. " Gene stated.
" Oh, " I said.
I told Gene goodbye and hung up. Nakpa Yeshe Dorje then passed away the next day.