Remembering Jamie

 Jamie’s eyes were like pools of blue flame. Her spirit seemed to be trying to burst from her face. There was a natural exuberance and loveliness that manifested practically, and quite successfully, in the world. I loved her, and was jealous of her. We met while she was a student, working on her doctorate. Sarah Barab, a dear friend and wonderful teacher whom I’ve known for years and years introduced us at an event featuring Richard Davidson at the Rubin museum. Jamie was radiant. We were all so excited. The Rubin was buzzing, a gaggle of Ritchie Davidson groupies, like a Buddhist take on seeing Gaga, or Madonna.  We made a pact to meet and bring the work of taking a scientific approach to mindfulness practice to the world.

So, we founded the “Living Meditation Project”, and Jamie agreed to co-teach a new group I was calling “dharmajunkies”. On our first class, she and I sat in the ante-room of The Three Jewels, who had graciously agreed to host us. We got there right at start time, and waited for people to come. A few showed up here and there and we directed them into the shrine room. We were waiting for a reasonable quorum in order to begin. We had gotten caught up talking, as we would do. Her energy was infectious, and she had a way of making you feel as though your ideas were golden. It was as though she were drinking your mind, and adding more liquor as you became intoxicated. At some point someone poked their head out and asked if we were coming in. We went in and were surprised to find that the room was full with people waiting for us.

We met often here and there, discussing plans to bring our mutual passion for meditation to the world. She, Sarah and I did a wonderful workshop called “Embodied Wisdom” at Swanand Yoga. I taught the meditation, Sarah the texts, and Jamie did the science.  It was one of the great experiences of my teaching life. Everyone fell in love with Jamie.

As her star rose, it became harder for her to find the time to work. Yet, when we were able to meet, she always made me feel like it was a important to her.  She did that with everyone.  And, it was a powerful transmission because it was entirely genuine. She seemed to be genuinely honored to know humans of all kinds, in all their pain and beauty. She was never out of touch with how fortunate she was to spend time helping the world by bringing mindfulness practice into popular consciousness.  She would drink the passions of human experience and turn them into an elixir for waking life.

Jamie was not without her pain. And, she’d have little patience with hagiographic depictions of her divinity. She suffered from depressions, doubt and a loneliness that she never shared with me, but that you could feel in her heart and in her presence. There were wounds there that ran deeply into the heart of her. But, like all deities (okay, sorry, Jamie but I have to) her loneliness was part of the journey. Her heartbreak was motivation for accomplishment. And, her pain was the means to wakefulness.

Pain is common to all of us. It is through pain that we know each other. And through pain that we can rise in our humanity and learn to touch the essence of life–that is, to touch our humanity. And, it is our humanity – our compassion, kindness and basic goodness –  that we have to offer the universe.

I love her and miss her and, like many of us, felt that she was somehow awake and present, after her passing. Tuning in to her, I felt – as did many who knew her  – that her energy was as bright and optimistic as it had been in her life.  She has remained a voice of encouragement to me.

Its a short life, fraught with hardship and betrayal. But, it is not worth throwing ourselves away over a little heartbreak. We suffer, thats what we do. Its like a Geiko ad. Only there no insurance, really. All we can do is employ our energy to help ease that suffering, by attending to the suffering of others. That is to say, it is our right and could be our purpose, to express our humanity in the face pain.