Good morning. This morning we have a rather full house for a special event. We will have a presentation and reading and discussion of the new book, Fire Monks, which talks about the saga of rescuing Tassamara from a fire that came through there a couple of years ago. And we have Colleen Bush, who is the author, and David Zimmerman. I'm going to introduce Colleen, and she can introduce David. Colleen is known to many people here. She sits with us in our sangha. Her Dharma name is Myoka Edo, which means subtle river, endless path. She's been sitting here since about 2004. She is, I gather she's partial to her cats.

[01:03]

And her husband, not necessarily in that order. That's the right order. So we're really happy, really poured herself into this book. And we're happy to have the chance to present it. Thank you, Alan. I'll say a few words about sitting next to me here. This is David Zimmerman. Closer. Yes. Maybe volume soon. A little bit. I just. came back from a week doing readings and signings out of state, doing a lot of flying. And I went to Vancouver and I came back with a little present from my nephew, which is in my nose and my throat. So I actually can't talk that loud. So I do need the volume of the mic. So David Zimmerman, who's sitting to my right here, without him this book wouldn't exist.

[02:06]

Not only is he one of the Fire Monks, I like to call him Fire Monk number one. You know, he supported this project from the very beginning in a very wholehearted way and in a very logistical way because, you know, I was writing this book about a place where I wasn't living all the time and I had to make lots of trips and do lots of interviewing and David was really fire monk number one in that process. He came to City Center in 1991 and he's back there now after having spent a long time at Tassajara. He was director of Tassajara during the 2008 fire that we're gonna be talking about today. And he's currently program director at City Center and co-leads Queer Dharma there, the Queer Dharma program. And his name is Kansan Tetsuho, Perfection Mountain, Complete Surrender. We often joked, I forgot what combo we came up with, but we're both Virgos, and we came up with a combo of our names, which we thought pretty much described what it was like working on a book, because it was very much a team effort.

[03:12]

I'll just say a little bit about Well, first of all, it's very nice to be here. I've been everywhere but here for the past month, bringing Fire Monks to a large audience, which delights me, but it's really sweet for me to be sitting here in the Zenda where I practice talking to all of you about this book, which took me away from this place a lot over the last few years because of the amount of labor involved and the amount of needing to be at Tassajara and needing to be in front of my computer. And I think most people in this room probably are already somewhat familiar with the story, but basically the short story is that in 2008, Tassajara found itself surrounded by wildfire and needed to do something, either get out or stay and protect it, because the firefighters weren't going to stay and protect it. So when it came down to it, a small group of monks ended up staying and saving Tassajara from this wildfire. David being one of the five that stayed. FireMonks is about that story, it's about that event, but it's also very much about inner fire.

[04:20]

From the beginning, I was interested in getting into people's minds and emotions and what it was like to live through this event. And for me, wildfire was a physical force that they dealt with, but it was also a metaphor for facing any sort of adversity in one's life. So it's one of the reasons I really wanted to tell this story. To me, it seemed like a practice in action story. You know, it was an illustration of what practice can really look like when faced with a situation of intense drama like a wildfire, but even in just our ordinary lives. But the wildfire would get people to read it. The wild card would get people interested. So as a writer, I couldn't resist. I'm going to read a few. Sections here from David's point of view the way the book is written is it's very much. It's like a multi-layered There's a handful of people that I I sort of try to get inside their experience as David will attest it's Rather odd sometimes for him to be hearing me describing his thoughts and and you know what he felt But I wanted I wanted the reader to feel it and I wanted to feel it you know that was what sort of drove me in the first place what did that feel like and

[05:39]

So I'm going to read a couple of sections that are from sort of David's point of view to illustrate what it was like for them right before they were leaving. So they did not plan to leave Tassajar, but what ended up happening is they were advised to leave by someone who was on the ground with them, a CAL FIRE captain who was just giving advice basically and helping to train them. And he had been also supporting their desire to stay the whole time, but he decided because of changes in the weather, and in the fire behavior, that they all needed to get out. And so this is the moment I'm gonna bring you in. It's before they actually know that anyone is gonna go back to Tassajara. It's right when Stuart is, Stuart is the firefighter I mentioned, is initiating this evacuation, which comes as quite a surprise to them. The air smelled scorched and his eyes burned, But David didn't think the fire looked much different from Line Point.

[06:43]

He squinted toward the wind caves, a wall of rock scooped out and sculpted by wind and water and time. Things were definitely heating up. The Indiana crew's hasty departure and the red flag warning were ample evidence of that. But David's experience with this fire had trained him not to immediately heed the dramatic pronouncements of people in uniform. and demonstrated the truth of the Buddha's teaching, not to believe something simply because you have heard it. Rather, taught the Buddha, after observation and analysis, when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and benefit of one and all, then accept it and live up to it. Still, David didn't know how to measure a fire's progress or anticipate its next move. He depended on Stuart for that. Standing at live point, you could tell Stuart didn't like what he was seeing. He seemed agitated, which was understandable. But David felt ready.

[07:44]

Tassajara was ready. If the fire was ready, then let it come. In this moment, he didn't feel fear. Being first an orphan and then a gay man in a straight society had instilled in him a quiet resilience and steady determination before practice had taught him how to find it in any circumstance. OK, let's motor," said Stewart, climbing into the Isuzu's front passenger seat. David took the seat behind him. They didn't say much for the next few minutes, but halfway back to Tassajara, the matter-of-fact voice of branch director Jack Froggatt came over Stewart's radio. Jack Froggatt is an on-duty firefighter that they've been communicating with who's up on Tassajara Road. He says, the fire's making a run for the ridge. David's eyes met Colin's in the rearview mirror. If the fire climbed to the ridge, it would surely cross the road. For weeks, the U.S. Forest Service had pointed to the one route in and out of Tassajara, and thus the lack of evacuation alternatives, as the reason for their reluctance to risk a professional crew.

[08:50]

The very feature that made Tassajara desirable as a place for a monastery, its remoteness, also made it a liability. If Zen Structure Group decides to evacuate, how long do we have before the fire reaches the road?" Stewart asked, using the official designation for the people still at Tassajara. Why is Stewart asking about evacuation? David thought. Who said anything about leaving Tassajara? Two, maybe three hours, said Froggit. Is Zen Structure evacuating? He sounded as if he doubted what he'd heard. David checked the rearview mirror, hoping to catch Colin's eyes again, but he had them trained on the road. The struts on the Isuzu creeped and groaned on every rut. The engine whined in low gear. Stewart paused before raising his radio to transmit his answer. Affirmative. Everyone's coming out? Froggit asked. David felt suddenly breathless. He shook his head no, though no one had asked him a question. Affirmative.

[09:52]

Wait, David cried. Stewart, no one said we're evacuating. His skin felt tight. His muscles locked around a rising swell of frustration and confusion, a feeling that time had just skipped forward and left him behind. Stewart didn't respond. He kept his eyes forward on the road. Call when you're ready to exit, said Froggit. I'll call air attack to hold the road. Copy. Stewart lowered his radio until it rested in his lap. For a second, David considered clawing the radio from Stuart and calling Froggit back himself to straighten out the misunderstanding. But instead, he took a deep breath and noted the bottomless, dropping feeling in his belly. He had to find a way to slow time by being in it. He had to inject his voice where it was not wanted. We have not decided to evacuate," David said again, enunciating each word, thinking, you're not in charge here. We need to talk this over with everyone. Stewart, are you listening? Stewart didn't turn around to face David.

[10:55]

Things have changed, he said, his voice uncharacteristically flat. We have to leave now. We just have to leave. In the weeks that fire had been chewing through the surrounding forest, David never really knew how to trust the different agencies managing the blaze. never really knew how the different agencies managing the blaze were related or whom he could trust. Though others on the core team, Mako and Graham in particular, felt that Jack Froggatt gave them the straight story and that he genuinely liked Tassajara and what it was about, David wasn't sure whose interests Froggatt represented. But Stewart didn't work for anyone on the fire. He always said what was on his mind, for better or for worse. He was a longtime friend of Tassajara. Now that trusted friend, the one with the expertise who told them repeatedly Tassajara was defensible, had determined it wasn't safe to stick around. Without consulting them, he'd set their evacuation in motion. In view of time, I'm going to skip ahead.

[12:00]

So after this scene that I just read you, they have a quick meeting in the stone office, which is their, they've established as their bunker. It's got two foot thick stone walls. They had lots of equipment and supplies in there to make it if they needed to shelter in there in place. And they have a meeting in there and it's basically decided that they will follow Stuart's advice and they'll go up the road and leave Tassajara. As strange as it feels to all of them, as wrong as it feels, that's the decision that's made. And they are going to begin an evacuation. And this last scene, I'm not going to be able to read you the whole scene because we don't really have enough time, but I want to read you just a bit of it to give you a feeling for, again, what was going through David's mind as this evacuation was underway. He's just gone back to the Stone Office to pick up something he'd forgotten there, and the phone rings and it's Paul Haller, the other abbot at City Center. Steve Stuckey, the other abbot, is down at Tassajara, but Paul Haller's back in the city. And he says, why are you leaving?

[13:05]

And David says, I don't know. I don't know myself why we're leaving. And they have this conversation. And then David basically proceeds to go to the parking lot because he's being called about every minute or so. David, where are you? David, where are you? Everyone's waiting for him. And he's the only one that's not there. So they can't leave until they know he's with him. I'll just read a few paragraphs just to give you a feel for those moments when he thinks they're leaving for the last time. He walked the gravel path beside a patch of lawn bordered with lavender, rosemary, sage, and thyme. He ducked under wisteria vines, twisting through the trellis, passed the flat bronze bell that calls residents to meals, and climbed the steps to the work circle. Tassajara seemed hushed, strangely empty. From the time Zen Center had purchased it in 1966, except for a few hours during the 1977 fire, there had always been someone at Tassajara. Even in the depths of December, when many residents took a two-week break between monastic practice periods, a few always stayed, and former residents often came to practice again in the profound quiet of the Winter Canyon.

[14:17]

David looked up into a charcoal gray and orange sky, then glanced at the Zendo to his right, at the empty shoe racks on the wraparound wooden platform, the motionless, silent bell and drum. When he was six years old and driving away from the children's home with a temporary family, the sky overhead seemed to contain every kind of weather. He remembered storm clouds and lightning, bright white clouds and patches of blue, even a rainbow. He had vowed to himself then that someday he would find his true home. He had, eventually, not in a place, but in the practice of paying attention. This moment is home. In a sense, it is the only true home you will ever have. And still, David thought, Tassajara is the place where this practice lives. How many people had come here and walked away changed, touched by the stillness and silence? the possibility of living differently with an unguarded heart. The transformation had something to do with the place where it happened, this remote, narrow valley.

[15:23]

Could they really leave it now to burn? David walked out the gate to the line of idling vehicles. At the end of each summer guest season, the residents held a gate-closing ceremony, reading the names of all the people who'd worked at Tassajara over those months and supported the practice. But there would be no closing ceremony today, no time to mark everyone who'd come to help since the fires first started a month before. Air tankers droned overhead. He felt the fire's closeness. He glanced back and wondered, would he be the last to see Tassajara as it looked now? So David and I thought I would give you a taste of what the fire felt like. And he would give you some reflections on what all this means three years later. July 10th was the three year anniversary of the fire having gone through. So we're about a month beyond that now. I think that'll work. Good morning, everyone.

[16:26]

It's lovely to be here. Actually, this is the first time I've ever been to the Berkeley Zen Center, believe it or not. So I feel very honored and fortunate to finally be at this wonderful place I've heard about. And there's so many people who have been at Tassajara and come to Zen Center who have practiced and lived here, practiced here for many years. And they're a very woven together community. So it's lovely to be in this space. And I'm wondering, actually, how many people have been to Tassajara before? Not half of the room. That's great. And for those of you who haven't been, I hope you had the opportunity to experience that wonderful place in some way, either as a visit or in order to stay there and practice there. Is that better? OK. So I've been joining Colleen a few times for these readings. And it's always a bit weird for me to sit here next to her, listening to her. read about this David person, what she's thinking and saying and so on, and there's this kind of slight, like, that person sounds kind of familiar, but at the same time I'm not sure, and so I'm always wondering who's this real David, you know, that is here, so.

[17:40]

But I do want to say that Colleen has done an amazing job of recounting the days and the events surrounding the fire, and really weaving throughout the book very strong Dharma teachings, both about Zen practice and also about meeting adversity. And I just want to say again how grateful I am for Colleen's efforts and for her own practice, and congratulations on this. I've come to realize over the last several years that During the course of our practice life, all of us, sooner or later, will encounter an event that viscerally instills in us a particular teaching or teachings of the Dharma. And that just deeply embodied experience will become a touchstone for our practice for years to come. And the 2008 fire was such a touchstone for me. Several weeks after the fire, we had a gate reopening ceremony.

[18:44]

Colleen mentioned the gate closing ceremony, but at the beginning of every season, we have a gate opening ceremony. And we had another ceremony to mark after the fire that we were once again ready to welcome guests for the rest of the summer guest season. So despite the wounded wilderness that was around us, and in some cases actually within us, I felt it was important, and the Leadership Design Center felt it was important, to resume our summer practice offering, in part to help bring us back together again as sangha through the focused work and service. And so, for this occasion, I wrote a poem, which included the following stanzas. What, I ask, has the fire taught you? What, during these past weeks, have you discovered in the blaze of your own being that is beyond all displacement, beyond all destruction, beyond the ashen hand of death and beyond the regenerative nature of the living wild?

[19:48]

And what, even now, are you willing to lose in the conflagration of the present moment? Give it all to the flames. Hold nothing back out of the mistaken notion that something Anything must be or can be saved. For equanimity and generosity only fully ignites in that space of total renunciation where nothing is left to lose. The fire taught me at a very visceral level the importance of cultivating the capacities of stability, including equanimity and grounded awareness, authenticity through manifesting a clear and flexible mind, and vulnerability of being open to what is as it is, without clinging, without resistance, without defensiveness.

[20:55]

The fire also deepened my appreciation for our practice of zazen through which these abilities are often naturally born and cultivated. Meeting a wildfire illustrated for me the importance of continually preparing the ground of practice. So despite the presence of the Indians fire south of us, which had been burning for about two weeks prior to the lightning strikes that had actually started the basin fire, which was north of us, despite that fire was lurking out there, we at Tulsa Heart hadn't quite realized the seriousness of the situation. And we hadn't really started seriously preparing until the actual first evacuation of the guests. when we actually got down to business and began clearing the extra brush, cutting fire lines, installing Dharma Rain, which was the sprinkler system that we put on top of all the roofs.

[22:02]

We jury rigged them. And also watering the grounds on a daily basis to keep the humidity in the valley as high as possible. But isn't this always the case? That we don't get serious about our practice until something big comes along and throws us out of our normal comfort zone and says, ìThis is it.î So every time I get on my cushion for zazen, I am training my mind-body to continually return to a state of readiness, to what Suzuki Roshi called ìbeginnerís mind,î a mind that is free of concepts about how things should be, a mind that is open, receptive, and welcoming. Being novices to fire, most of us at Tassajara didn't expect a particular kind of fire, whether slow or fast or from a particular direction, although we certainly ventured guesses along with the fire professionals who were with us.

[23:07]

But most of the time, we just focused on preparing and planning to be ready for whatever showed up. With a beginner's mind, we can see that The nature of fire is neither malicious nor magnanimous. Fire is simply fire. Fire heats. It is the nature of fire simply to burn. It is the nature of humans to have emotions, desires and confusion. And it is also our nature to be able to let go of all this delusion and filling to a space of natural clarity and essentialness that is always there, that is the heart of being. Fire has no intentionality. It is I who make it personal. Any fear that I may have felt during that time was simply a part of my own consciousness.

[24:14]

And the fire gave me the opportunity to grapple with this realization. The fire is burning in one's own mind. Any sense of danger is something that I create. One has to notice that and take responsibility for what's in one's own mind. My experience in meeting the fire reaffirmed for me the importance of taking refuge in what is then called Don't Know Mind. And this is a mind akin to beginner's mind, in which we have no expectations, no agenda. We are simply ready to meet whatever arises, trust, and then let go. We had a nickname for the Basin Complex Fire. We called it the Three-Day-Away Fire, because after the first evacuation of the guests, we were told by the fire professionals

[25:17]

that the fire would be here within three days. Three days passed. The fire hadn't arrived. They said, well, it'll be here in three more days. OK, so we waited. Three more days passed. Still hadn't arrived. They said, three more days. And this continued for almost three weeks. But in order to avoid a constant sense of anxiety about when is the fire going to arrive, we really had to dwell in a don't know mind, partnered with lots of patience. And I was new to fire, and I was also new to offering leadership to a community in crisis. There were many unknowns for me. I didn't have all the information that I needed to feel confident about the decisions I was making. So again, I had to simply make my best effort, trust and let go. I had to focus inward for a more innate wisdom capacity. And this often required a certain flexibility in not being attached to one decision because a few minutes later, another totally different decision might be required.

[26:24]

Should we evacuate or should we stay? Should we keep eight people or 22? Should we take shelter in our safe zone, the Bunker of the Stone office? Or should we venture out and meet the fire? So I could only make the choices with the limited information that I had in the moment and then let go. Our life is always like this. Always like this. So in order not to become overwhelmed or anxious, I needed to release any thoughts and fears around possible future scenarios. What would happen? Would we die? and let go of those and merely engage in fire preparation and taking care of the moments. This was the activity of the moments, not waiting for the fire to arrive. There is a Zen saying about how we should practice as if our head is on fire.

[27:33]

And this is about more than just the urgent matter of life and death. It is about experiencing the immediacy and intimacy of this very suchness that is beyond the duality of birth and death. To practice as if our heads are on fire requires fearlessness. And fearlessness requires that I meet and walk through resistance and clinging, that I meet the reality of the moment as it is and meet it with respect. So I can't say that I was totally without fear during the times of the fire. What actually registered more was a very keen concern for our well-being and for the well-being of Telsahara. But I can say that I did have the oh shit moment when standing in the front lawn In front of a stone office, we saw that the fire was actually coming in all at once from all three sides of us.

[28:41]

I had a momentary thought at that moment to actually run to our safety zone, our bunker. But then, as I was standing there next to Mako, who was one of the other so-called fire monks, I realized how amazingly beautiful this event was, how this being coming towards us was instilling in us this tremendous sense of awe. And I don't know how many of you have ever seen an actual wildfire, but wildfires are amazingly beautiful. And we kept remarking on this through the days and weeks of the fire, especially at night, to have this sense of basically, in the dark wilderness, looking into the pitched black landscape, and to see these glowing embers and flames and stars, you know, kind of reflected in the landscape itself. And so despite our concern, we were still able to appreciate and respect this tremendous being that for weeks was coming towards us.

[29:46]

And the question arose, how are we going to meet this one? This is our con in any moment. How are we going to meet the unknown which looms before us now? Now. Now. We have a choice as an adversary or as a friend. With fear and trepidation or with respect and even perhaps appreciation for the unique mystery that is rushing towards us. You can hear that awe and respect in the voice of Mako Vopo. If you have seen the 16 second clip that she was able to take just as the fire arrived, You know, she's standing around and you can see her, just her expression of it. It's so full of that moment of realizing how amazing this was. During the final frantic evacuation on July 9th, which was the day before the fire actually came in, which is the day that Colleen was reading about, we quickly took the time to remove the 2,000-year-old Gondorian Buddha that is on the altar at Tassajara.

[31:08]

I don't know if anyone has, if you haven't been to Tassajar, you may have seen the Buddha that's on the altar at City Center. It's actually a companion piece in some ways, a similar time period. We took the Buddha down from the altar, and we wrapped it in yoga blankets and mats, and then we buried it in the bhajapala court at Tassajar, in a hole that we had pre-dug just for this purpose. So this Buddha, the reason we did this Buddha in the Zendo fire that happened at Tassajara in 78, it actually shattered during the fire and broke into many pieces. And we were fortunate to have someone from the Asian Art Museum actually glue it back together, put it back together, and it looks almost exactly as it did before it shattered. This time around, we thought it very important not to remove the Buddha from Tassajara and make sure that it stayed with us. So I imagine now that by burning the Buddha in the ground in this way for safekeeping, for some notion of safekeeping, that the Buddha, which means the awakened one, literally became the ground beneath our feet.

[32:18]

I imagine that the Buddha's steadfast compassion and all-seeing awareness radiated from this particular center of the universe. and extended as abiding presence throughout Tassajara, through the roots of the trees, through the groundwater, and up through Dharmarain, and onto the roofs, and through the rocks, and up out of the mountainsides, and into the flames themselves. All, literally, was alive with seeing. And in this seeing, we five were not alone. All of you were with us. All of you observed from this fundamental awareness as we, together, met the fire. No one was really outside of the valley. No one truly evacuated or displaced. For all of us were there, in present, as independently co-arisen existence.

[33:26]

Five months, Everyone at Zen Center, or connected to Zen Center in some way. Everyone who's ever come to Tassajara. Every person alive, or having lived, or to live, along with the mountains, and trees, and wildlife, and the oceans, and the sky, and the fire of the stars from the very beginning of the universe. All of it converged at once into that valley. along with the fire as it circled and raced down the mountain sides towards us, towards our ground of practice. Together, we and the whole universe met the fire. And in that moment, we were all fire monks. And in this moment, we are all fire monks. What I continue finding myself returning to since the days of the fire is not the experience of the fire itself or the weeks leading up to it.

[34:38]

What I keep returning to is the image of the mountains immediately after the fire. I remember how my gaze was constantly drawn to them for months afterwards. I felt that for once Having been stripped of their foliage, I could finally, truly see the mountains. They stood silent, gray, barren, yet majestic. It was just the charred bones of certain chaparrals and trees still clinging to their sides. So anytime I walked outside, I would look at the mountains. I was fascinated. They held my attention. And I couldn't figure out why this was so for a very long time. It wasn't like the fire was still out there lurking. It wasn't, and it already passed. Yet having been stripped down to their essentialness, I felt myself drawn to the mountains' newly revealed vulnerability.

[35:42]

They were so beautiful in a way that a dying person can be beautiful. their lives and their beings having been parred down significantly so that there is little or nothing extra. Just being. Even in skeletal fingers of the dead branches that remained, still suddenly holding up the sky would have to give way to impermanence, to decay, eventually to new growth and rebirth. This is the natural cycle of the wilderness and also of human existence. The mountains in this form express for me a very profound teaching that when everything extra is burned away, what is essential in our lives is exposed in all its beauty and defenselessness. When we are willing to be our most vulnerable,

[36:48]

we are also the most grounded, open and genuine, the most authentic and tangibly alive, and also the most liberated. What's truly essential cannot be defended. Our practice of Zazen is to sit like mountains, to be upright yet exposed, to be unguarded and therefore revealed, to be non-manipulating and simply allow everything to be as it is. To sit like mountains is to be still, unmoving, but not unmoved. It's not that the mountains didn't feel the pain as the fire progressed. It's not that they didn't hear the cries of the dying animals, or refuse to bear witness to the trees and plants consumed by flame.

[37:53]

I believe that the mountains did feel all this, and that the heart of the mountains fully dwelled with deep compassion for the suffering that was arising in that moment. Each mountain did what it could to help the life that relied on its vast body. True compassion requires acknowledging our inescapable mutual vulnerability. So in closing, I'd like to offer a suggestion that we are all so-called fire monks when we make the effort to meet the conflagration, the fire of the present moment with a mind of attention, equanimity, and courage. Thank you very much for your attention. So, I think we have a little time for questions. So, anybody have anything they'd like to ask either of us about?

[38:59]

Please. James. There was a discussion at the end of the book about whether it was a mistake to go back or not. And one of the things that I was wondering about, David, was in your mind, did you feel you were risking your life to go back? I'll just repeat the question. Did David, in his mind, feel they were risking their lives to go back? There was awareness from there that there was risk. There was awareness that there was risk the whole time that the fire was coming our way. But I felt that we had done so much to prepare and to be ready, that we had our safety zone, we had all the tools, the equipment, and the water set up and everything, that we had enough, really, to not be truly at risk.

[40:08]

Ultimately, who knows? Something truly different could have happened than what did happen. But for me, a stronger sense in my gut at the time, and for a number of others, was that we've done enough, I think, that at least we can wade through this and come out alive. We may not totally succeed. So I think that in that turning around, there was enough confidence in that, that we felt we made an informed decision, an intelligent decision. It wasn't rash. It wasn't careless. It wasn't, you know, unconsidered. It was kind of coming from here, from a very, you know, several weeks of effort that had been created and made. Yeah. What was the outcome for the monastery? Well, we actually, we lost a few buildings. We lost a student residence called the Bird House, and we lost a couple

[41:10]

fire sheds, wood sheds, I mean, and then also one of the bathrooms near the pool. And there were certain areas, like the front gate started on fire, and the fire came basically in and surrounded the bathhouse and burnt basically up to the road in many places. So while we lost a few buildings, no one was hurt during the time. And we were actually I'm very grateful for that, the fact that, I think had we not been there, the reason we, another reason we turned around is it was only three hours of gasoline in the pumps that ran Dharmarain. So had we left six o'clock the night before and not returned, Dharmarain would have stopped by nine o'clock at night. The fire didn't come through until noon on the next day. And the fire, this thing came in close and would have burned the shop which had gasoline and lots of wood we would have basically lost a majority of Tasselhar. So by just staying there to keep the pumps going, which was also our original intention, we wanted to do more.

[42:14]

Yeah, thank you. I feel kind of bad asking this question, but how would this talk, how would this book, would there be a book if Tasselhar was lost? Well, I would say it'd be a harder book to write. I knew that it had a happy ending. So, not to imply there were no difficulties in writing the book or challenges, but I wasn't going to have to be dealing with people's grief over the loss of Tassajara or their grief over the loss of life, if there'd been any loss of life. So I think my job would have been infinitely more difficult had Tassajara been lost. And would there have been a book? I still think so, because then they'd be practicing with having lost Tassajara. You know, the point of the story is not that they actually saved Tassajara. It's it's they did.

[43:20]

And that's wonderful. And it's happy making. But the effort that went into taking care of Tassajara is what the book's about. And that doesn't really matter how it would have gone in the end doesn't negate that effort or the importance of it. Walter? Given the fire-dependent ecology that Tassar finds itself in, a place designed to burn on a 30- to 40-year cycle, talk about the regeneration. You know, it's such a gift to actually witness, you know, the kind of, if you will, the total devastation of the wilderness, and then also see just within weeks, three weeks, there were already green, fresh shoots coming out from the base of burned trees, you know, and bushes and so on, just to see how quickly life came back again, you know, and in many cases was actually just, you know, quiet, not quiet, that's another word, dormant.

[44:25]

But just to see over the course of the last several years, particularly the year after is the most dramatic, there's a lot of actually wildflowers and plants that actually are fire-dependent, that only come out when there's fire. So maybe every 20 years there's certain flowers that will bloom, or certain trees that will take root, certain vegetation that is so dependent on the fire. And I also found out that actually the fish in the creeks are dependent on the fire, because once the landscape is burned, the wash-off that comes down the next several years into the creeks, the rocks and the soil and so on, settle into the bottom of the creek, and over time that gets kind of sifted through, the bigger stuff, and still the fine stuff gets silted through, and then finally there's just the bigger stuff. And those rocks are where the fish lay their eggs. And without that they can't survive. And so they're just as dependent on the fire as the rest of the wilderness is. And so part of us being in the wilderness and being part of it is this mutual respect.

[45:33]

We need to let the fire pass through and that's some of the issues with fire management. For many years they were suppressing it and now it's more how do we manage it. and guide it. And so that was kind of our way of meeting the fire. We're not going to fight it, but we're just going to be able to kind of guide it around Tassajar, if we could. Could you go over there? But also allow what needs to happen to happen, and honor that. And each year, the landscape keeps changing. There's some new vegetation that this year, they're covered with yellow, some yellow flower that I've never seen before. And just the mountains were yellow for a very long time, and it's just a new delight every time. David had a question. Hi, thank you very much, David and Colleen. I understand that there was off the fire. And I wonder how that's been processed in the months and now years since then.

[46:44]

Well, the first thing that happened, my understanding is that after the evacuations, and there were a couple of evacuations where students left, there were beamings at each of the centers for people to connect. And there was were the evacuees. And then when people started coming back to Tal Sahar, We also met several times as a community there for people basically to express themselves and to process. And there's a scene in the book where it's actually a little hard for me to actually be a part of that because I'm still in a place where the words itself, I couldn't go to that place yet. And also there's a sense of responsibility that I was responsible for people's evacuation and for them being in this situation in many ways. And people haven't come directly to me to express their discomfort, unhappiness, their struggle. I think it's they share, you know, maybe with others.

[47:46]

I think the Fire Monk's book itself has kind of brought up a little bit of that again, in part because the heroes, non-heroes dialogue, which I don't quite get, I don't see myself as a hero, so it's a little kind of discombobulating to hear it put into that context. But for some people that's arising and that has to be heard and met. But I think it's the sense of how are we together in this and that everyone did participate in their own way from their particular dharma position. And it's hard for people sometimes to accept where they are, what their dharma position is in that moment. And that's often our practice, you know, not resisting it and seeing it, and actually appreciate what we could do to support it. So I think allowing the dialogue to happen, allowing people to express themselves, continues. I think we're out of time.

[48:53]

I think we're out of time. So we're going to head outside. We'll be signing copies of Firemux if anybody wants to get a copy and sign it and we can talk more outside and more questions outside. So thanks for your attention so much. Thanks for having us here today.

[49:11]

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