An Oral History of the Mara Roast 2025 in Portland

dingirfecho
4 days ago
5 min read

By Lama Fede

Dallas, last days of September.

Saturday.

Clearly, Autum hadn’t got the call, and the heat was on. I was at a bar where they played (American) football. I was on a layover, having been on the worst connecting flight ever(tm), almost two days to reach a place 16 hours away from my home.

There were two kinds of people in the bar: the servers were all young, all beautiful with the beauty that having almost no money but a lot of dreams brings. The kind that makes having a beer with friends and dancing at their overcrowded houses the best time ever. They spoke Spanish and, between orders, talked about songs, poetry, labor issues and flirted with each other. The major topic, however, was ICE and how they feared it.

The other kind were the patrons. The language they spoke was English. They didn’t pay the servers any mind. They seemed big, a lot bigger than myself, these Texans. However, ICE or “La Migra” startled them a bit. They knew that much, at least.

The server who brought my food was young. I guess on her early 20s. She started chatting with me. I was probably the only patron in the place that could speak Spanish, strangely enough. She started telling me how her family had travelled to the US after issues at her home in El Salvador, and how they all were afraid right now. She wanted to study sociology, so we brought a bit of Bourdieu into the talk.

She told me about ICE, and the fears that they were all having. And the new military intervention announced by the president was playing havoc with their nerves…

-Oh, I say, I didn’t hear about that.

-It was all over Twitter, she tells me. Didn’t you hear about it?

-Nope, I answer. Where is he intervening now?

And she says: War-Torn Portland. It’s hell up there. Please be careful, Fede, and

stay away from that place.

I thanked her and, after finishing my meal, went back to the airport to fly the last leg of the trip.

Towards War-torn Portland.

Apparently, this is how a war looks like now

This Mara Roast, our annual gathering, took place in Portland, and I arrived there fully expecting riots, bombs, police. But what I found was a bunch of wonderful people, deeply weird but warm, who received us with open arms.

As you might imagine, fears were high. Not only then, but beforehand, thought that it was going to be a mess. It was a mess , but it was a wonderful mess. Chaotic, but with an undercurrent of love.

I didn’t see any riots or problems during the entire trip. It was so peaceful that in the mornings, only visiting ravens and spiders appeared. It was wonderful, a city nestled by rivers and woods, where we walked everywhere.

First, Guru Prajwal opened the temple to receive us. That man has built a temple, museum and holy place that’s basically the Himalayas in miniature. It is absolutely incredible and pulses with blessings all the way. After two days of flying nonstop, I was beat up, but I felt refreshed the moment I went there. We all went for a communal meal later on.

On Monday, the Mara Roast began in full swing. Guru Prajwal opened it with, for my money, one of the best talks about the Paramitas I ever heard.

Lama Cele followed it a bit later on, teaching about Prajñaparamita and giving us an empowerment on Her. it was amazing, and it’s always such a pleasure to see when longtime students are a lot better that you as a teacher.

On Tuesday morning, Lama Jilly taught us about generosity, her particular speciality. We laughed a lot, and we missed her presence, since she was still stuck in India. But somehow, she made it work, and she was there.

Then, Lama Josh taught the Grahamatrika Dharani and the principles of Tantric Astrology. Probably the only person in the world who could take such a long and complex topic and distill it into a very simple talk, we came out of that one with a lot of material.

At that point, Guru Prajwal pulled out some Buddha-level generosity and invited everyone (and I mean, everyone) to his house where he cooked for all of us. It was absolutely wonderful, the best meal I had in the US.

Then, on Wednesday morning, Kalyanamitra Ericson taught about the Seven Points of Mind Training, a wonderful topic that he’s been working on for about 30 years. You could see the warmth, the care and the love he took with that in every perfectly crafted, beautiful line.

Afterwards, Lama Chris taught about the 12 links of interdependence and gave a wonderful, powerful empowerment of White Tara.

Throughout these days, we kept going with an online streaming and simultaneous Spanish translation, but the last two days were closed door only.

Lama Sherab taught two things masterfully: the Longsal practice and the Shitro, to navigate the Bardos. As with any Dzogchen teaching, it carries a lot of weight, but how Lama Sherab transmitted it was impeccable.

Then, I taught. I taught dancing, journeying and Dreamwork, but I feel that I almost killed a couple of people just by dancing! From that, we have learned that we need to get a basic physical fitness scale for our practices. Then I taught the Dudul Dorje’s Vajravidharana, which helps purify all karma.

Finally, we closed it with two wonderful ordination ceremonies: in the first, Hannah, Brady, Jen and Ericsson became ordained Kalyanamitras and in the second Lama Scott became a Lama! We have been growing at an exponential rate, but it was a very touching moment for all of us.

And to add to this, we had a lot of other pleasant moments. Lama Sherab taught Shinkage Furo-Ryu at the park, and we went to train there almost every day. We visited the city (in the time that we had), bartered with Tibetans in overrun stores, found some nice vintage clothing, ate incredible food and had a wonderful time.

But the main thing that sticks with me is the people: wonderful people from all over the world that we met for training and that we shared space, meals and Dharma with.

The Kula, the tantric Sangha is often a source of Drama, instead of Dharma. However, I’m overjoyed that our Kula is not. Rather, it is a model of what Samsara could be if we changed it into Nirvana. A better way, outside the general pettiness and fighting of Samsaric life.

So with that, I left war-torn Portland, hoping that I can return to it sometime soon and thinking that if all the wars are so warm and charmingly weird, we wouldn’t ever want peace.