Mary Kaijun Mold, a senior monastic at Zen Mountain Monastery, passed away on March 10th, 2014. I lived with her for two plus years, and sat on silent retreats with her for much longer. I pealed hundred of potatoes with Kaijun and mended grey robes under her supervision. We shared many chuckles. She was from New Zealand, and had a strong lovely accent. I recall vaguely her struggle with christianity, and her finding refuge in buddhist teachings and practices.

I recall walking with her into the thick woods on the property, she leaning on her walking stick, looking for a place to hide a unicorn figurine. We found an old circle of rocks on a slope surrounding a small puddle pond. My memory may be vague but I am pretty sure she jumped right in with her boots on, to my consternation and concern.

Five months before she passed away, hurricane Sandy hit the North-east. Kaijun and I emerged from the stone building, situated high and unaffected by the floods. We walked to the nearby bridge to survey the surrounding houses that fared much worse, some taking critical damage. She outpaced me. ZMM later sent a van of residents to Far Rockaway to help with the clean-up. I remember the rush of purpose that I felt in that van. Presence, in action.

As Kaijun grew more fragile, residents at the monastery took turns caring for her. After she passed, we sat a vigil in her room, the closest space next to the meditation hall.

On one of our many eat-outs, often to the Phoenicia diner nearby, a bunch of us eager young ones sat with Kaijun and shared our woes of living in celibacy at the monastery. I turned to the eighty-something year old luminous nun who'd been leading a long dedicated solitary life of buddhist practice and love, and at that moment fiercely suckling on a juicy chicken leg.

I asked, “what is renunciation for you?”

Not missing a moment, she said, "Renunciation is letting go of the desire to not be alone."

Kaijun's dharma still stands. Though not formally celibate these days, I appreciate the flow of company, and of solitude. Rest in peace, Kaijun. You sure loved to hang with us young men. For your teachings, love of unicorns, potatoes, men and love itself, I bow in gratitude.