Maha Ghosananda, the leader of Cambodian Buddhism, and one of the world's great religious leaders, died on March 12, 2007. In October of 1998, I had a memorable encounter with this remarkable figure whom Jack Kornfield characterizes as "a forest monk, a father figure for Cambodian children, a translator and scholar of fifteen languages, a meditation master for Western students, a peacemaker at the United Nations, and one of the living treasures of Cambodia, leading the Khmer refugee communities around the world" (Preface, Step by Step, by Maha Ghosananda, 1992).

It was on a very busy Friday - Parent and Family Weekend at Wellesley College. I rushed home to the president's house on campus at around 2:00 for a quick errand. I had been out straight all day (indeed all week) and I still had three big obligations. I suddenly realized that I had skipped lunch, so I found a bagel, cut it in half and headed for the front door.

The doorbell rang, and I assumed it was a delivery or a worker - someone the housekeeper could handle (I was late) - so I opened the door quickly, expecting to dash right by, only to find myself face to face with an odd entourage. I recognized our new Buddhist advisor, who said brightly, "Oh, we're so glad you're home. We've brought you Maha Ghosananda, the Dali Lama of Cambodia. He wanted to meet you."

This was one of those cosmic (and comic) moments that draws you up short. Here I was with half a bagel in each hand, dashing out the door, a bundle of preoccupation and nerves. I had stopped home for just a minute (which I almost never do), was late for my next appointment, and was now confronted with this unexpected delegation of serene mindfulness, assuming that of course I was at home to receive them.

I babbled a few things, feeling very silly to be so frantic and rushed, handed the better half my bagel to the sweetly-smiling monk, and dashed off. For the rest of the day I chided myself for the opportunity I had missed. I should have bagged the next appointment, invited the group in, and basked in their aura of peace and calm. I felt even worse that night when I got to the World Wide Web and discovered what an extraordinary spiritual leader Ghosananda is. But then I went on about my business and forgot the incident.

Two days later, on Sunday morning, we had a multi-faith service for Family Weekend. Afterward, the dean of religious and spiritual life and I walked back to the president's house, again something we seldom do. We settled on the terrace, with some orange juice, and got to talking about Maha Ghosananda's visit the previous Friday. Suddenly we felt a presence and looked up to see the monk standing on the edge of the terrace. It was an awesome moment.

We ate fruit and bread together, drank orange juice and talked for about 45 minutes. He carried himself with a quiet simplicity and an utter lack of pretense or guile. He was playful, whimsical, warm, and sweet; his smile and laugh were radiant and the easy silences we shared were suffused with spirit. His presence felt like a gift to Victor and me, a generous gift that inspired gratitude and a an impulse to reach out and support his journey in whatever ways we could.

The impact of his teaching came as much from his presence as from the short lessons and parables he offered in a quirky and unstructured way, as if responding to the whim of the moment. He showed us the many pockets in his down vest, and their curious contents: a U.S. passport wrapped in an old warranty notice, the German translation of his book, folded in a scrap of bubble wrap. He laughed at himself for failing to adhere to the Buddhist injunction to travel light.

When he said good-bye, he walked down a long series of stone steps from the terrace to the president's lawn, toward a rose garden and to a path by the lake, without once looking back. We sensed that his short visit had given us something we had no way of absorbing fully right away, but something that would stay with us forever.