Hello again, Rob

“Blessing, infinite in its modes and colours, often seems to me to be the very nature of all things, of all existence.”

—Rob Burbea, in one of his final emails

I arrived at The Barn yesterday for a 6-night solo retreat at the Hermitage. Walking along one of the garden trails, one of the coordinators asked when I was last on retreat.

“It must have been 10 years ago, at least”, I said, surprising myself. Had it been that long?

“Rob Burbea was still at Gaia House. He had a big impact on me”, I added.

I remember Rob’s warmth, his Somerset twang and his hawk-like eyes that would light up when we started talking Dharma.

In my first meeting with him, in the middle of a 3-week work retreat, I ranted about jhanas, nanas, paths and—most of all—my frustration with being unable to maintain awareness of the Three Marks throughout the day. He listened intently and asked, “How’s that working out for you?”

I laughed a little and realised I was making a meal of things and getting nowhere fast. He told me the quality of fire in a student is good. Easier to work with than the opposite.

“But you can relax a little”, he added.

Other people had told me that before, but I’d decided they didn’t know what they were talking about. Rob, however, seemed versed in all the things I wanted, so I took heed and scrambled away.

The next meeting was different. I told Rob that I’d loosened my grip and that something profound had happened. He asked a question but seemed unsatisfied with my answer. A few minutes later, I told him about what I’d realised last night: that the 3 marks weren’t something I had to relentlessly see in all times and places; they had a meaning. The meaning was that I could let go.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes”, Rob replied enthusiastically. “This is what I was asking about.”

Back in 2025, my coordinator told me he knew Rob.

“He’s buried on that hill”, he added, not missing a beat.

“What?” I said.

He explained there was a natural burial ground, another part of the vast Sharpham Trust estate where I was staying. And that Rob was buried there.

The morning afterwards, I went on a mission to find Rob. I took a convoluted 40-minute walk and then spent another 40 minutes going around trying to find his headstone. No luck. I felt deflated.

Later, I spoke to the other coordinator. She told me there was a direct path from the Barn garden straight to the burial ground.

I was there in 10 minutes, and in another 5 minutes I’d found Rob’s headstone. Relax, take it easy.

I’m sure Rob found all of this very amusing.

I sat at his grave for a while, remembering the other things he’d said to me. Above us, a buzzard slowly banked into a pillar of hot air, eyes wide, looking for movement.