This is a good book about an unpleasant person who started a religious cult and her cult hangers-on.
It is not a great book, however, because the author, though an experienced and widely published journalist did not seem to fully understand even half of what she was observing. Worse than that, she does not seem to understand Tibet, or Buddhism itself. What's more, the writing is all in the most workday, conventional, uninspired journalese.
However, this book does serve the socially beneficial function of warning people away from Alyce Zeoli, aka Catharine Burroughs, aka Jetsunma Ahkon Llamo. Why? Simply because the story of Alyce Zeoli is a pile-up of outrages and follies almost without peer in the annals of religious cultism.
Zeoli is a troubled woman from a sketchy background who, after coming into contact with the Black Mountain cult in rural Virginia and getting married to a man she met there, started channeling spirits to a small, rapt audience in her basement for tips and donations. During these seances she often channeled prophets or extra-terrestrials, such as one voice claiming to be "Andor, head of the Intergalactic Council."
One of her popular spirits spoke in a high-pitched voice dispensing saccharine fortune-cookie advice and called herself "Miss Buddha." The hillbilly jackasses in her audience lapped it up.
As the author records, Zeoli's husband was startled when she confided to him that she was making it all up as she went along, just for yucks and dollars. Yet he continued to support and promote her carnival act, of course, because money.
By sheer chance, Zeoli -- then going by the name Catharine Burroughs -- happened to meet a Tibetan lama named Penor Rinpoche, visiting the USA to sell rugs to support his monastery in India.
Zeoli was somehow able to convince the Rinpoche that her New Age ravings hinted at some sublime inner wisdom. So. Penor Rinpoche quickly "recognized" Zeoli as the tulku (mind-stream rebirth) of a cave-dwelling woman in old Tibet known for her severe meditation teachings, Ahkon Lhamo.
As Sherill tells it, Zeoli was thrilled by this recognition -- or at least she was until she found out that this Ahkon Lhamo person was not particularly famous. Then she complained bitterly to her husband and others.
Yet she used the recognition of her Tulku-hood as publicity springboard, getting herself on TV for the crowning and enthronement ritual. People were amused and entertained and the public got interested in this "Buddha from Brooklyn."
Using her newfound Buddha crew, Zeoli was able to pressure, charm and bamboozle yet another Tibetan Rinpoche into recognizing her as "an emanation" of Mandarava, a Tantric consort of Guru Rinpoche -- the semi-mythical founding figure who is pretty much the Jesus of Tibet.
Go-Ask-Alyce Zeoli insisted that her followers now call her "Jetsunma," a term of ultimate respect for a Tibetan woman teacher. The gaggle of higher up Lamas and Rinpoches who attended her TV coronation were a little shocked and maybe even a bit outraged by this display of presumption.
Soon plenty of money was flowing into her organization, not only by way of tax-free donations but because she insisted that all of her followers work full time jobs, pay rent to live at the new temple in Poolesville, and hand over half of their earnings, which she inevitably blew on luxury items -- a gold toilet seat, jewels, perfume, designer clothing.
Yet, instead of just relaxing and enjoying the success of her long grift con game, Catharine Burroughs kept upping the ante with more and more outrageous displays of temper and selfishness. Sherill's book documents the ugly cascade of hectoring, abuse, tantrums, gaslighting, stalking, threatening, and character assassination that ensued. Quite an untidy parade of horrors.
Eventually, the Tibetan Lamas who'd crowded around her for the enthronement all cold-shouldered or turned against her, Penor Rinpoche even dictating a letter on official Namdroling Monastery letterhead calling her mentally ill and demanding that she stop teaching the Dharma.
For Zeoli openly shattered just about every Buddhist rule in the Buddhist rule book by drinking, taking drugs, and having sex with her followers, even casually breaking up their marriages if she felt like it.
And unlike other misbehaving Rinpoches of recent times, such as Sogyal, she didn't try to hide her bad behavior, but flaunted it like a gigantic beehive hair-do everywhere and at every opportunity.
Some of Zeoli's monks and nuns she publicly shamed, beat up or verbally abused with a harshness that is chilling to the heart even reading about these events years later.
When Zeoli divorced her husband, she celebrated with a "divorce party" at which she encouraged her monks and nuns to take turns stabbing an effigy she had made of him. Then, to the cheers of her audience, she smashed the banana that had been attached to the effigy to represent her husband's penis.
At the close of that drunken evening, which so confused and horrified a visiting group of Tibetan monks from Namdroling HQ, the mannequin representing her ex-husband was dragged out onto the driveway and repeatedly run over by a pickup truck. Then Zeoli's pacific monks and nuns took turns urinating on it.
Zeoli came up with a variety of high concept money-making schemes and grifts, which fizzled one after the other, leaving the KPC organization in chaos and near bankruptcy. Yet she insisted nonetheless on taking a 10 grand a month salary, tax free, from the pockets of her constituents.
And every single monk and every nun on the Poolesville compound had to sign a piece of paper releasing Zeoli from any responsibility to care for them in their old age, or should they become sick or disabled.
Sherill records with some verve and relish Zeoli's attempts to get a Hollywood film made about her life and exploits as a "Living Buddha." Zeoli comes tantalizingly close to a major production deal, with either Melanie Griffith or Meryl Streep assigned to portray her flamboyant eminence.
But the burgeoning movie project falls through -- mainly due to rumors now widely circulating about her paranoid cult craziness. Horribly vexed, Zeoli blames malign spirits and insists on renewed and extraordinary displays of kow-towing zeal from all of her followers.
Sherill's account takes us up to 1999, when most of the Poolesville monks and nuns of the "Kunzang Palyul Choling" (KPC) travel to Sedona, Arizona to set up a spanking new temple. Zeoli's reason? She thinks the world is about to end by fire and flood, as per a Hopi prophecy, and she thinks her congregation will enjoy safety up in the high desert.
But that isn't the end of this sordid charade masquerading as an uplifting story.
After this book came out, the author was so deluged by death-threats from members of Jetsunma's congregation that she feared for her life.
In 2011, Zeoli leapt suddenly once again into the news limelight after the FBI/Federal-Marshal arrest of another American Tulku named William L. Cassidy, aka "Tenpa Rinpoche,' author of multiple books on pistol shooting and knife fighting, and briefly and formerly CEO of the "KPC" itself during a few of the Sedona years -- on charges of cyberstalking her over Twitter.
Zeoli was named "Victim 1" in the court documents, which claimed that she had been so shattered by emotional distress over Cassidy's e-taunts and insults that for over a year she was unable to leave her house.
However, during that year Zeoli herself was on Twitter constantly, all day every day and most of every night, as were all of her monks and nuns, attacking Cassidy's reputation and spreading paranoia about his supposedly nefarious activities.
Cassidy was flown from his home in California to a federal prison in Baltimore, where he sat in a cell for almost a year as his court-appointed defense team prepared for the big trial.
However, in December of that year the case got tossed out of court by a federal judge who, in a ringing and rather scornful legal opinion, condemned the whole case as an outrageous violation of Cassidy's First Amendment right to free speech.
Soon after that, it was revealed that Zeoli's right hand monk, a certain "Palzang," had been caught saffron-handed raping school children in Sedona. Interestingly, it wasn't his first rodeo. He had ridden this range before. He surrendered himself to the Law and got sentenced to a mandatory 20 years in the Arizona State Prison system.
After this wild setback, Zeoli shut down the Sedona grift operation and returned to rural Maryland.
The Tulku's Temple in Poolesville is now closed for violations of the fire code, and donations have dried up to the point that it might never re-open.
Here is a brief timeline of events covered in the book:
Penor Rinpoche is born in 1932, the year of the Water Monkey, in the twelfth month, in the Powo region of Kham, East Tibet.
Various recognitions, teachings, lineage empowerments, yadda yada ya. The Chinese invade. In 1959, Penor Rinpoche flees with a group of 300 monks, over the mountains into India.
Of the 300 monks, only 30 make it to India. There are skirmishes with the PLA. Grenades are tossed. Pistols fired (by monks!)
1963. Rainy season, India. Penor Rinpoche builds a bamboo temple to train some monks in Dzogchen.
1970's. Penor Rinpoche teaches at Namdroling, in northern India. The Tibetan diaspora in full swing. CIA everywhere.
1970's. Penor Rinpoche teaches at Namdroling, in northern India. The Tibetan diaspora in full swing. CIA everywhere.
It's the '80's now, decade of bad hair & wicked fingernails. Penor heads to the USA -- a tour to sell rugs to support his monks.
There, Penor meets a dubious character named Catharine Burroughs, who offers to sell some [d]rugs for him, or whatever.
This Catharine Burroughs character is real swell. She holds meeting in her basement where she speaks in the voices of various extra-terrestrial beings & demons.
One day she confesses proudly to her true-believing husband, Michael Burroughs, that these striking spirit-colloquies are all an act. She isn't really going into trances and channeling other-dimensional beings. Ain't no Oracle. Just a garden variety shill.
Maybe that's where the end of their marriage begins.
Very unwisely, in the opinion of some, Penor recognizes Catharine Burroughs as a "tulku" -- this is in 1988. About ten years later he will recognize B movie actor star Steven Seagal as a tulku, to the general head-shaking disgust of everybody in Hollywood who know what a loathsome bottom feeder Segal is, which means by ALL of Hollywood.
So it's 1988. An odd woman with big Brooklyn hair has been recognized as a "tulku" (oh! a tulku!) by the head of a shit little backwater Nyingma lineage. This is big news! It's on TV. She's "the Buddha from Brooklyn!"
However, cracks are already appearing on the smooth dark ice.
For one thing, Buddhist bigwig Gyatrul Rinpoche (namaste!) is pissed off, because Catharine's students have given her a bigger honorific title than even he has, and he's supposed to be the big cheese at the enthroning event. Tibetans are sensitive to marks of rank.
For another, Catharine's students set up electric zappers to kill insects at her enthronment. This is truly bad karma. To be blowing the lion's conch while insects die crisped by bolts of electricity all around the compound.
"Someone" cuts the wires. At night. May we assume Gyatrul gave one of his people the order & the task?
Catharine stays up half the night blowing on the [cock] conch. She's worried she won't be able to get a big enough sound out of it to impress the visiting monks. It would be pathetic to hear only a squeak on the soundtrack. By morning, her lips are numb & her cheeks sore.
Throughout the '90's, Catharine struggles to build her colorful monastery in the wilds of Maryland. She also manages to secure herself a hefty salary of 10 grand per month, tax-free, which she blows on make-up, jewels, and designer clothes.
She blows off steam by seducing her fine-looking students, both male and female. Husband objects.
As a going away present, upon finalizing their divorce, Catharine gifts Michael a giant crystal ball, like the one in the Wizard of Oz. He disappears with it under his arm. (Presumably, he still owns the ball. Maybe he gazes sadly into it sometimes. Maybe he uses it to contact gods & aliens. But he doesn't want to talk about his ex-wife anymore, or have the slightest thing to do with her burbling madness.)
Catharine's self-esteem suffers a bitter blow when Richard Gere blows here off at a big event, walking right past her as if she didn't exist, and refusing to snatch the white scarf she's waving at him as a peace offering and publicity stunt.
Things go steeply downhill. Soon she is wearing leather bondage style duds and beating up her nuns in front of the whole congregation then shaming them with bad poetry.
.......