Remembering the Boundless Heart of Robert A.F. Thurman

“Ah! There is Rima, the bodhisattva!” Bob called out with unmistakable excitement as he spotted me standing among hundreds of people. We had gathered at Tibet House in New York to hear his lecture, where I was in the audience with my husband.

“Bodhisattva, huh?” my husband whispered with a mischievous smile, raising his eyebrows.

Of course, I am not a bodhisattva — not even close — but Bob had a way of seeing the very best in people. He always looked beyond our imperfections and found something genuinely good in each of us. That was simply who he was.

“I like to imagine him in the bardo exactly as I remember him here — happy, curious, and wearing that warm, unmistakable smile.”

Bob was larger than life. Exceptionally charismatic, he was physically tall and commanding, with a vibrant voice, a radiant smile, and a booming laugh that filled every space. His abundant golden hair flowed in elegant waves, and his warm blue eye — and even his left icy glass eye — seemed to sparkle with kindness. He welcomed everyone. Whether you were an old friend or someone he had just met, Bob made you feel included. He generously shared his knowledge with anyone eager to learn and always made time for those who sought his guidance. To me, Bob was like a giant chunk of dynamite filled with radiant energy, sending out beams of life wherever he went. He possessed an extraordinary vitality that uplifted everyone around him.

Whenever I was with him, I was reminded of some of the qualities of His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Like His Holiness, Bob had the rare gift of making you feel as though you were the only person in the world when he was speaking with you. His attention never wandered. His presence was complete. In those moments, you felt truly seen and heard. I have always believed that kind of presence comes from years of meditation practice, genuine compassion, and a heartfelt care for others.

Over the course of our thirty-three-year friendship, I gathered countless precious memories of Bob. One memory, in particular, has remained deeply etched in my heart.

During one of His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s visits to Washington, D.C., Tibetans and supporters of Tibet marched through the streets carrying Tibetan flags. Bob and I walked together beneath the blazing summer sun. The temperature was close to 100 degrees, and the humidity was relentless. Bob was drenched in sweat. His beautiful golden hair looked as though someone had poured a bucket of water over his head, and malas of sweat streamed down his face. He looked exhausted, yet he never stopped shouting, “Free Tibet! Free Tibet!”

Watching him that day moved me deeply. While many prominent supporters chose not to join the march, Bob walked shoulder to shoulder with us, raising his voice without hesitation. That was Bob. When he believed in something, he showed up, not only with words, but in his actions with his whole heart.

Bob was loved not only by his family, friends, students, colleagues, and fellow Buddhists, but also by Tibetans around the world. To them, he was far more than a supporter. He was an incomparable friend, a steadfast ally, and one of the strongest pillars of the Tibetan community.

My dear friend Dr. Tenzin Dorjee, beautifully captured Bob’s unwavering commitment:

“Bob stuck with us, the Tibetans, throughout the good times and the bad. While many supporters of Tibet became silent as China rose to global power, Bob remained outspoken and fearless. Although, as a disciple of His Holiness the Dalai Lama, he embraced the Middle Way Approach, he always supported Students for a Free Tibet. He was never afraid to raise his voice. He never took the easy way out. We have lost one of Tibet’s strongest friends.”

A monk from Nechung Monastery in Dharamsala shared this touching remembrance:

“Bob was such a kind man. We all loved him. He contributed so much to preserving Tibetan culture, and he commissioned us to create many thangkas, which supported our monastery and our community.”

Bob’s life reminds us that genuine greatness is measured not by titles or accomplishments, but by the lives we touch and the compassion we extend to others. He gave his friendship generously, stood firmly by his principles, and made countless people feel seen, valued, and loved. Those of us who had the privilege of knowing him will forever carry a little of his warmth, courage, and boundless spirit in our hearts.

Bob’s physical passing and the recent self-immolation by a former Tibetan monk, Lobga Ranzen, in NY have brought us back to the focus on Tibet. They re-activated the Tibet movement whether through political approach or cultural approach. They personally affected me, too.  I was feeling helpless and useless, but now I am filled with enthusiasm to keep doing whatever I can to help. 

As I reread Bob’s last email to me, I realized that, even then, he was trying to comfort me and help me cope with the rare illness I had been diagnosed with three years earlier. Reading his words again, I could feel his genuine care and boundless compassion reaching across time. He was the bodhisattva. 

Now, I find myself praying that his own physical suffering was as gentle and brief as possible in his final moments. Like so many of us, I believe he was met with abundant guidance and loving support from the bodhisattvas on his journey. I like to imagine him in the bardo exactly as I remember him here — happy, curious, and wearing that warm, unmistakable smile.

After all, as Bob often said, “We don’t die.”