Jimi Magner
Jimi devoted his life to spiritual cultivation for the benefit of others. When referring to his love towards the numberless beings equaling the extent of space, Jimi would say, “Not even one is left out.” He was loved in return for his wild mind, free spirit, sense of humor and open heart, which knew no bounds.
Jimi was born in Pittsburgh, PA, to James E. Magner Jr. (deceased 2000) and Mary Ann Magner (deceased 1971). As the first born, he was a beloved brother to his younger siblings, Maureen, Gregory, and David, and a spiritual brother to all. He spent his formative years in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. Jimi’s mother died when he was 12, prompting him to run away to the streets for the first time in his life. To get a fresh start, his father moved the family to Shaker Heights, Ohio, where Jimi earned the nickname “Squirrel” after rescuing a baby squirrel which went everywhere with him afterwards. Often living inside a pocket or his unkempt long hair. In high school, he wore a purple cape, danced in the halls, and banged on a gong for his classmates to “come out and play” on the front lawn. When he was 16, he hitchhiked with a friend to Mobile, AL, just to swim in the Gulf of Mexico. He continued on to San Antonio, TX, and then to California, where he spent most of his life.
Paradoxically, his incredible, unbridled mind and free spirit made it difficult for him to maintain inner peace from time to time. Jimi explained, “When I was young, I tried looking only outside for happiness strung out with Bliss on Tap, which didn’t work out so well in the long run. Hah!” He was constantly on a sojourn to find a spiritual home, only to find himself in dissonance with a new construct wherever he went. Lacking traditional employment skills, he was accepted at Dharma meditation centers, where he worked in exchange for room and board. This lifestyle led him abroad, including visits to India and Europe. During his travels, he sat with Tibetan lamas and other spiritually evolved beings. Lama Yeshe and Lama Zopa, in particular, illuminated his path. Another teacher, Choden Rinpoche, ordained him in 2001. Jimi was also drawn to American meditation teachers, including Joseph Goldstein and Jack Kornfield, who became close spiritual friends. He spent five years at the Insight Meditation Center in Massachusetts, where Joseph still resides – perhaps the longest time he stayed in one place during his adulthood. As he grew older, Jimi experienced lapses of depression and confusion. When his restlessness and pain became overwhelming, drugs and the wild open road would call to him, putting him back on a tumultuous path.
The saga of Jimi “Jigme” (his monk name that means “fearless” in Tibetan) spans a staggering amount of ups and downs. However, it was here in Santa Barbara where Jimi found his last hoorah that pulled him out of his depression to be able to fully live his light again. But even in dark times, he always brought “Wisdom Light with Big Love” to the people and places where it was most needed. In Santa Cruz, CA, for example, another nickname, the “Vampire Priest,” was bestowed on Jimi as he brought light to the darkness experienced by homeless people on the streets and sat quietly with those who were sick or dying. Later, Jimi became a hospice volunteer at Sara House in Santa Barbara. Before Jimi’s physical and mental health began to fade yet again, he had become a beacon of light of healthy perspective for many in the Santa Barbara area. How easily do we all become so rigid in our own little lives and dramas that we forget the Big Picture? Leave it to Jimi to help us “shake the Etch A Sketch” of our old mental habits and continue on with fresh loving eyes.
In December 2022, Jimi was nearly blind and became increasingly ill after he was evicted from a shelter in Santa Barbara and had to go back on the streets. Finally, he suffered a debilitating fall and stroke. He survived for six more months bed-stricken which on the up-side did allow for the opportunity to experience a clear state of consciousness at the time of death. During those months one joke that could be repeated to Jimi was “Well Jimi guess this wasn’t the rehab you were going for, but hey as you say ‘guess I wouldn’t have it any other way.’” This would always produce a pleasurable giggle of truth for Jimi whom understood very well his unique way of this life. He died at a Ventura hospital with friends and family at his side. He undoubtably passed from this life while meditating on the vast spaciousness of love and light with all beings. Travel well, Jimi Jigme. We will miss you. Keep riding that wave of Bodhichitta!