My weekend as a Zen Buddhist monk
This last weekend I tried a new experience that was entirely outside my comfort zone. Stephanie and I signed up for a Friday through Sunday Zen meditation retreat at a local Buddhist center. It was only $75 per person and it was scheduled for a previously unbooked weekend (itself something rather uncommon) so we decided to check it out.
First some background for context. (if this is really of no interest to you, you can skip down to the "THE WEEKEND")
I have for a long time believed that I might have Buddhist leanings. This started quite early on from my cloudy perception of Buddhism: thinking that all living beings were sacred, that our goal was to improve in each lifetime, and that meditation was some mystical path toward enlightenment. Plus I found their pious, austere demeanor appealing, perhaps almost noble. But since I really knew nothing about them, and I certainly wasn't doing anything to learn more, I simply identified as the delightfully vague "spiritual but not religious". Religion felt just so ... complicated. I had often felt things would have been simpler if Jesus had only ever said "it's all about Love, dammit".
In 2004, I participated in the rocked-my-world work of the Landmark Forum. It was generally claimed (and I'll agree in retrospect) that some of the core underpinnings of Landmark's worldview are Buddhist in nature. I followed that with reading some of Eckhart Tolle's books, which while not explicit Buddhist, are very much about ending the suffering that comes from resisting or not living in the present, which is a core Buddhist tenet.
Also around that time, my dear friend Kelly floored me by introducing me to the word "metta" that exactly captured my spiritual goal: loving-kindness toward everyone. In delving deeper into that, I learned it was a Buddhist concept that figured deeply into what were called the "Four Sublime States": Metta - loving kindness; Karuna - compassion toward everyone; Mudita - sympathetic joy (taking joy in the joy of others); and Upekkha - equanimity (being okay with/accepting "what is"). Bingo! I'd found something that resonated perfectly with me. These four were shaping up to be my personal spiritual path and at some point I was finally willing to accept the label and I recall listing my beliefs on OKCupid as "Buddhist but not serious about it".
After meeting Stephanie and learning that she was into meditation and contemplation, I decided that perhaps I needed to start practicing what I was preaching. So with some coaching from her, I began to explore meditating on my own. And wow, was it a challenge for me. For almost all of my life, I had made knowledge and curiosity some of my highest values. I had honed my brain and loaded it up with anything and everything that was around me (like my parents used to buy me an almanac every year, which I read almost like a novel). Perfecting my mind had seemed so important, but I found that it comes with one extreme liability: you can't just turn it off. Every attempt I made at meditation was confronted by my noisy "monkey brain" wanting to think/analyze/review/solve/study/store/memorize/simulate/review/compare/plan/etc/etc/etc/ad nauseum. It was so frustrating, not experiencing this "clarity", "silence", or "peace" that others supposedly got from meditation. I tried using headphones with ambient music to remove distracting sounds. I tried lotus position, kneeling, sitting in chairs. I tried breath counting to keep my focus inward. But my well-trained mind was not so easily fooled.
I decided to keep a journal of my attempts at meditating, hoping that some insight would surface from it, or at least the ability to show I was making *any* progress. But after about a half dozen entries in the journal, it fell by the wayside, trumped by things my brain found more comfortable and engaging.
A month ago, I started attending a weekly Yin yoga practice at a nearby yoga studio. If you're not familiar with it, Yin is a very mellow, relaxing form of yoga that almost borders on meditation. I've been a fan of it a while now, but why I bring it up now is that Tuesday evening Yin Yoga was followed by a Guided Mindfulness Meditation class afterward. My intro pass at the studio entitled me to unlimited classes for a month, so I decided to check it out after the Yin class. The meditation instructor had spent 7 years in a monastery and gave us some instruction before having us each face a wall and do a 20 minute sit in silence - either using breath counting (counting each up to 10 and then starting back at 1), or "labelling" - simply identifying the type of distraction ("planning", "past", etc) and letting the thought "float past like a cloud".
Breath counting worked pretty well, meaning that sometimes I could get as far as 6 or 7 before a thought wormed its way in, and I'd have to dismiss it and start back over at 1 again. But I liked the support of the instructor, plus the other participants around me (there were usually 2-8 people in the class), and found that I at least was less likely to quit compared to going solo.
So, that's where I was when Stephanie sent me the link to this weekend retreat. I admittedly had mixed feelings. I had lots of questions I wanted answered, to fill in my shaky knowledge of Buddhism, and while I was doing okay with this weekly meditation class, I was less sure about how I would fare in a whole weekend experience. But I'm committed to pushing my envelope and exploring things I might feel uncomfortable with. So I consented to it, and we signed up.
THE WEEKEND:
In the week prior to the retreat, the Dharma Rain Center sent us information about the event with details about what we needed to bring, when it started, where to go etc. It also had two other things that concerned us. One was the schedule: We were to arrive Friday after dinner for an orientation, and a seated meditation, followed by a walking meditation, followed by another seated meditation, some chanting, then bed by 9:30pm. Okay, that seemed doable.
But here was Saturday's schedule:
5:30 Rising
6:00 Zazen
6:30 Kinhin
6:40 Zazen
7:10 Morning Service (Chanting)
7:40 Temple Cleanup & Meal Prep
8:10 Breakfast in Zendo
8:45 Kitchen Cleanup
9:00 Work
10:30 Break
11:00 Zazen
11:25 Kinhin
11:35 Zazen
12:00 Lunch in Zendo
12:45 Kitchen Cleanup; Rest Period
2:00 Q&A, come to kitchen
3:10 Evening Service
3:20 Zazen
3:50 Kinhin
4:00 Zazen
4:25 Kinhin
4:35 Zazen
5:00 Study; Dinner Preparation
5:30 Dinner in Zendo
6:15 Kitchen Cleanup; Rest and Reflection
7:00 Zazen
7:30 Kinhin
7:40 Zazen + Dharma Talk
8:10 Kinhin
8:20 Zazen
8:40 Formal Tea, Vespers, Bed
5:30am?? 10 different sitting meditations ("zazen")?? What did we just commit to? Sunday as least was pretty light with another 5:30am rising, another zazen, a "short service", an informal breakfast with wrap-up discussion, and kitchen cleanup before dispersing.
The other was the a guide to what was expected of us for participating in their rituals. All sorts of terms we had no clue about: Zendo, densho bell, inkin bell, zazen, kinhin, gassho, shashu, sanzen, sangha, jisha, etc. Google to the rescue! I at least felt like I should understand what the words meant going into the weekend, even if I didn't yet understand their practice. There was also lots of instructions about when and how often to bow, not wearing bright colors or shoes, various bell sequences and lots of other details. It was clear that we were not going to have a tour guide, because of the perhaps most terrifying aspect of all: This was expected to be a SILENT retreat. During the entire course of the weekend after the introduction, beyond the brief Saturday Q&A and the Sunday wrap-up, we were instructed to be silent and refrain from all conversation and questions.
Well, so much for me getting to ask all the things I was curious about. So not only were were expected to look and act like seasoned buddhist practitioners, but we were discouraged from getting coaching on the things I had originally thought the weekend was going to be ideal for.
FRIDAY
Friday after work we decide to grab some "comfort food" before our possible ordeal (we had no idea what they would feed us other than "healthy vegetarian food") and had some fish and chips before heading over the center. Our first challenge was figuring out where we were supposed to go as we just had instructions to enter through the basement door. We found an open doorway with some steps leading down to it, and assumed this must be it, and descended. Entering a small foyer area of lockers, coat hangers, and cubbies, it was clear we were expected to abandon the shoes there before proceeding into a cozy den space with several futon sofas around the borders.
A small group of nervous looking people had assembled and were sitting around the room, so we joined them in the effort of attempting to look relaxed while hiding the growing concern about what lie ahead. The den was between a small kitchen area and the foyer and as we waited and watched, we saw a number of people in full black robes and shaved heads busy doing various tasks. Yep, this was certainly the real deal.
At the appointed start time, a number of the robed, shaved individuals joined us in a circle and outlined the weekend and what was expected of us. The leader of the sesshin (retreat), who had been there with Dharma Rain for over a decade, was named Kakumyo, and the monk who would oversee our work sessions and kitchen rotation was named Genko, although she was not present on Friday night because she was busy volunteering at their prison program. There was also a robed older woman with a buzz cut and a sort of "fauxhawk" who was named Unkai, and one other woman whose named I never caught who was doing most of the cooking. Together they outlined the flow of things, gave some clarification to some of the instructions like bowing, entering and leaving the zendo (meditation hall), and how meals worked, etc.
A couple of the folks that night had previously attended the Dharma Rain center and knew much of this already, so when it was time for the first zazen (seated meditation), they went directly up to the zendo for that, while Kakumyo offered to let us first timers stay and get some more coaching on sitting practice. I think pretty much every newbie decided to accept that offer and learn more before attempting anything. But after the chimes rang indicating those in the zendo had completed their first zazen and kinhin (walking meditation), it was time for us to ascend and join them in the zendo for the remaining zazen period.
I had walked through the zendo earlier when I had been instructed to store my bags in a storage room upstairs since I would be sleeping in the meditation hall both nights. The zendo takes up almost all of the upstairs of the building, which is a somewhat loft shaped space with a raised dais on one end. There are 6 rows of zabutons (large flat square cushions) running parallel down the length of the room, each with a zafu (round cushion), seiza (wooden kneeling bench), or other pad or cushion on them. The floor is a softly padded carpet so other than a little creaking from being on the second floor, you can move fairly quietly around it.
Next to the altar, which had a small buddha statue on it with some other figures, pictures, and offerings, was an alcove that had the various gongs, bells, and other instruments used to signify different events or transitions. We were instructed that upon entering the room, we were to face the altar, make gassho (the namaste hands in front of self) and bow formally to it, then move to our zabuton mat, bow to it, turn 180 to face the center of the room, bow once more to the sangha (the others/community), then (usually) seat ourselves.
We were invited to experiment with different types of cushions or benches to find an arrangement that suited our bodies. They made it clear we were not expected to be stoic and that an uncomfortable body will lead to a distracted mind. For the first sit I opted to use the millet-hull filled cushions that Stephanie and I had bought from a local craftsman earlier that week. These were gifts to ourselves for the purpose of having our own meditation cushions and we figured what better way to experiment with them than a full weekend retreat with expert monks to help out. That was before we learned about the silent part anyway.
One of the things that we were told in the introduction was that the Soto Zen tradition in use by this temple practiced "shikantaza", meaning "nothing but sitting". That is, when meditating we were not supposed to focus on the breath, label thoughts, or any other active practice, which was different than all the past meditation techniques I had used (which as mentioned before tended to involve applying full attention to the breath and counting each cycle). Kakumyo had tried to explain that we were to bring full single-mindedness to this "just sitting" which I will admit I wasn't even sure how to reconcile. So this was going to be a new unknown experience for myself and during the first sit I found it a challenge not being able to corral my wandering mind with the old practice of resuming the breath counting. I found that I had to compromise: When my monkey brain began to pull me away, I would simply allow a single "... and we come back in on a breath" thought, to give me that "..aaand we're back" intention and return me to attempting stillness.
No. It still wasn't easy.
In fact I found myself having defensive thoughts about "how come we're not supposed to use our breath?", "how comes all those other traditions get to use breath?", and "can anyone really focus on *nothing*?". Note that these thoughts do not help silence the mind either.
Well before the session ended I realized one foot was pretty solidly asleep and the other was getting tingly. Being in a room with around 15 other meditators makes it pretty conspicuous if you shuffle a lot, so I realized that perhaps we should have waited to get our cushions until after we figured out "what worked" for us. Thankfully it was a short sit, only 20 minutes, but I made it through to the end when a bell was rung signifying completion.
Next was "Vespers (Evening Chant)" which was listed as the final activity before bed. The people at the end of each row handed out little spiral bound chant books and we were instructed to turn to a given page. Oh crap. These were basically just Buddhist hymns! I have always hated hymns. I can never find the right range even if I know the song and now here was something entirely new with a totally different cadence and meant to be done in a *mostly* monotone chant, but with occasional variations that I could never keep up with. So I floundered a lot, mumbled a lot, and tried not to have the whole room hear my almost-certainly-off-key voice.
Thankfully it was only ten minutes, at which point we reverently closed the books, tucked them under our zabutons, and did a formal exit of the room, which feels a lot like a wedding processional with people pairing off and walking down the aisle to the front of the room, bowing in gassho to it, turning around and walking to the *back* of the room, then filing along to the side, and doing one more bow toward the altar before descending the stairs.
After we'd all filed down, I gave Stephanie a supportive but quiet hug goodnight (she was staying in a secondary house across the street) and returned upstairs to the zendo to get out my sleeping gear and get ready for bed. They had told us that we were expected to wear long pants in muted colors but hadn't said anything about sleeping attire, but it was too warm to sleep in my sweatpants so I discreetly slipped into a pair of shorts, snuggled into the sleeping bag, and went to bed, wondering what the next day would bring.
SATURDAY
Let me first point out that I usually wake up around 6:30 on weekdays, and generally much later than that on weekends. Let me assure you that when someone comes into your room repeatedly clanging a bell almost like a firedrill, that even at 5:30 it's possible to become wide awake very quickly.
After cleaning up my sleeping gear and resetting the space to the way it had been, I filed downstairs to join the others as they convened from the various sleeping areas. Shortly thereafter, the chimes sounded for the 6am zazen - the first of 10 total sits in the day. We file back up into the zendo, which is quite cool since the windows were open all night, perform the expected bows and make our way back to original cushions (you are generally expected to return to the same space each time). Rather than my personal millet cushion, I try one of the zendo's zafus this time. My journal notes from that sit:
- More random thoughts, but with those, a non judgment about having thoughts
- listened to the sounds outside, felt guilty, then realized they were there to be heard, just not dwelt upon
After thirty minutes, we were stirred by a light gong and a voice softly announcing "kinhin", signifying it was time for walking meditation. The expected transition is to bow while seated, stand up, bow again in gassho to your seat, turn around and face center. After the next gong you bow forward, then on the next gong you turn and face the altar (if you're on my row - the opposing row turns to face the back of the room), hands clasped in shashu (right hand cupped around left fist, and held against your torso). And on the next gong strike, you begin the walk.
Kinhin is far more ponderous than I had originally imagined. It is intended to be a deeply introspective continuation of the previous meditation. On each inhale (which is a slow, relaxed draw) you gradually lift the weight off the rear foot. At the peak of the breath, you slowly move that foot to the front, but only extending past the other foot by a fraction of its length, and then on the exhale, you slowly lower it and transfer your weight onto it. While doing this, you continue with the still mind of the zazen. When you reach the end of a row, you take a simple 90 turn and begin to cross to the other side (or the next row if you're further back). After 10 minutes, another chime rings - you cease motion and you bow in gassho. I'd walked perhaps only 30 feet in those 10 minutes. On the next chime, you stride briskly forward completing the loop to return to your seat. A third chime and you bow to the room, bow to your cushion, sit down, and launch directly into the next zazen period.
This is a lot of unfamiliar activity first thing in the morning. The mind is at once foggy (since it's still only like 6:40am at this time) and trying to sort through if you've done everything right?/What am I supposed to do next?/What do I want to try differently in *this* zazen period? The walking tends to wake the mind up a little and I found the second zazen harder to find stillness. I also noticed that I was gradually letting tension creep into my arms and chest holding my hands in the "cosmic mudra" (the classic hands nested in lap with thumbtips just touching). I could make myself relax, but then a few minutes later, I'd check in again, and realized my shoulders had hiked up again and my chest engaged. Over the course of the day I found this to be a growing problem (4 or 5 hours of holding a single pose really invites muscle fatigue). By the end of the day I had given up the mudra and simply draped my arms on my thighs which took a lot of the stress out.
After the second zazen, is the Morning Service: another round of chanting similar to the night before. This one was longer and contained more songs/chants and much longer verses. It includes a recitation of the full ancestry lineage tracing every monk from the earliest recorded bodhisattvas to the teachers of Dharma Rain's founders.
After the service, was "temple cleanup" where each of us was assigned a task or chore that was to be done mindfully. That is, not just with extra care or precision, but as a form of meditation. Mine was to sweep the front steps and sidewalk in front of the house across the street (where Stephanie and several others were staying). Like everything else, it was expected to be done in silence, although I had to violate this for a couple reasons: one was that I didn't know which house belonged to the Dharma Rain folks (since I had only stayed in the kendo so far), so I needed to ask directions. The other was that I needed to find a broom. :)
After being led by Genko to the right house, and shown where the brooms and other tools were kept, I set about trying to sweep in a meditative way, whatever that meant. The steps and walkway had quite a number of pine bristles all over them. I quickly found that my engineering brain wanted to drive - suggesting optimum ways to efficiently cover the space while requiring the least effort on each step. I marveled for a bit at how intent the mind was at solving the problem, but I let myself ignore most of the chatter and simply let myself get lost in the sweeping. I imagined that I was a humble but seasoned craftsman, who swept with elegance and finesse, and simply let that mind do the work and then found myself in a panic when the mokugyo (wooden gong) was struck nearby signalling the end of cleanup time. I hadn't yet completed the walkway, so I quickly did the last couple steps, in somewhat less than "seasoned craftsman" quality and hastened my way back to the zendo building.
It was now time for breakfast, so we were instructed on how this too was to be a mindful exercise. We would fill our bowls with food, and take the trays upstairs to the zendo, and wait for the formal ceremony to begin. Breakfast itself was a simple but hearty offering of oatmeal, diced fruit, peanut butter, and tea. (I appreciated how they labelled which items were gluten free!) I filled my bowl and climbed back up the zendo, executed the expected bows, and maneuvered into my usual seat.
We performed several more chants/prayers, one to prepare the utensils, one to drape the napkin, and finally one to begin eating. This meal was also eaten in silence and each bite was invited to be a meditation, considering all the senses. I began to explore my bowl of oatmeal in this way, first immediately noticing that sipping tea is an entirely insufficient replacement for milk when one has added as much peanut butter to their oatmeal as I had. (I had a total "got milk?" mental moment). But then something extraordinary happened. After about my 7th or 8th deliberate bite, I noticed a sensation in my body. It was my digestive system responding to the presence of food in my stomach. I was so surprised by this I started to tear up. In my 42+ years of life, I have been so out of touch with my body sensations that I have never before actually *felt* that happen before. So if nothing else, this alone was an amazing result of self-discovery.
After we'd finished eating, and an offer was made for people to step downstairs for seconds, then we did another formal departure from the zendo. Each of us was responsible for washing our own dishes and tray, and setting it up for the next meal later.
Following this we were assigned to teams for the actual work session, intended for, of course, another meditation opportunity. I was to be part of a group that was going to work on the Sangha House, another building owned (or at least rented) by the Dharma Rain center that the monks in resident live at. I had no idea where this was, so I just fell in line behind Unkai and the rest of my group as we quietly walked in shahsu form to a house about 4 blocks away. There we were instructed (in quiet conversation) that we were going to clean the front porch, windows, front door, and railing of the house. Each of us self-selected a task we seemed fitted for. I was taller so I started cleaning the transom windows, and cobwebs and grime from the tops of the porch pillars. Once again I found myself having the conversation between the inner engineer trying to strategize, and the craftsman merely wanting to do good thorough work.
Once we'd gotten the grime off of the windows and degunked the spiderwebs and scoured the railings and siding, I got the honor of hosing *everything* down. Here it made sense to be systematic to keep the wall of water always sweeping the dirt in the same direction, although I did blow it a bit later when replacing the patio furniture and failing to notice the fresh clumps of dirt on their feet before dropping them into place. But overall, the place looked much nicer after we finished, and we'd worked up an honest sweat in the process. We each concluded the work session with a sort of prayer commending the merits of our labor to all sentient beings and to someone we personally wanted to honor. Then the familiar wood block "gong" signaled the end of the work period and we returned silently padding our way back to the zendo center.
We were given a brief break to clean up or rest before we entered another round of zazen/kinhin/zazen before lunch. For these zazen I used the small wooden kneeling benches which had looked so uncomfortable but upon trying them were actually easier on the legs and knees than the soft cushions I'd been using. I relished the kinhin again (again only making it about 30 feet in 10 minutes), and resumed the seated meditation. This time Kakumyo came around and quietly adjust our posture for us. He softly tapped my back and I realized I had a deep slouch to my pose, which straightening correcting.
One of the whimsical things I caught myself at was I had noticed that kneeling on this bench had raised my vantage point and now my downcast gaze was looking at a different spot than before. My engineering brain leapt into action realizing that given that my gaze was a constant angle X below horizontal, and I was now looking a new spot Y distance past the first one, that I could calculate the differential in height from the bench compared to the cushion... I almost giggled out loud as I caught this line of thought spinning up. Wow. My mind really really wants to stay fed. I imagined it almost like some obese guy, scarfing down Doritos, addicted to anything that it can stuff in its face. I wondered how often this kept me from simply being present and just experiencing what was actually around me rather than trying to model or simulate it with math and science. So I went back to trying to let such thoughts simply float through and not let the engineer run the show again.
Just before noon, a chime signaled the end of zazen and "lunch" was quietly announced, so we filed back downstairs to repeat the buffet process from breakfast. Lunch was another mindfulness exercise and was performed very much like the breakfast ritual including the same utensil, napkin, and first bite chants, and this time it was an egg and vegetable frittata, some cooked kale, and a pot of rice. Afterwards we cleaned up as before and were given a rest period, which most of us used as an opportunity to sprawl on a futon or mat in the den and nap, or at least doze.
At 2pm everyone else who wasn't already in the den area joined us there and the contingent of monks offered to answer any questions that we had about meditation forms, the rituals, buddhism itself, etc. Several folks asked questions about things from the chant books, while a few (myself included) sought suggestions about how to relieve any persistent problems from the seated meditation. It was good to finally have an opportunity to ask questions (as I had originally presumed would be the main point of the weekend) but I found that now that I was actually "living the life" that I really didn't have as many, or the ones that I still did, I realized the answers weren't as important anymore.
One of the important details they shared with us was that after the evening service (which is really an early afternoon one), we would have another period of 3 zazen sits, but that during that each of us had the option of attending Sanzen, which is the chance to speak one-on-one with the head priest, almost like in a Catholic confessional system. They instructed us in how Sanzen was arranged and the etiquette for it which was that we'd form a queue outside the small Sanzen space. When the priest was ready to admit someone, he'd ring a small handbell from within. You would then strike a bell outside the door indicating you were ready to enter. The priest would then respond with another handbell ring allowing you to enter. At that point you open the first hallway door, pass through and shut it behind you. Then you would open to door to the Sanzen room, step into it, execute a full bow (which includes bowing in gassho, then dropping to your knees and placing your forehead on the floor, then rising) to the buddha altar within, then doing a standing bow to the priest, then seating yourself and asking your question. The details of the procedure seemed overwhelming, especially given that there would be no one there to watch and mimic but Kakumyo had implied that as long as we were mindful, there would be reasonable tolerance for not getting it exactly right.
So we began the next round of zazen meditation in the kendo, and only a few minutes into it, a voice informed us that my half of the room was invited to Sanzen if we desired. I lingered for a bit since we hadn't been explained the protocol for getting from the meditation *to* the Sanzen, but after several people rose to move toward the stairs, I got up and followed. Downstairs we found another line of zabuton mats with cushions so we could continue our meditation until we were up for Sanzen, so we each plopped back down and slipped back into sitting meditation.
The pattern that followed was delightfully musical. A distant "ding ding" would happen, a person would rise from their meditation, step over to the doorway, respond with a slightly lower "dong", which would get echoed with another "ding ding", and the person would vanish into the room. So I sat and waited for the 5 people in front of me to get their turn..
"ding ding" ..[shuffle] .. "dong" ... "ding ding" .. [creak]
"ding ding" ..[shuffle] .. "dong" ... "ding ding" .. [creak]
"ding ding" ..[shuffle] .. "dong" ... "ding ding" .. [creak]
"ding ding" ..[shuffle] .. "dong" ... "ding ding" .. [creak]
"ding ding" ..[shuffle] .. "dong" ... "ding ding" .. [creak]
I was now the only person left in the waiting queue. At this point I heard the announcement upstairs that the other half of the zendo can opt for Senzen if they choose. A small convoy of other folks file down and fill up all the spaces next to me.
"ding ding"
Oh. That's me. I stand up and try to rehearse in my head all the actions to perform. I step to the bell next to the door, and strike it softly:
"dong"
Too soft. No response from beyond the door. The monk by the door whispers to hit it again harder.
"dong"
No response. Still too soft. The monk whispers that I really have it hit with some force.
"dong"
It sounds so loud when you are standing next to it. I am dreading that everyone upstairs is wondering what the loud noise is, but I get the desired "ding ding" from within, so I step through door 1 and close it, then step through door 2 and close it. I'm now in the very small room (perhaps 6 foot by 8 foot) with the head priest. I do the full bow to the buddha, I do the standing bow to the priest, then kneel before him, and ask him his thoughts on if it's possible to make my buddhist practice around the metta and karuna from the Sublime States that had resonated so much for me. I had no idea what response this might draw, but he considered for it a bit and then had a very thoughtful conversation with me about what shapes and actions that practice could take. He asked me several questions that I had to search inwardly for some authentic answers about. He also named a couple other local noted buddhists and retreats that focus on metta practice and that I could explore that with them. I was elated that the answer was neither dismissive nor patronizing but that he wanted to see me shape something that was relevant for me. After our conversation concluded, I bowed again, stepped out of the Sanzen room, and went back to the den to wait for the proper time to return to the meditation in the zendo.
Chimes above signaled the end of a kinhin period meaning it was appropriate to return for the final of the 3 zazen periods. I ascended, took my normal place in the zendo and did another 25 minute meditation.
When this concluded, it was a time for self-study. They had a number of books/guides there, but I had planned for this and brought printouts of several different translations of the "metta sutta" - the original buddhist teaching where metta was first described and elaborated. So I did a comparative study of these different versions to see which ones had the clearest insights to it for me, then followed this with an essay by one of the translators who expounded on the virtues of all 4 of the Sublime States. It felt good to have tacit permission to be focusing on this rather than the traditional buddhist teachings of the Four Noble Truths about suffering and the Eightfold Path seeking to end that suffering, which while compelling, did not resonate anywhere near the same way for me. Maybe I could actually "be buddhist" after all. :)
Dinner was another eating meditation like both lunch and breakfast had been. This time it was a hearty bowl of lentil soup (with Sriracha sauce if you wanted an extra kick), which after the labors earlier in the day was really welcome and I had a full bowl of seconds when it was offered. But again, eating each bite with intention, and noticing how my body responded to taste, texture, smell, and the presence of food in my stomach was still a surprisingly novel experience. After the meal, the processional, the washing of our dishes and a chance to sit quietly and chill for a bit.
The final sequence for Saturday would be another zazen/kinhin/zazen/kinhin/zazen combo, but followed by a formal tea service. We had no idea what this entailed other than we were instructed to take a mug with us when we ascended for the first zazen period.
By now I was finding I definitely like the kneeling benches so was using one of my zazens. The arm cramping was accumulating and occurring sooner into each sit so I accepted that I was going to have to just let the arms hang loose, even if it was not the proper form. At this point in the retreat, now in my 9th seated meditation, I noticed that I was able to have moments of quiet where the brain would suddenly engage and go "what was I just thinking? Was I thinking anything? Had I really been silent?", which of course ruins whatever mental silence I had just had, but it at least hinted that some silence was happening. Which raises the interesting conundrum in that if the mind is not engaged, how can you possibly tell that you actually had been without thoughts? What is there to observe the silence? And in addition to this paradox, the engineer kept wanting to chat, and concerns about plans for the next day and other past or future stuff kept interfering.
Kinhin was welcome after this since I was still finding that the walking meditations enabled a calmer mind than the sitting ones did. But they are brief (a scant 10 minutes) before we were back into zazen #10. I was sitting in this one, trying to tune out the noises outside the building (which at 7:30something on a Saturday night only one block off the main hipster mecca of Hawthorne Boulevard in Portland is challenging), when Kakumyo began to speak, startling me from my tumbling thoughts.
I had forgotten there was a "dharma talk" scheduled for this zazen. These are sort of like guided meditations, but where the priest has you consider some insights or teachings to deepen your practice. Kakumyo began by pointing out the contradiction that we had all probably come wanting something out of this retreat or this practice, but that we also were probably struggling with distractions like back pain, the breeze blowing through the windows, the sounds of the cars on Hawthorne, and so on. But he reassured it what we were experiencing was exactly perfect just as it was. And I just about burst into tears. It clicked. It all just clicked right then. Yes! Everything *was* perfect! The pain was there to be felt. The breeze was there to distract. The cars were there to be heard. And resisting *any* of that was an illusion because there wasn't actually anything *to* resist. Kakumyo was still talking but I'm not sure I was catching all of it because I was suddenly so giddy. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, even my nose was starting to run. All the struggling and suffering I had experienced earlier trying to get the damn voices in my head to shut up for bit just .. evaporated. And after he had wrapped up his dharma talk and we resumed the zazen, I realized that for the first time all weekend, when I heard movement from the front of the room, I *wasn't* wanting kinhin to happen! Not yet! Let me be in this space a bit longer!
Kinhin did arrive a bit thereafter, and I enjoyed it as I had before - moving that glacial pace, although we went a bit farther on that one before going to final zazen. That last zazen I had a very different experience of. I probably had that faint buddha smile on my lips for most of it, buoyed by the earlier insight - when thoughts intruded I just smiled more rather that got frustrated knowing that that was simply what thoughts did. It may have been the fact that I was rather depleted after 10 sits and a couple work sessions, but it was still a happier and more peaceful place to be.
So much so that when a very loud wooden CLACK sounded just behind me I just about jumped out of my skin. This apparently was the dramatic start to the formal tea as a group of four people strode briskly in carrying trays and kettles. They marched swiftly to the front of the room in lockstep, bowed, then marched back to the rear, then moved back to the front and began serving tea for each person. It was beautiful presentation, with the server side-stepping up to be in front of a seated student, a taut bow from each, then the server sliding one leg sharply to the side lowering themselves in an almost lunge pose to position the kettle at the proper height for us to raise our mug to be filled. Another bow from both server and receiver, and the server was quickly side stepping over the next person.
After we'd all received tea, the process was exactly repeated, this time with trays of cookies. They'd even put small discreet "gluten-free" indicators on the tray borders to make sure that when it was lower to us in that lunge that we could select an appropriate cookie for ourselves. Then the processional moved on to the next person. We consumed the tea with great reverence, bringing the same mindfulness of all the prior meals to it, and eating the cookie similarly. After the tea service, we were again instructed to extract the chant books for a final Vespers service with more chants and recitations. Once this was done, we proceeded downstairs with mugs to be washed and formally [finally?] ended our Saturday activities.
I took a naproxen to try to appease the taut muscles. I passed out rather quickly once I'd assembled by bedding and crawled into the sleeping bag...
SUNDAY
For whatever reason, I awoke apparently well before the morning bells. I laid there for a while trying to coax myself back into sleep. I could hear the other guys nearby softly snoring but there were no clocks so I had no idea what the actual time was. But I was unable to doze off again, so I quietly rested until some good 30-40 minutes later the dingdingDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGdingdingdingding tintinnabulation (oooh, a juicy word I never get to use!) roused the others, meaning that I'd been awake since 4:30am or so.
At 6am, we did our one zazen of the day. It was probably my "noisiest" yet, but as stated, now I no longer fretted so much about it. This was followed by another chanting service, but fairly brief - only about 20 minutes. Then we had our one and only "informal" meal - another breakfast of oatmeal, fruit, and peanut butter, but rather than as a meditation in the zendo, this was just in a circle of chairs and futons in the downstairs den while we shared our experiences with one another and the monks that led the event.
It had meant lots of different things to different people. For some it was about community. For others it was about overcoming fear. Others wanted structure. The monks also shared their experiences of the event as well. Kakumyo and Genko, the leader and assistant for the retreat commented how this was one of the most "newbie-filled" retreats they ever recall having done. Generally there were more people who had at least *some* experience with the center and their rituals. They likened us to having to corral baby chicks on a farm as we forgot procedures and faced the wrong ways, or walked the wrong direction and so on. But they admitted that even if our forms were wildly erratic that we still brought a commendable level of intention
and single-mindedness to our meditations and they were impressed by that.
After we'd all spoken, we were invited to their usual Sunday service which people were just starting to show up for. I had been assigned kitchen cleanup for this meal, and Stephanie was in enough physical pain that we decided we were complete with the experience and as soon as I finished my kitchen duties and Stephanie had loaded the car, we left the building and stepped back into the "real world".
It felt really weird talking as we walked back to the car. Like every sentence just had too many words in it or something. I realized that over the course of the weekend, outside of the Q&A and the final wrapup that I'd said perhaps only a dozen sentences all weekend long. Not strictly silent but pretty darn close.
REFLECTION:
Did I enjoy the experience? Yes. It was very illuminating and I don't regret a moment of it, even if I still hate chanting.
Would I do it again? If I had to do it all over again, yes. Doing it a second time? Hmm. I'd prefer to explore something different now.
Do I plan to join this Center? No. The Zen tradition feels like it may not be the best match for me and my values. I have since looked at the other places and priests that Kakumyo suggested and see many new and interesting opportunities I want to investigate next.
Would I recommend this to others? Absolutely. Regardless of your personal or religious beliefs, the mere act of bringing this level of mindfulness to your life, and exploring who you are when you remove the "self" from the equation I think is invaluable and would love to see others be brave and try the same thing.
Thanks for sticking through this long recounting and I hope you found your own insights from it...
First some background for context. (if this is really of no interest to you, you can skip down to the "THE WEEKEND")
I have for a long time believed that I might have Buddhist leanings. This started quite early on from my cloudy perception of Buddhism: thinking that all living beings were sacred, that our goal was to improve in each lifetime, and that meditation was some mystical path toward enlightenment. Plus I found their pious, austere demeanor appealing, perhaps almost noble. But since I really knew nothing about them, and I certainly wasn't doing anything to learn more, I simply identified as the delightfully vague "spiritual but not religious". Religion felt just so ... complicated. I had often felt things would have been simpler if Jesus had only ever said "it's all about Love, dammit".
In 2004, I participated in the rocked-my-world work of the Landmark Forum. It was generally claimed (and I'll agree in retrospect) that some of the core underpinnings of Landmark's worldview are Buddhist in nature. I followed that with reading some of Eckhart Tolle's books, which while not explicit Buddhist, are very much about ending the suffering that comes from resisting or not living in the present, which is a core Buddhist tenet.
Also around that time, my dear friend Kelly floored me by introducing me to the word "metta" that exactly captured my spiritual goal: loving-kindness toward everyone. In delving deeper into that, I learned it was a Buddhist concept that figured deeply into what were called the "Four Sublime States": Metta - loving kindness; Karuna - compassion toward everyone; Mudita - sympathetic joy (taking joy in the joy of others); and Upekkha - equanimity (being okay with/accepting "what is"). Bingo! I'd found something that resonated perfectly with me. These four were shaping up to be my personal spiritual path and at some point I was finally willing to accept the label and I recall listing my beliefs on OKCupid as "Buddhist but not serious about it".
After meeting Stephanie and learning that she was into meditation and contemplation, I decided that perhaps I needed to start practicing what I was preaching. So with some coaching from her, I began to explore meditating on my own. And wow, was it a challenge for me. For almost all of my life, I had made knowledge and curiosity some of my highest values. I had honed my brain and loaded it up with anything and everything that was around me (like my parents used to buy me an almanac every year, which I read almost like a novel). Perfecting my mind had seemed so important, but I found that it comes with one extreme liability: you can't just turn it off. Every attempt I made at meditation was confronted by my noisy "monkey brain" wanting to think/analyze/review/solve/study/store/memorize/simulate/review/compare/plan/etc/etc/etc/ad nauseum. It was so frustrating, not experiencing this "clarity", "silence", or "peace" that others supposedly got from meditation. I tried using headphones with ambient music to remove distracting sounds. I tried lotus position, kneeling, sitting in chairs. I tried breath counting to keep my focus inward. But my well-trained mind was not so easily fooled.
I decided to keep a journal of my attempts at meditating, hoping that some insight would surface from it, or at least the ability to show I was making *any* progress. But after about a half dozen entries in the journal, it fell by the wayside, trumped by things my brain found more comfortable and engaging.
A month ago, I started attending a weekly Yin yoga practice at a nearby yoga studio. If you're not familiar with it, Yin is a very mellow, relaxing form of yoga that almost borders on meditation. I've been a fan of it a while now, but why I bring it up now is that Tuesday evening Yin Yoga was followed by a Guided Mindfulness Meditation class afterward. My intro pass at the studio entitled me to unlimited classes for a month, so I decided to check it out after the Yin class. The meditation instructor had spent 7 years in a monastery and gave us some instruction before having us each face a wall and do a 20 minute sit in silence - either using breath counting (counting each up to 10 and then starting back at 1), or "labelling" - simply identifying the type of distraction ("planning", "past", etc) and letting the thought "float past like a cloud".
Breath counting worked pretty well, meaning that sometimes I could get as far as 6 or 7 before a thought wormed its way in, and I'd have to dismiss it and start back over at 1 again. But I liked the support of the instructor, plus the other participants around me (there were usually 2-8 people in the class), and found that I at least was less likely to quit compared to going solo.
So, that's where I was when Stephanie sent me the link to this weekend retreat. I admittedly had mixed feelings. I had lots of questions I wanted answered, to fill in my shaky knowledge of Buddhism, and while I was doing okay with this weekly meditation class, I was less sure about how I would fare in a whole weekend experience. But I'm committed to pushing my envelope and exploring things I might feel uncomfortable with. So I consented to it, and we signed up.
THE WEEKEND:
In the week prior to the retreat, the Dharma Rain Center sent us information about the event with details about what we needed to bring, when it started, where to go etc. It also had two other things that concerned us. One was the schedule: We were to arrive Friday after dinner for an orientation, and a seated meditation, followed by a walking meditation, followed by another seated meditation, some chanting, then bed by 9:30pm. Okay, that seemed doable.
But here was Saturday's schedule:
5:30 Rising
6:00 Zazen
6:30 Kinhin
6:40 Zazen
7:10 Morning Service (Chanting)
7:40 Temple Cleanup & Meal Prep
8:10 Breakfast in Zendo
8:45 Kitchen Cleanup
9:00 Work
10:30 Break
11:00 Zazen
11:25 Kinhin
11:35 Zazen
12:00 Lunch in Zendo
12:45 Kitchen Cleanup; Rest Period
2:00 Q&A, come to kitchen
3:10 Evening Service
3:20 Zazen
3:50 Kinhin
4:00 Zazen
4:25 Kinhin
4:35 Zazen
5:00 Study; Dinner Preparation
5:30 Dinner in Zendo
6:15 Kitchen Cleanup; Rest and Reflection
7:00 Zazen
7:30 Kinhin
7:40 Zazen + Dharma Talk
8:10 Kinhin
8:20 Zazen
8:40 Formal Tea, Vespers, Bed
5:30am?? 10 different sitting meditations ("zazen")?? What did we just commit to? Sunday as least was pretty light with another 5:30am rising, another zazen, a "short service", an informal breakfast with wrap-up discussion, and kitchen cleanup before dispersing.
The other was the a guide to what was expected of us for participating in their rituals. All sorts of terms we had no clue about: Zendo, densho bell, inkin bell, zazen, kinhin, gassho, shashu, sanzen, sangha, jisha, etc. Google to the rescue! I at least felt like I should understand what the words meant going into the weekend, even if I didn't yet understand their practice. There was also lots of instructions about when and how often to bow, not wearing bright colors or shoes, various bell sequences and lots of other details. It was clear that we were not going to have a tour guide, because of the perhaps most terrifying aspect of all: This was expected to be a SILENT retreat. During the entire course of the weekend after the introduction, beyond the brief Saturday Q&A and the Sunday wrap-up, we were instructed to be silent and refrain from all conversation and questions.
Well, so much for me getting to ask all the things I was curious about. So not only were were expected to look and act like seasoned buddhist practitioners, but we were discouraged from getting coaching on the things I had originally thought the weekend was going to be ideal for.
FRIDAY
Friday after work we decide to grab some "comfort food" before our possible ordeal (we had no idea what they would feed us other than "healthy vegetarian food") and had some fish and chips before heading over the center. Our first challenge was figuring out where we were supposed to go as we just had instructions to enter through the basement door. We found an open doorway with some steps leading down to it, and assumed this must be it, and descended. Entering a small foyer area of lockers, coat hangers, and cubbies, it was clear we were expected to abandon the shoes there before proceeding into a cozy den space with several futon sofas around the borders.
A small group of nervous looking people had assembled and were sitting around the room, so we joined them in the effort of attempting to look relaxed while hiding the growing concern about what lie ahead. The den was between a small kitchen area and the foyer and as we waited and watched, we saw a number of people in full black robes and shaved heads busy doing various tasks. Yep, this was certainly the real deal.
At the appointed start time, a number of the robed, shaved individuals joined us in a circle and outlined the weekend and what was expected of us. The leader of the sesshin (retreat), who had been there with Dharma Rain for over a decade, was named Kakumyo, and the monk who would oversee our work sessions and kitchen rotation was named Genko, although she was not present on Friday night because she was busy volunteering at their prison program. There was also a robed older woman with a buzz cut and a sort of "fauxhawk" who was named Unkai, and one other woman whose named I never caught who was doing most of the cooking. Together they outlined the flow of things, gave some clarification to some of the instructions like bowing, entering and leaving the zendo (meditation hall), and how meals worked, etc.
A couple of the folks that night had previously attended the Dharma Rain center and knew much of this already, so when it was time for the first zazen (seated meditation), they went directly up to the zendo for that, while Kakumyo offered to let us first timers stay and get some more coaching on sitting practice. I think pretty much every newbie decided to accept that offer and learn more before attempting anything. But after the chimes rang indicating those in the zendo had completed their first zazen and kinhin (walking meditation), it was time for us to ascend and join them in the zendo for the remaining zazen period.
I had walked through the zendo earlier when I had been instructed to store my bags in a storage room upstairs since I would be sleeping in the meditation hall both nights. The zendo takes up almost all of the upstairs of the building, which is a somewhat loft shaped space with a raised dais on one end. There are 6 rows of zabutons (large flat square cushions) running parallel down the length of the room, each with a zafu (round cushion), seiza (wooden kneeling bench), or other pad or cushion on them. The floor is a softly padded carpet so other than a little creaking from being on the second floor, you can move fairly quietly around it.
Next to the altar, which had a small buddha statue on it with some other figures, pictures, and offerings, was an alcove that had the various gongs, bells, and other instruments used to signify different events or transitions. We were instructed that upon entering the room, we were to face the altar, make gassho (the namaste hands in front of self) and bow formally to it, then move to our zabuton mat, bow to it, turn 180 to face the center of the room, bow once more to the sangha (the others/community), then (usually) seat ourselves.
We were invited to experiment with different types of cushions or benches to find an arrangement that suited our bodies. They made it clear we were not expected to be stoic and that an uncomfortable body will lead to a distracted mind. For the first sit I opted to use the millet-hull filled cushions that Stephanie and I had bought from a local craftsman earlier that week. These were gifts to ourselves for the purpose of having our own meditation cushions and we figured what better way to experiment with them than a full weekend retreat with expert monks to help out. That was before we learned about the silent part anyway.
One of the things that we were told in the introduction was that the Soto Zen tradition in use by this temple practiced "shikantaza", meaning "nothing but sitting". That is, when meditating we were not supposed to focus on the breath, label thoughts, or any other active practice, which was different than all the past meditation techniques I had used (which as mentioned before tended to involve applying full attention to the breath and counting each cycle). Kakumyo had tried to explain that we were to bring full single-mindedness to this "just sitting" which I will admit I wasn't even sure how to reconcile. So this was going to be a new unknown experience for myself and during the first sit I found it a challenge not being able to corral my wandering mind with the old practice of resuming the breath counting. I found that I had to compromise: When my monkey brain began to pull me away, I would simply allow a single "... and we come back in on a breath" thought, to give me that "..aaand we're back" intention and return me to attempting stillness.
No. It still wasn't easy.
In fact I found myself having defensive thoughts about "how come we're not supposed to use our breath?", "how comes all those other traditions get to use breath?", and "can anyone really focus on *nothing*?". Note that these thoughts do not help silence the mind either.
Well before the session ended I realized one foot was pretty solidly asleep and the other was getting tingly. Being in a room with around 15 other meditators makes it pretty conspicuous if you shuffle a lot, so I realized that perhaps we should have waited to get our cushions until after we figured out "what worked" for us. Thankfully it was a short sit, only 20 minutes, but I made it through to the end when a bell was rung signifying completion.
Next was "Vespers (Evening Chant)" which was listed as the final activity before bed. The people at the end of each row handed out little spiral bound chant books and we were instructed to turn to a given page. Oh crap. These were basically just Buddhist hymns! I have always hated hymns. I can never find the right range even if I know the song and now here was something entirely new with a totally different cadence and meant to be done in a *mostly* monotone chant, but with occasional variations that I could never keep up with. So I floundered a lot, mumbled a lot, and tried not to have the whole room hear my almost-certainly-off-key voice.
Thankfully it was only ten minutes, at which point we reverently closed the books, tucked them under our zabutons, and did a formal exit of the room, which feels a lot like a wedding processional with people pairing off and walking down the aisle to the front of the room, bowing in gassho to it, turning around and walking to the *back* of the room, then filing along to the side, and doing one more bow toward the altar before descending the stairs.
After we'd all filed down, I gave Stephanie a supportive but quiet hug goodnight (she was staying in a secondary house across the street) and returned upstairs to the zendo to get out my sleeping gear and get ready for bed. They had told us that we were expected to wear long pants in muted colors but hadn't said anything about sleeping attire, but it was too warm to sleep in my sweatpants so I discreetly slipped into a pair of shorts, snuggled into the sleeping bag, and went to bed, wondering what the next day would bring.
SATURDAY
Let me first point out that I usually wake up around 6:30 on weekdays, and generally much later than that on weekends. Let me assure you that when someone comes into your room repeatedly clanging a bell almost like a firedrill, that even at 5:30 it's possible to become wide awake very quickly.
After cleaning up my sleeping gear and resetting the space to the way it had been, I filed downstairs to join the others as they convened from the various sleeping areas. Shortly thereafter, the chimes sounded for the 6am zazen - the first of 10 total sits in the day. We file back up into the zendo, which is quite cool since the windows were open all night, perform the expected bows and make our way back to original cushions (you are generally expected to return to the same space each time). Rather than my personal millet cushion, I try one of the zendo's zafus this time. My journal notes from that sit:
- More random thoughts, but with those, a non judgment about having thoughts
- listened to the sounds outside, felt guilty, then realized they were there to be heard, just not dwelt upon
After thirty minutes, we were stirred by a light gong and a voice softly announcing "kinhin", signifying it was time for walking meditation. The expected transition is to bow while seated, stand up, bow again in gassho to your seat, turn around and face center. After the next gong you bow forward, then on the next gong you turn and face the altar (if you're on my row - the opposing row turns to face the back of the room), hands clasped in shashu (right hand cupped around left fist, and held against your torso). And on the next gong strike, you begin the walk.
Kinhin is far more ponderous than I had originally imagined. It is intended to be a deeply introspective continuation of the previous meditation. On each inhale (which is a slow, relaxed draw) you gradually lift the weight off the rear foot. At the peak of the breath, you slowly move that foot to the front, but only extending past the other foot by a fraction of its length, and then on the exhale, you slowly lower it and transfer your weight onto it. While doing this, you continue with the still mind of the zazen. When you reach the end of a row, you take a simple 90 turn and begin to cross to the other side (or the next row if you're further back). After 10 minutes, another chime rings - you cease motion and you bow in gassho. I'd walked perhaps only 30 feet in those 10 minutes. On the next chime, you stride briskly forward completing the loop to return to your seat. A third chime and you bow to the room, bow to your cushion, sit down, and launch directly into the next zazen period.
This is a lot of unfamiliar activity first thing in the morning. The mind is at once foggy (since it's still only like 6:40am at this time) and trying to sort through if you've done everything right?/What am I supposed to do next?/What do I want to try differently in *this* zazen period? The walking tends to wake the mind up a little and I found the second zazen harder to find stillness. I also noticed that I was gradually letting tension creep into my arms and chest holding my hands in the "cosmic mudra" (the classic hands nested in lap with thumbtips just touching). I could make myself relax, but then a few minutes later, I'd check in again, and realized my shoulders had hiked up again and my chest engaged. Over the course of the day I found this to be a growing problem (4 or 5 hours of holding a single pose really invites muscle fatigue). By the end of the day I had given up the mudra and simply draped my arms on my thighs which took a lot of the stress out.
After the second zazen, is the Morning Service: another round of chanting similar to the night before. This one was longer and contained more songs/chants and much longer verses. It includes a recitation of the full ancestry lineage tracing every monk from the earliest recorded bodhisattvas to the teachers of Dharma Rain's founders.
After the service, was "temple cleanup" where each of us was assigned a task or chore that was to be done mindfully. That is, not just with extra care or precision, but as a form of meditation. Mine was to sweep the front steps and sidewalk in front of the house across the street (where Stephanie and several others were staying). Like everything else, it was expected to be done in silence, although I had to violate this for a couple reasons: one was that I didn't know which house belonged to the Dharma Rain folks (since I had only stayed in the kendo so far), so I needed to ask directions. The other was that I needed to find a broom. :)
After being led by Genko to the right house, and shown where the brooms and other tools were kept, I set about trying to sweep in a meditative way, whatever that meant. The steps and walkway had quite a number of pine bristles all over them. I quickly found that my engineering brain wanted to drive - suggesting optimum ways to efficiently cover the space while requiring the least effort on each step. I marveled for a bit at how intent the mind was at solving the problem, but I let myself ignore most of the chatter and simply let myself get lost in the sweeping. I imagined that I was a humble but seasoned craftsman, who swept with elegance and finesse, and simply let that mind do the work and then found myself in a panic when the mokugyo (wooden gong) was struck nearby signalling the end of cleanup time. I hadn't yet completed the walkway, so I quickly did the last couple steps, in somewhat less than "seasoned craftsman" quality and hastened my way back to the zendo building.
It was now time for breakfast, so we were instructed on how this too was to be a mindful exercise. We would fill our bowls with food, and take the trays upstairs to the zendo, and wait for the formal ceremony to begin. Breakfast itself was a simple but hearty offering of oatmeal, diced fruit, peanut butter, and tea. (I appreciated how they labelled which items were gluten free!) I filled my bowl and climbed back up the zendo, executed the expected bows, and maneuvered into my usual seat.
We performed several more chants/prayers, one to prepare the utensils, one to drape the napkin, and finally one to begin eating. This meal was also eaten in silence and each bite was invited to be a meditation, considering all the senses. I began to explore my bowl of oatmeal in this way, first immediately noticing that sipping tea is an entirely insufficient replacement for milk when one has added as much peanut butter to their oatmeal as I had. (I had a total "got milk?" mental moment). But then something extraordinary happened. After about my 7th or 8th deliberate bite, I noticed a sensation in my body. It was my digestive system responding to the presence of food in my stomach. I was so surprised by this I started to tear up. In my 42+ years of life, I have been so out of touch with my body sensations that I have never before actually *felt* that happen before. So if nothing else, this alone was an amazing result of self-discovery.
After we'd finished eating, and an offer was made for people to step downstairs for seconds, then we did another formal departure from the zendo. Each of us was responsible for washing our own dishes and tray, and setting it up for the next meal later.
Following this we were assigned to teams for the actual work session, intended for, of course, another meditation opportunity. I was to be part of a group that was going to work on the Sangha House, another building owned (or at least rented) by the Dharma Rain center that the monks in resident live at. I had no idea where this was, so I just fell in line behind Unkai and the rest of my group as we quietly walked in shahsu form to a house about 4 blocks away. There we were instructed (in quiet conversation) that we were going to clean the front porch, windows, front door, and railing of the house. Each of us self-selected a task we seemed fitted for. I was taller so I started cleaning the transom windows, and cobwebs and grime from the tops of the porch pillars. Once again I found myself having the conversation between the inner engineer trying to strategize, and the craftsman merely wanting to do good thorough work.
Once we'd gotten the grime off of the windows and degunked the spiderwebs and scoured the railings and siding, I got the honor of hosing *everything* down. Here it made sense to be systematic to keep the wall of water always sweeping the dirt in the same direction, although I did blow it a bit later when replacing the patio furniture and failing to notice the fresh clumps of dirt on their feet before dropping them into place. But overall, the place looked much nicer after we finished, and we'd worked up an honest sweat in the process. We each concluded the work session with a sort of prayer commending the merits of our labor to all sentient beings and to someone we personally wanted to honor. Then the familiar wood block "gong" signaled the end of the work period and we returned silently padding our way back to the zendo center.
We were given a brief break to clean up or rest before we entered another round of zazen/kinhin/zazen before lunch. For these zazen I used the small wooden kneeling benches which had looked so uncomfortable but upon trying them were actually easier on the legs and knees than the soft cushions I'd been using. I relished the kinhin again (again only making it about 30 feet in 10 minutes), and resumed the seated meditation. This time Kakumyo came around and quietly adjust our posture for us. He softly tapped my back and I realized I had a deep slouch to my pose, which straightening correcting.
One of the whimsical things I caught myself at was I had noticed that kneeling on this bench had raised my vantage point and now my downcast gaze was looking at a different spot than before. My engineering brain leapt into action realizing that given that my gaze was a constant angle X below horizontal, and I was now looking a new spot Y distance past the first one, that I could calculate the differential in height from the bench compared to the cushion... I almost giggled out loud as I caught this line of thought spinning up. Wow. My mind really really wants to stay fed. I imagined it almost like some obese guy, scarfing down Doritos, addicted to anything that it can stuff in its face. I wondered how often this kept me from simply being present and just experiencing what was actually around me rather than trying to model or simulate it with math and science. So I went back to trying to let such thoughts simply float through and not let the engineer run the show again.
Just before noon, a chime signaled the end of zazen and "lunch" was quietly announced, so we filed back downstairs to repeat the buffet process from breakfast. Lunch was another mindfulness exercise and was performed very much like the breakfast ritual including the same utensil, napkin, and first bite chants, and this time it was an egg and vegetable frittata, some cooked kale, and a pot of rice. Afterwards we cleaned up as before and were given a rest period, which most of us used as an opportunity to sprawl on a futon or mat in the den and nap, or at least doze.
At 2pm everyone else who wasn't already in the den area joined us there and the contingent of monks offered to answer any questions that we had about meditation forms, the rituals, buddhism itself, etc. Several folks asked questions about things from the chant books, while a few (myself included) sought suggestions about how to relieve any persistent problems from the seated meditation. It was good to finally have an opportunity to ask questions (as I had originally presumed would be the main point of the weekend) but I found that now that I was actually "living the life" that I really didn't have as many, or the ones that I still did, I realized the answers weren't as important anymore.
One of the important details they shared with us was that after the evening service (which is really an early afternoon one), we would have another period of 3 zazen sits, but that during that each of us had the option of attending Sanzen, which is the chance to speak one-on-one with the head priest, almost like in a Catholic confessional system. They instructed us in how Sanzen was arranged and the etiquette for it which was that we'd form a queue outside the small Sanzen space. When the priest was ready to admit someone, he'd ring a small handbell from within. You would then strike a bell outside the door indicating you were ready to enter. The priest would then respond with another handbell ring allowing you to enter. At that point you open the first hallway door, pass through and shut it behind you. Then you would open to door to the Sanzen room, step into it, execute a full bow (which includes bowing in gassho, then dropping to your knees and placing your forehead on the floor, then rising) to the buddha altar within, then doing a standing bow to the priest, then seating yourself and asking your question. The details of the procedure seemed overwhelming, especially given that there would be no one there to watch and mimic but Kakumyo had implied that as long as we were mindful, there would be reasonable tolerance for not getting it exactly right.
So we began the next round of zazen meditation in the kendo, and only a few minutes into it, a voice informed us that my half of the room was invited to Sanzen if we desired. I lingered for a bit since we hadn't been explained the protocol for getting from the meditation *to* the Sanzen, but after several people rose to move toward the stairs, I got up and followed. Downstairs we found another line of zabuton mats with cushions so we could continue our meditation until we were up for Sanzen, so we each plopped back down and slipped back into sitting meditation.
The pattern that followed was delightfully musical. A distant "ding ding" would happen, a person would rise from their meditation, step over to the doorway, respond with a slightly lower "dong", which would get echoed with another "ding ding", and the person would vanish into the room. So I sat and waited for the 5 people in front of me to get their turn..
"ding ding" ..[shuffle] .. "dong" ... "ding ding" .. [creak]
"ding ding" ..[shuffle] .. "dong" ... "ding ding" .. [creak]
"ding ding" ..[shuffle] .. "dong" ... "ding ding" .. [creak]
"ding ding" ..[shuffle] .. "dong" ... "ding ding" .. [creak]
"ding ding" ..[shuffle] .. "dong" ... "ding ding" .. [creak]
I was now the only person left in the waiting queue. At this point I heard the announcement upstairs that the other half of the zendo can opt for Senzen if they choose. A small convoy of other folks file down and fill up all the spaces next to me.
"ding ding"
Oh. That's me. I stand up and try to rehearse in my head all the actions to perform. I step to the bell next to the door, and strike it softly:
"dong"
Too soft. No response from beyond the door. The monk by the door whispers to hit it again harder.
"dong"
No response. Still too soft. The monk whispers that I really have it hit with some force.
"dong"
It sounds so loud when you are standing next to it. I am dreading that everyone upstairs is wondering what the loud noise is, but I get the desired "ding ding" from within, so I step through door 1 and close it, then step through door 2 and close it. I'm now in the very small room (perhaps 6 foot by 8 foot) with the head priest. I do the full bow to the buddha, I do the standing bow to the priest, then kneel before him, and ask him his thoughts on if it's possible to make my buddhist practice around the metta and karuna from the Sublime States that had resonated so much for me. I had no idea what response this might draw, but he considered for it a bit and then had a very thoughtful conversation with me about what shapes and actions that practice could take. He asked me several questions that I had to search inwardly for some authentic answers about. He also named a couple other local noted buddhists and retreats that focus on metta practice and that I could explore that with them. I was elated that the answer was neither dismissive nor patronizing but that he wanted to see me shape something that was relevant for me. After our conversation concluded, I bowed again, stepped out of the Sanzen room, and went back to the den to wait for the proper time to return to the meditation in the zendo.
Chimes above signaled the end of a kinhin period meaning it was appropriate to return for the final of the 3 zazen periods. I ascended, took my normal place in the zendo and did another 25 minute meditation.
When this concluded, it was a time for self-study. They had a number of books/guides there, but I had planned for this and brought printouts of several different translations of the "metta sutta" - the original buddhist teaching where metta was first described and elaborated. So I did a comparative study of these different versions to see which ones had the clearest insights to it for me, then followed this with an essay by one of the translators who expounded on the virtues of all 4 of the Sublime States. It felt good to have tacit permission to be focusing on this rather than the traditional buddhist teachings of the Four Noble Truths about suffering and the Eightfold Path seeking to end that suffering, which while compelling, did not resonate anywhere near the same way for me. Maybe I could actually "be buddhist" after all. :)
Dinner was another eating meditation like both lunch and breakfast had been. This time it was a hearty bowl of lentil soup (with Sriracha sauce if you wanted an extra kick), which after the labors earlier in the day was really welcome and I had a full bowl of seconds when it was offered. But again, eating each bite with intention, and noticing how my body responded to taste, texture, smell, and the presence of food in my stomach was still a surprisingly novel experience. After the meal, the processional, the washing of our dishes and a chance to sit quietly and chill for a bit.
The final sequence for Saturday would be another zazen/kinhin/zazen/kinhin/zazen combo, but followed by a formal tea service. We had no idea what this entailed other than we were instructed to take a mug with us when we ascended for the first zazen period.
By now I was finding I definitely like the kneeling benches so was using one of my zazens. The arm cramping was accumulating and occurring sooner into each sit so I accepted that I was going to have to just let the arms hang loose, even if it was not the proper form. At this point in the retreat, now in my 9th seated meditation, I noticed that I was able to have moments of quiet where the brain would suddenly engage and go "what was I just thinking? Was I thinking anything? Had I really been silent?", which of course ruins whatever mental silence I had just had, but it at least hinted that some silence was happening. Which raises the interesting conundrum in that if the mind is not engaged, how can you possibly tell that you actually had been without thoughts? What is there to observe the silence? And in addition to this paradox, the engineer kept wanting to chat, and concerns about plans for the next day and other past or future stuff kept interfering.
Kinhin was welcome after this since I was still finding that the walking meditations enabled a calmer mind than the sitting ones did. But they are brief (a scant 10 minutes) before we were back into zazen #10. I was sitting in this one, trying to tune out the noises outside the building (which at 7:30something on a Saturday night only one block off the main hipster mecca of Hawthorne Boulevard in Portland is challenging), when Kakumyo began to speak, startling me from my tumbling thoughts.
I had forgotten there was a "dharma talk" scheduled for this zazen. These are sort of like guided meditations, but where the priest has you consider some insights or teachings to deepen your practice. Kakumyo began by pointing out the contradiction that we had all probably come wanting something out of this retreat or this practice, but that we also were probably struggling with distractions like back pain, the breeze blowing through the windows, the sounds of the cars on Hawthorne, and so on. But he reassured it what we were experiencing was exactly perfect just as it was. And I just about burst into tears. It clicked. It all just clicked right then. Yes! Everything *was* perfect! The pain was there to be felt. The breeze was there to distract. The cars were there to be heard. And resisting *any* of that was an illusion because there wasn't actually anything *to* resist. Kakumyo was still talking but I'm not sure I was catching all of it because I was suddenly so giddy. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, even my nose was starting to run. All the struggling and suffering I had experienced earlier trying to get the damn voices in my head to shut up for bit just .. evaporated. And after he had wrapped up his dharma talk and we resumed the zazen, I realized that for the first time all weekend, when I heard movement from the front of the room, I *wasn't* wanting kinhin to happen! Not yet! Let me be in this space a bit longer!
Kinhin did arrive a bit thereafter, and I enjoyed it as I had before - moving that glacial pace, although we went a bit farther on that one before going to final zazen. That last zazen I had a very different experience of. I probably had that faint buddha smile on my lips for most of it, buoyed by the earlier insight - when thoughts intruded I just smiled more rather that got frustrated knowing that that was simply what thoughts did. It may have been the fact that I was rather depleted after 10 sits and a couple work sessions, but it was still a happier and more peaceful place to be.
So much so that when a very loud wooden CLACK sounded just behind me I just about jumped out of my skin. This apparently was the dramatic start to the formal tea as a group of four people strode briskly in carrying trays and kettles. They marched swiftly to the front of the room in lockstep, bowed, then marched back to the rear, then moved back to the front and began serving tea for each person. It was beautiful presentation, with the server side-stepping up to be in front of a seated student, a taut bow from each, then the server sliding one leg sharply to the side lowering themselves in an almost lunge pose to position the kettle at the proper height for us to raise our mug to be filled. Another bow from both server and receiver, and the server was quickly side stepping over the next person.
After we'd all received tea, the process was exactly repeated, this time with trays of cookies. They'd even put small discreet "gluten-free" indicators on the tray borders to make sure that when it was lower to us in that lunge that we could select an appropriate cookie for ourselves. Then the processional moved on to the next person. We consumed the tea with great reverence, bringing the same mindfulness of all the prior meals to it, and eating the cookie similarly. After the tea service, we were again instructed to extract the chant books for a final Vespers service with more chants and recitations. Once this was done, we proceeded downstairs with mugs to be washed and formally [finally?] ended our Saturday activities.
I took a naproxen to try to appease the taut muscles. I passed out rather quickly once I'd assembled by bedding and crawled into the sleeping bag...
SUNDAY
For whatever reason, I awoke apparently well before the morning bells. I laid there for a while trying to coax myself back into sleep. I could hear the other guys nearby softly snoring but there were no clocks so I had no idea what the actual time was. But I was unable to doze off again, so I quietly rested until some good 30-40 minutes later the dingdingDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGdingdingdingding tintinnabulation (oooh, a juicy word I never get to use!) roused the others, meaning that I'd been awake since 4:30am or so.
At 6am, we did our one zazen of the day. It was probably my "noisiest" yet, but as stated, now I no longer fretted so much about it. This was followed by another chanting service, but fairly brief - only about 20 minutes. Then we had our one and only "informal" meal - another breakfast of oatmeal, fruit, and peanut butter, but rather than as a meditation in the zendo, this was just in a circle of chairs and futons in the downstairs den while we shared our experiences with one another and the monks that led the event.
It had meant lots of different things to different people. For some it was about community. For others it was about overcoming fear. Others wanted structure. The monks also shared their experiences of the event as well. Kakumyo and Genko, the leader and assistant for the retreat commented how this was one of the most "newbie-filled" retreats they ever recall having done. Generally there were more people who had at least *some* experience with the center and their rituals. They likened us to having to corral baby chicks on a farm as we forgot procedures and faced the wrong ways, or walked the wrong direction and so on. But they admitted that even if our forms were wildly erratic that we still brought a commendable level of intention
and single-mindedness to our meditations and they were impressed by that.
After we'd all spoken, we were invited to their usual Sunday service which people were just starting to show up for. I had been assigned kitchen cleanup for this meal, and Stephanie was in enough physical pain that we decided we were complete with the experience and as soon as I finished my kitchen duties and Stephanie had loaded the car, we left the building and stepped back into the "real world".
It felt really weird talking as we walked back to the car. Like every sentence just had too many words in it or something. I realized that over the course of the weekend, outside of the Q&A and the final wrapup that I'd said perhaps only a dozen sentences all weekend long. Not strictly silent but pretty darn close.
REFLECTION:
Did I enjoy the experience? Yes. It was very illuminating and I don't regret a moment of it, even if I still hate chanting.
Would I do it again? If I had to do it all over again, yes. Doing it a second time? Hmm. I'd prefer to explore something different now.
Do I plan to join this Center? No. The Zen tradition feels like it may not be the best match for me and my values. I have since looked at the other places and priests that Kakumyo suggested and see many new and interesting opportunities I want to investigate next.
Would I recommend this to others? Absolutely. Regardless of your personal or religious beliefs, the mere act of bringing this level of mindfulness to your life, and exploring who you are when you remove the "self" from the equation I think is invaluable and would love to see others be brave and try the same thing.
Thanks for sticking through this long recounting and I hope you found your own insights from it...