This blog hosts articles contributed by members of the Chicago Zen Center. For news about events at the Center and in Chicago, please visit our Indolence and Sloth at the Hermitage Retreat
by Jody Wilson
At first, it sounded like fun: 40 or so hours of essentially self-directed, quality time spent under my second favorite roof. A sleepover at the Zen Center! Just be in the Zendo at 7:00 to go down to breakfast, at 10:30 to go down to teisho, at 5:30 for dinner and at 7:00 for formal sitting and dokusan. Samu after breakfast. Shower as you will between meals. Otherwise, lunch was at 12:30 and please do kinhin in the Buddha Hall only since the floor in the Zendo squeaks. Is that all? Oh, and no kinhin on the front porch either. Is that IT?? Yep, that’s it. Oh, one more thing: you’re sleeping in the library. Alone. I wondered if I had time to run out and buy a lottery ticket.
At the start of the first evening sitting, Sensei explained that this type of “hermitage” retreat might be especially helpful to those who were at a place in their practice where “You know that the energy is draining from the present situation but you aren’t sure where it’s going.” Anyway, I think that’s what he said. I was already planning how I would spend “my” time. Would I sit all night? Could I sit all night? If I sat all night, what would I be like in the morning? How much would my knees hurt? My back was bothering me a little already. Did I have enough Ibuprofen? Should I be taking it at a sesshin? Oops, I mean, a retreat. Hey, if it’s a retreat and not a sesshin, is it okay if I after I wash my hair I condition it? Are the mirrors covered? If not, what about make-up? Moisturizer, at least.
I recall Sensei mentioning something about the possibilities of a “hinge” experience and I had a very vivid mental picture of a swinging door. If I’d been paying attention I’d have known that it was just about to hit me in the butt. But after dokusan I was totally absorbed in one single burning question: will there be yaza fruit?
There’s a lot to be said for the structure, rigor and discipline of sesshin. First, there’s a printed schedule. You are expected to follow the schedule or have a darn good reason why not. There’s no wiggle room for that pesky “self” to creep in and talk you into a nap or stretch. The schedule becomes the container for all of the angst, aching knees, indigestion and doubts, just as it is the container for all the blazing joy, wonder, discovery and insight. No matter what we’re feeling or thinking, we adhere to the schedule, show up where and when we are supposed to, ready to do the job at hand. It’s hard, but essentially we want to sit and we will compose ourselves in order to sit well. Now blazing joy, now aching knees, now samu, now a shower. No time, per se, just one moment following the other in stately measure. Predictable, directed, energized and focused. Nice.
In contrast, as the realization dawned that I was expected to be the author of my own schedule as well as my own monitor, I remembered a story about the U.S. Army’s plan to use cats well-known for their exceptional night vision in military operations in Vietnam. Here are excerpts from the final report: “A squad, upon being ordered to move out, was led off in all directions by the cats; on many occasions the animals led their troops racing through thick brush in pursuit of field mice and birds. Troops had to force the cats to follow the direction of the patrol; the practice often led to the animals stalking and attacking the dangling pack straps of the soldiers marching directly in front of them. If the weather was inclement or even threatening inclemency, the cats were never anywhere to be found.” [1] Chuckling to myself as I was leaving the Zendo, Sensei took my elbow and whispered a reminder concerning the proper directions to face during the bows and prostrations. I thanked him. I think. There was no yaza fruit.
I took a zafu and a couple of support cushions with me to the library, intending to sit there. Earlier, I had taken a bench out of the cupboard in the Kannon room, intending to sit there. But it was still early and I thought a little rest might help me to sit longer and “better.” Looking wistfully at the books, I decided I’d stretch out for a few minutes. I woke up at about 6:15 , just in time to get myself together for breakfast.
I was furious. How could I have wasted an entire night? I was aware that a certain complacency had seeped into my practice - I called it “fat, dumb and happy mind” - but this was ridiculous. I determined to make up for it tonight. Tonight? What about today? What about NOW? Breakfast went by in a blur and I left the table hungry.
Chopping vegetables for salad soothed me. I finished ahead of time and went back to my room, tidied up and did some yoga. At the end of samu, I went outside for kinhin. I had no watch and found myself becoming increasingly anxious about the time. I went back inside and snuck a look at the clock in the kitchen. Just 15 minutes had passed. I decided to sit in my room. After a few minutes of settling, I decided I wanted to try the bench. I soon realized that the bench was not for me. But maybe it was this bench? Were some bigger than others? Smaller? Unbelievably, I decided to try them all. Happily, as I entered the Kannon Room, reason prevailed and I returned to my room, where I laid down “for a second” and woke up startled, just in time to get to the Buddha Hall for teisho. Afterwards, Sthaman took me aside and whispered that Sensei had asked him to tell me to stop moving during teisho. Stop moving during teisho??? That wasn’t me, it was the person sitting next to me. Honestly. Several people were sitting on the mats behind Sensei. Why did he think it was me? Do I normally move during teisho? The rest of the day went by in a blur of self-righteous self-talk and self-conscious body language. The only whole hearted effort I was able to make was 108 kinhin laps in the Buddha Hall without losing track of the count or bumping into anyone. I was totally blown and miserable, hijacked by my thoughts and lost in them.
Opportunities to sit in the fullness of this experience, to nod to the thoughts and keep my seat continued to present themselves and I continued to refuse them. I spent the rest of the “retreat” retreating further and further from the experience, slept deeply and often and spent the final teisho sitting like a statue in a chair at the back of the Buddha Hall, trying not to breathe. It was all so silly.
As Sensei warned, it was a hinge experience for me, demonstrating once and for all where the distractions originate, how lame it is to blame circumstances or others when our thoughts are wildly scattered, how hard it is to pull it all back in and BE.
[1] “The Indispensable Cat,” Jean-Claude Suares
At first, it sounded like fun: 40 or so hours of essentially self-directed, quality time spent under my second favorite roof. A sleepover at the Zen Center! Just be in the Zendo at 7:00 to go down to breakfast, at 10:30 to go down to teisho, at 5:30 for dinner and at 7:00 for formal sitting and dokusan. Samu after breakfast. Shower as you will between meals. Otherwise, lunch was at 12:30 and please do kinhin in the Buddha Hall only since the floor in the Zendo squeaks. Is that all? Oh, and no kinhin on the front porch either. Is that IT?? Yep, that’s it. Oh, one more thing: you’re sleeping in the library. Alone. I wondered if I had time to run out and buy a lottery ticket.At the start of the first evening sitting, Sensei explained that this type of “hermitage” retreat might be especially helpful to those who were at a place in their practice where “You know that the energy is draining from the present situation but you aren’t sure where it’s going.” Anyway, I think that’s what he said. I was already planning how I would spend “my” time. Would I sit all night? Could I sit all night? If I sat all night, what would I be like in the morning? How much would my knees hurt? My back was bothering me a little already. Did I have enough Ibuprofen? Should I be taking it at a sesshin? Oops, I mean, a retreat. Hey, if it’s a retreat and not a sesshin, is it okay if I after I wash my hair I condition it? Are the mirrors covered? If not, what about make-up? Moisturizer, at least.
I recall Sensei mentioning something about the possibilities of a “hinge” experience and I had a very vivid mental picture of a swinging door. If I’d been paying attention I’d have known that it was just about to hit me in the butt. But after dokusan I was totally absorbed in one single burning question: will there be yaza fruit?
There’s a lot to be said for the structure, rigor and discipline of sesshin. First, there’s a printed schedule. You are expected to follow the schedule or have a darn good reason why not. There’s no wiggle room for that pesky “self” to creep in and talk you into a nap or stretch. The schedule becomes the container for all of the angst, aching knees, indigestion and doubts, just as it is the container for all the blazing joy, wonder, discovery and insight. No matter what we’re feeling or thinking, we adhere to the schedule, show up where and when we are supposed to, ready to do the job at hand. It’s hard, but essentially we want to sit and we will compose ourselves in order to sit well. Now blazing joy, now aching knees, now samu, now a shower. No time, per se, just one moment following the other in stately measure. Predictable, directed, energized and focused. Nice.
In contrast, as the realization dawned that I was expected to be the author of my own schedule as well as my own monitor, I remembered a story about the U.S. Army’s plan to use cats well-known for their exceptional night vision in military operations in Vietnam. Here are excerpts from the final report: “A squad, upon being ordered to move out, was led off in all directions by the cats; on many occasions the animals led their troops racing through thick brush in pursuit of field mice and birds. Troops had to force the cats to follow the direction of the patrol; the practice often led to the animals stalking and attacking the dangling pack straps of the soldiers marching directly in front of them. If the weather was inclement or even threatening inclemency, the cats were never anywhere to be found.” [1] Chuckling to myself as I was leaving the Zendo, Sensei took my elbow and whispered a reminder concerning the proper directions to face during the bows and prostrations. I thanked him. I think. There was no yaza fruit.
I took a zafu and a couple of support cushions with me to the library, intending to sit there. Earlier, I had taken a bench out of the cupboard in the Kannon room, intending to sit there. But it was still early and I thought a little rest might help me to sit longer and “better.” Looking wistfully at the books, I decided I’d stretch out for a few minutes. I woke up at about 6:15 , just in time to get myself together for breakfast.
I was furious. How could I have wasted an entire night? I was aware that a certain complacency had seeped into my practice - I called it “fat, dumb and happy mind” - but this was ridiculous. I determined to make up for it tonight. Tonight? What about today? What about NOW? Breakfast went by in a blur and I left the table hungry.
Chopping vegetables for salad soothed me. I finished ahead of time and went back to my room, tidied up and did some yoga. At the end of samu, I went outside for kinhin. I had no watch and found myself becoming increasingly anxious about the time. I went back inside and snuck a look at the clock in the kitchen. Just 15 minutes had passed. I decided to sit in my room. After a few minutes of settling, I decided I wanted to try the bench. I soon realized that the bench was not for me. But maybe it was this bench? Were some bigger than others? Smaller? Unbelievably, I decided to try them all. Happily, as I entered the Kannon Room, reason prevailed and I returned to my room, where I laid down “for a second” and woke up startled, just in time to get to the Buddha Hall for teisho. Afterwards, Sthaman took me aside and whispered that Sensei had asked him to tell me to stop moving during teisho. Stop moving during teisho??? That wasn’t me, it was the person sitting next to me. Honestly. Several people were sitting on the mats behind Sensei. Why did he think it was me? Do I normally move during teisho? The rest of the day went by in a blur of self-righteous self-talk and self-conscious body language. The only whole hearted effort I was able to make was 108 kinhin laps in the Buddha Hall without losing track of the count or bumping into anyone. I was totally blown and miserable, hijacked by my thoughts and lost in them.
Opportunities to sit in the fullness of this experience, to nod to the thoughts and keep my seat continued to present themselves and I continued to refuse them. I spent the rest of the “retreat” retreating further and further from the experience, slept deeply and often and spent the final teisho sitting like a statue in a chair at the back of the Buddha Hall, trying not to breathe. It was all so silly.
As Sensei warned, it was a hinge experience for me, demonstrating once and for all where the distractions originate, how lame it is to blame circumstances or others when our thoughts are wildly scattered, how hard it is to pull it all back in and BE.
[1] “The Indispensable Cat,” Jean-Claude Suares
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