Rohatsu Sesshin Reflections 2022

Sometimes you feel the strength of a zen retreat before you even arrive. A day or two before

driving down to Dallas, I noticed a subtle vividness, as if reality had been turned up a notch.

Thought activity slowed, sounds seemed richer, and the quiet moments felt deeper. The data

nerd in me decided to wear a fitness tracker for the entire retreat. 

We all arrived with varying degrees of stress. Jaws were tight and eyes were weary. After a few

nervous smiles and awkward introductions, we fell onto our cushions and began stilling our

bodies and minds.

Although I’ve been meditating for decades, I’m still working on my posture and breathing. In

case you haven’t read Zen Training by Katsuki Sekida, the first few chapters involve highly-

detailed, practical tips, many of which reinvigorated my practice.

Like some of you, it takes me a few days to declutter my mind. Oftentimes, I will spend several

hours resolving conflicts and applying techniques like metta, Ignatian spiritual exercises, and

various other protocols before I get down to pure zazen (see Ruben’s book Zen and the

Spiritual Exercises for other great strategies).

In deeper states of samadhi, we might experience changes in our sense of time and space. The

mind’s eye may superimpose itself over vision, sometimes giving the impression that everything

is shimmering and serenely undulating. For me, the zendo carpet merged with the heavens,

creating a sense that we were perched upon a mountaintop of eternity, quietly keeping watch

over the earth below. 

Later, outside, the full moon looked close enough to take a bite. It was delicious, of course.

Dharma lessons always seem amplified by samadhi; that’s one of the gifts of deep stillness.

Words take on dimensionality and resonance, more so than in regular conversation, which lends

a gravitas to teishos or other moments of sharing. Chanting, too, is charged by samadhi; you

can feel those teachings pulsing within you during each beat of the mokugyo. 

At the start of Ruben’s first talk, he expressed gratitude for all the sacrifices we made to be

there and amazement over our commitment to the practice of wisdom and compassion. The

week prior, my 14 year old daughter, Eva, told me she had to lead a new club at school, and I

suggested she start a secret society of kindness. Sitting there during Ruben’s teisho, I smiled at

the realization that we were all already members of that club.

When the pandemic first began, I was initially annoyed by the presence of computer screens

during practice, but now I welcome them. They add a sense of interconnectedness to practice,

and they reinforce the sense of a much broader sangha at work in the world. Occasionally when

an online participant would appear in the zendo, it was as though they sprang out of two

dimensions into a third. My heart would swell with joy at their proximity.

On Saturday morning, we learned of Ruben’s unexpected trip to the hospital the previous night.

That day, Helen delivered one of her most moving talks: a reminder about impermanence. One

koan, Case 47 from the Momunkan, drove the question home: How will you free yourself from

life-and-death when the light of your eyes is falling to the ground? 

Fortunately, Ruben’s fainting spell seemed to be an anomaly related to his recent bout of

coughing.

Sesshin ended with two uplifting moments: the appointment of a new assistant teacher, and the

welcoming of a new member to the sangha. During the celebratory lunch, I looked around the

room and saw a number of rejuvenated faces and calmer minds. We had journeyed through a

wordless struggle together and now were all transformed and edified.We smiled and laughed

while enjoying our meal.

After lunch, I finally checked the data collected by my watch. I was concerned because I had

contracted Covid back in October, and no amount of exercise could bring my resting heart rate

down to its prior level. But after a week of sitting, my average resting heart rate had dropped a

full ten beats; zazen accomplished what jogging could not! When I woke up the next day back

home in Tulsa, I noticed my movements were more deliberate, my mind less frenetic, my

listening more attuned, and my heart relaxed. The four vows–the theme of the retreat–chimed in

my thoughts as I made my way back into the world with just an ordinary mind.

Michael Mason

Tulsa, OK

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