zenjones

Not drinking was not that hard. I thought it would be—I have a nightly glass of wine. It’s a signal that it’s time to put away the work and relax. But that part wasn’t the difficult part. It was the not joining in with the crowd. I went to a work event down at Hal Riney on the Embarcadero and never quite synched up with the other attendees, who were all drinking. But as far as my practice, it was good to notice the way I use these external cues to not experience the moment. And how hard it is—especially at a social event where I am often self-conscious and shy—to stay present to those feelings.

Tonight I’m going out to dinner with acquaintances I don’t know that well and feeling grateful already for the promised glass of wine.

But this week—the last week of practice period—the comfort I am giving up is reading. Though today is only the first day, and it’s only 9 a.m., I have already become aware of how I use this habit for comfort.

Last night I found myself awake at 2 a.m. and unable to return to sleep. My normal habit is to read on my iPhone ’til I fall back asleep. It usually works pretty well, but even if it doesn’t, I don’t much care because I’d rather read than most anything.

So I lay there practicing with it, and doing my nightly reflection in more depth. It was difficult to be grateful—I was cranky. As 3:30 rolled around, I decided to cancel my workout that was scheduled for 6:00 so I could sleep some more, and I fell back to sleep.

And now I find myself thirstily reading online, trying to drag myself away from The New York Times. Also, I caught myself unconsciously reading a New Yorker. I go now to hide them from myself.

This week is going to be difficult.

The 2010 Santa Rosa Zen Group sesshin was last weekend and I’d like to record some thoughts, and also to see if I can get attendees experiences, and suggestions for next year in the comments.

I’ve received lots of gratitude in e-mails and I’d like to thank everyone for their kind words. But in all honesty, I did not do that much. We were a team and everyone contributed time and talent and good-humor. The fact that most attendees were not aware of the efforts of these people is a tribute to their quiet selflessness. I would like to recognize some of them:

Tenzo: This is the hardest job, involving lots of people and stuff, and also involving food, which everyone has opinions about. Claudia did an amazing job. And that stew was the best sesshin stew I’ve ever had.

Liaison with the Angela Center: How does Shiva do it? Smiling away as I bark orders at her. She negotiated money-saving deals that made this sesshin possible, and made sure that everyone on both sides felt well taken care of, before, during, and after the process.

Head Server: Things were changing right down to the last minute, and Barbara was flexibility and intrepidity in motion. Wasn’t it neat the way the meal service felt smooth and inevitable?

Altar Tender: Beautiful, simple, and thoughtful. Made me think, “Nothing added.” Patrick Dwyer also managed all the money with aplomb in the face of challenges.

Jisha: As always, Diane’s sweet voice announcing the call for daisan is one of the memories I carry with me.

Head Monitor: In spite of a pulled muscle that would have caused me to take the day off, Shayna soldiered on, keeping a discerning, unfocused and benevolent eye on us all.

Set Up and Clean Up Leader: It looked fast and easy, but I think Sharon was aware and thoughtful.

Snack Table Manager: Thank you, Susan, for fighting the good fight for the jelly.

Last Day Lunch Preparers: More flexibility, lots of practice.

Work Leader: Many variables were considered, constant changes required attention. Patrick Wylie had lots of opportunity to practice with impermanence.

Timekeeper: I didn’t notice a single mistake. Annie’s bell ringing was clear and beautifully modulated.

Oryoki Coordinator:  This job got bigger this sesshin. Ellen managed the rentals and purchases, giving the orientation, and being the expert on meal practice. Grace in the face of the unexpected.

Choppers, Dishwashers, Linen Providers: Thank you all for your care.

Also, my gratitude to the San Diego contingent. Because you were there, our sesshin was a little more formal, more strict, and that gave us all a better container for practice.

To those of you who came from far away, geographically and experientially, you helped me to see the forms of our practice in a new light, with a beginner’s mind.

And, of course, I feel deep gratitude toward our teachers, who are always a lesson in loving-kindness.

As you can see, it takes a Zen group to throw a sesshin!

A couple notes:

Those of you who had instruction sheets from me for your roles, please update them with our sesshin-specific instructions and send them to me, and I will incorporate them into a folder for next year.

We are missing one zabuton (sitting mat). If anyone accidentally took an extra home, please let me know.

We have an extra zafu (sitting pillow). Please let me know if you are missing one.

Please write any thoughts you have about this sesshin—or ideas for future ones—in the comment section below. To use the comment section, you need only to put your name and your email address. You can actually comment anonymously, if you find that necessary.

Also, some people have expressed an interest in having a copy of the Readings booklet that Ann Chung created. I don’t have anymore printed versions, but you can see the digital version here.

In gratitude—

Virginia

When the coyotes howled I noticed a pleasant tension in all the large muscles of my body. Not as if I had to do something right then, but just telling me to be ready. I realized that that tension is often there when I am in the wilderness—but I’d never noticed it before.

Observed how I began to salivate as we pulled out our eating bowls, just a little, but my body knew the food was coming. Enjoyed the waiting, the attempt to take just enough so we could all finish together. Amused by the way I judged those who did not do this.

As jisha, had many opportunities to notice how I judged myself—and justified, and blamed, and whined about my martyrdom—and others. Though actually less about others; they were my charges. It was my job. As a manager (in business), I think in terms of “What does this person need to succeed?” and so when people came to me with needs, I clicked into work mode.

I was smug with being awareness, thought to myself, “I have the time, the space, the reminders to be aware. Look how aware I am!” And kept being brought up to face my un-presentness: not noticing that a first-time sesshin attendee didn’t know where the kitchen was—even though she was my roommate, for example.

I had real remorse for not maintaining silence. In the past, I’ve been pretty strict with myself about this, probably from a desire to be a good zen student. But as jisha, there is some functional talk necessary, especially with a sort of complicated daisan system. But sometimes I went beyond that, and I realized the disservice I was doing to others by pulling them out of their silence. Wanting to make them more comfortable, I didn’t allow them to take the most advantage of sesshin by residing in their discomfort. Wanting to make them like me, I didn’t allow myself to take advantage of residing in my fear of being disliked.

And so much gratitude for all this, for the camera exercise, for the work of all those who came, for our teachers, for the luxury of that time. For the sound of the crow’s wings as they beat across the yard.

What were your impressions of sesshin? Please leave them in the comments.

One of my practice period intensifiers was a short meditation period in the evening. I think I’ve committed to this for five years running and never made it through the first week.

I’ve changed it to the Daily Review, which Ezra talks about in his book Being Zen. At the end of the day, I get in bed, and I go over my day in my mind. It’s a little tricky to stay on track–my mind wants to examine things in more depth, judge, blame, all the usual stuff. But I catch myself and soldier on to the end of the day. Then I think of the things I was grateful for, and the things I feel remorse for.

And just like the book says, the more I do this, the more I notice things I’m grateful for during the day. And I also notice things I feel remorse for right away.

Last night I noticed that I’m grateful for the situation I was born into–this period in time, this social class, this place. I’m grateful for my healthy genes, and for my husband’s sense of humor, for Annie’s haikus and Susan’s story about the birds on the lake. I’m grateful for this practice and all the people who sit with me in the group, and talk about their experience, so I can be aware of my reactions.

I feel remorse that I didn’t talk to my neighbors as they moved out, and now I’ll never have a chance.

Today, my menu item was “Be aware of attachment to outcome.” Every time the message popped up on my computer or lit up my phone, I was attached to an outcome. But the reminder made me aware, and once I was aware, it was pretty easy to give up the attachment. Much easier than giving up judging or blaming.

One of my favorite aids-de-practice is a collaboration with my Zen Pal.

Every morning we e-mail each other with our “3 MITs*”. *Most Important Things. Two of them are work or personal life related (“Make appointment with dentist” “Finish website design”) but the third is always practice-related (“Be aware of anxiety” “Non-manifestation of anger day” “As often as possible, as long as possible”). I then copy and paste my practice MIT into my online calendar, and set it to send me a reminder hourly.

It is very effective at keeping practice upper-most in my mind. I particularly like it when I’m in a business meeting and I check my PDA and it has a message like, “Be aware of the wind on your cheek.” It’s great help to be pulled out of a negotiation, to get some distance. Or sometimes it happens when I’m riding my bike to the store and I’m busily planning away, and I get a message to “Be aware without ceasing” and realize that I am in the middle of life, instead of plannning for life to begin.

Only occasionally does one of the sayings apply to where I am right then. When my husband is home, I like to have “The first rule of relationships: refrain from blaming.” It’s nice to notice how often I blame him when I’m upset, and how it is just a believed thought, and not true at all. I think he likes it, too. This morning I said, “It feels like you are bullying me.” He started to defend his last statement and I said, “No, I don’t mean that you are bullying me. Just that it feels that way.” He smiled and went about his business, not changing, giving me the opportunity to practice with my believed thought.