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That was Zen
Yesterday I went to my very first Buddhist retreat, at the Zen Group of Pittsburgh.
I was somewhat terrified by the prospect of meditating for seven hours, when I had previously only meditated for half an hour at a time. Much to my surprise, it really wasn't that hard. I find I usually have an easier time meditating in groups, and after listening to a dharma talk or meditation instruction. When left to my own devices, I tend to get distracted trying to control my mind, which never ends well.
The general format of the day was 30 minutes seated meditation, 15 minutes of walking meditation, rinse, repeat. We broke at lunch for a formal meal, which was really nice. The teacher guided us through the rather intricate and graceful process of unwrapping our bowls, setting them out in the formal pattern, and receiving the meal (water, rice, soup, salad) in the proper manner. At the end we learned how to wash out our bowls with steaming green tea and then drink the tea, like mendicant monks with no access to soap would do.
Another highlight of the day (I feel slightly awkward talking about highlights of Zen practice) was meeting the Zen teacher for my individual interview. I told him about practicing vipassana, then stopping practicing for a while and being uncertain why I'm supposed to practice if part of the lesson of meditation is to relinquish my attachment to striving towards a goal. He rather quickly turned the conversation to some central questions that I had, and when I attempted to get him to answer the questions for me, he smiled and told me I should investigate them in meditation. Then he asked me some questions, and I think I realized what I needed to realize about koans, at least for now. Except that that makes it sound like I understand something, when really the point was that I don't.
It seems strange to be writing about this. Like reporting how Confession went.
At the end we chanted the Heart Sutra and something in Korean (apparently The Great Dharani), and then had Circle Time when we had the opportunity to say thank yous or talk about our experience. (I got so excessively shy, I not only said nothing but also had to be reminded to bow in order to pass my turn.)
Overall, it was an easier experience than I expected. I keep wondering whether that signifies progress (that it's now easier for me to meditate than when I stopped trying in August) or regress (that I was really just spacing out instead of doing real meditation), and then remembering that I'm not supposed to be thinking in terms of progress and regress. Then I remember I'm not supposed to be thinking in terms of "supposed," either, and it's all downhill from there.
It also makes me realize how attached I was to the idea that I'd get some kind of Major Life Experience or Personal Insight out of this enterprise. I didn't, particularly, although I did have an interesting insight about my practice when I woke up this morning, so that may be related.
(Also, last night I dreamed I was talking to someone about the unsexiness of moustaches and then realized I had a moustache. So I resolved to shave it off and grow a little soul patch goatee like the Zen teacher. What on earth was that about?)
Coming empty-handed, going empty-handed -- that is human.
When you are born, where do you come from?
When you die, where do you go?
Life is like a floating cloud which appears.
Death is like a floating cloud which disappears.
The floating cloud itself originally does not exist.
Life and death, coming and going, are also like that.
But there is one thing which always remains clear.
It is pure and clear, not depending on life and death.
Then what is the one pure and clear thing?
I was somewhat terrified by the prospect of meditating for seven hours, when I had previously only meditated for half an hour at a time. Much to my surprise, it really wasn't that hard. I find I usually have an easier time meditating in groups, and after listening to a dharma talk or meditation instruction. When left to my own devices, I tend to get distracted trying to control my mind, which never ends well.
The general format of the day was 30 minutes seated meditation, 15 minutes of walking meditation, rinse, repeat. We broke at lunch for a formal meal, which was really nice. The teacher guided us through the rather intricate and graceful process of unwrapping our bowls, setting them out in the formal pattern, and receiving the meal (water, rice, soup, salad) in the proper manner. At the end we learned how to wash out our bowls with steaming green tea and then drink the tea, like mendicant monks with no access to soap would do.
Another highlight of the day (I feel slightly awkward talking about highlights of Zen practice) was meeting the Zen teacher for my individual interview. I told him about practicing vipassana, then stopping practicing for a while and being uncertain why I'm supposed to practice if part of the lesson of meditation is to relinquish my attachment to striving towards a goal. He rather quickly turned the conversation to some central questions that I had, and when I attempted to get him to answer the questions for me, he smiled and told me I should investigate them in meditation. Then he asked me some questions, and I think I realized what I needed to realize about koans, at least for now. Except that that makes it sound like I understand something, when really the point was that I don't.
It seems strange to be writing about this. Like reporting how Confession went.
At the end we chanted the Heart Sutra and something in Korean (apparently The Great Dharani), and then had Circle Time when we had the opportunity to say thank yous or talk about our experience. (I got so excessively shy, I not only said nothing but also had to be reminded to bow in order to pass my turn.)
Overall, it was an easier experience than I expected. I keep wondering whether that signifies progress (that it's now easier for me to meditate than when I stopped trying in August) or regress (that I was really just spacing out instead of doing real meditation), and then remembering that I'm not supposed to be thinking in terms of progress and regress. Then I remember I'm not supposed to be thinking in terms of "supposed," either, and it's all downhill from there.
It also makes me realize how attached I was to the idea that I'd get some kind of Major Life Experience or Personal Insight out of this enterprise. I didn't, particularly, although I did have an interesting insight about my practice when I woke up this morning, so that may be related.
(Also, last night I dreamed I was talking to someone about the unsexiness of moustaches and then realized I had a moustache. So I resolved to shave it off and grow a little soul patch goatee like the Zen teacher. What on earth was that about?)
When you are born, where do you come from?
When you die, where do you go?
Life is like a floating cloud which appears.
Death is like a floating cloud which disappears.
The floating cloud itself originally does not exist.
Life and death, coming and going, are also like that.
But there is one thing which always remains clear.
It is pure and clear, not depending on life and death.
Then what is the one pure and clear thing?