Beginner's Mind Sesshin

In Zen practice, sesshin is a period of time dedicated to intensive meditation, intended to enable practitioners to focus exclusively on their practice and deepen their self awareness. Usually held at a Zen center or zendo (meditation hall), sesshin traditionally lasts 7 days, each day filled with many periods of zazen (seated meditation) and kinhin (walking meditation), interspersed with private conversations with a teacher, work periods, meals, etc. The days are long and participants maintain silence throughout, in order to reduce distraction from contemplation. The idea is to sustain a contemplative state of mind throughout a regular daily routine, over an extended period of time.

If this sounds daunting, it can be - especially to individuals new to Zen practice. So, in order to introduce sesshin to newcomers, Western zen centers and zendos often offer shorter, less rigorous sesshins. Although I have some experience with Zen meditation through my daily personal practice, I do not feel ready for a traditional sesshin. But when I saw the 2-day Beginner's Mind Sesshin on the Yokoji Zen Mountain Center schedule for January, I knew I'd found the next important step in my own practice and immediately signed up.

Nestled high in the San Jacinto Mountains southeast of Idyllwild, Yokoji Zen Mountain Center is one of a handful of Zen centers in the Western US. Yokoji is an internationally-renowned Zen training center, dedicated to supporting and furthering the practice of Soto Zen Buddhism year-round. It is open to any and all persons. I've known about Yokoji for years and have often thought of visiting, but never made the commitment - until now.

Outwardly, Yokoji is a collection of buildings stretched out across a fairly steep slope at the top of Apple Valley. The buildings are nestled beautifully into the terrain, amongst a mix of pine and oak, appearing more as if they had sprouted there spontaneously, than been constructed by human hands. The entire complex is off-grid, relying upon a growing solar panel farm, wind generators in the trees and a backup diesel generator, if needed. Water comes from local wells. Yokoji is dedicated to advancing ecological principles and requests that visitors bring that mindset with them when they visit. We are asked to bring what we need to be comfortable, but nothing more, and to use water and electricity sparingly. In other words, to remain mindful of the mark we make on the world, and grateful for the resources available.

There is no cell service, wifi or other internet access at Yokoji, and visitors are asked to leave phones and computers at home or turned off. I did bring my phone and shot a few pictures on the day I arrived, but then turned it off. Actually, I first put it in airplane mode, then put it away in my duffel for the duration of my stay. This wasn't really necessary, as there was no signal present, but it represented a personal commitment to willfully disconnect from the distractions of daily life. Each journey begins with small steps. This was one of mine.

About a dozen individuals arrived late Friday afternoon. While it became clear later that several had previously participated in sesshin, most of us were there for the first time. We checked in at the small office and were assigned sleeping quarters. Accommodations were spare, but comfortable. We each had a mattress on the floor, on which we laid a sleeping bag or whatever other bedding we had chosen to bring. I shared a loft and adjoining bathroom with 6-8 other men in a set of adjoining rooms they call "the loft".

As we were in the mountains in January, it was chilly, even in the bright sunshine that graced our weekend there. Contributing to the chill was a strong and persistent wind out of the north, blowing over the ridge just above us and rushing down the valley. It provided a dramatic backdrop of sound and motion throughout our stay. It would rise and fall and rise again, whistling through the tall pines, speaking to us of places and times ancient and far away. I was constantly reminded of the power and mystery of Wilderness.

Three vegetarian meals were provided daily in the small dining hall. At mealtime, we would cluster silently amongst the tables and chairs, enjoying the inviting warmth from the potbelly stove at one end, which was slowly turning logs into ash for our benefit. Each meal was preceded by a special chant of thanks, acknowledging the many hands that had brought it to us, and committing ourselves to use it in the honest and wholehearted pursuit of our practice. The food was simple and completely nourishing - brown rice, stews, soups, oatmeals, breads, fruit, nuts, etc.

We filled our own bowls, then sat and ate in silence. It's not uncommon for sesshin participants to report enhanced sensory experiences, including the sensation that food tastes extremely good. I confess that despite this fore-knowledge, I really did find this to be true. Mindfulness is a powerful lens.

When done, we washed our bowls and utensils ourselves, placing them in racks to dry. Beyond our personal cleanup, each of us was assigned to breakfast, lunch or dinner duty. At our assigned meal, and following cleanup of our own dishes, we went upstairs to clean the large industrial kitchen, putting any remaining food away and washing everything involved in the meal's preparation. This was community participation at its most basic level, in which all hands participated, and in so doing, the tasks were completed quickly - almost effortlessly.

Of course, the foundation of sesshin is meditation. Each day follows a regular schedule, containing 3 or 4 periods of it. Each period typically consists of 30 minutes of zazen, followed by kinhin (both slow and fast walking), followed by another period of zazen. Four of these periods are scattered throughout the day, interspersed with formal service, dharma talks, meals, work periods and personal time. The days are long, beginning before dawn and ending well into the evening. By the time Saturday was done, I had sat in zazen for something approaching 6 hours.

So, half way through that Saturday, I was feeling rather overwhelmed. Despite a great desire to be there, the prospect of simply “being present” for hours (not to mention days) on end began to crowd my consciousness. Can I do this? Have I misjudged myself? Is anyone else feeling this way? All sorts of mental chatter sprang up in my way and I found myself measuring out the rest of the time I would be there, as if bracing myself for some sort of grueling marathon.

And then a funny thing happened while I was conjuring up all this self-doubt: I just kept going, one step in front of the other (literally and figuratively). Events unfolded, moment by moment - as they always do - despite my mental trepidations. A rhythm developed - or rather, I simply allowed the rhythm of daily routine to surface. I let go of the storm thrashing my mental waters and in the inevitable stillness that returned with its departure, those waters had no choice but to quiet into a mirror in which I began to see myself again.

Breathe. Walk. Really smell the air. Really taste the food. Really hear the wind. Really feel the cold air bite. Welcome it in, embrace it. Embrace everything. Begin to acknowledge how incredibly beautiful the incredibly ordinary world I experience every day can be.

By the last meditation session of the day, my heart and mind were quite still, despite the growing aches in my body, induced by nearly 6 hours of sitting cross-legged. Our leader had wisely predicted this and suggested that moving to a chair might be helpful. There is no point to sit in pain if it distracts from the focus one is attempting to maintain. I made that choice, and while I certainly prefer sitting on the floor when I'm able, using a chair in the day's final session showed me his wisdom. A lesson was learned: form is important, but not if it overwhelms purpose.

Friday night I had slept fitfully, due in equal measure to unfamiliar surroundings, unfamiliar companions, unfamiliar accommodations, and unknown experiences ahead. But after my first full day, Saturday night was altogether different. The wind howled most urgently now, but I slept soundly from 9 PM until awakening naturally, relaxed and refreshed, shortly after 5 AM and prior to the morning bells. The wind was still tearing at the trees and buildings, but I felt serene.

Curiously, one of my first thoughts, lying there in the dark, was of Rene Descartes' famous quote, "I think, therefore I am". I was quite certain that he was wrong, for I was realizing that my thinking mind is not the foundation of my being, but rather, an edifice built upon something more fundamental. A better affirmation might be, "I'm a thinking being, therefore I think." Or more to the point, "my essence doesn't spring from mental processes - mental processes spring from my essence". At that moment, I simply knew this to be true, not through some rationalization or reasoning process, but rather, through direct experience of it, and it was a fairly radical new understanding, coming from one who has always prized intellectual prowess and achievement. This was but the first of several revelations of the new day.

As the day before, we began again our meditative rhythm before sunrise and by the second period of zazen, I was deeply connected with my surroundings. On Friday in the Buddha Hall, I had experienced great pleasure watching the slow progression of late afternoon sunlight across the floor. Now, as the sun rose on a new day, I again experienced its beautiful light, dancing on the floor - this time from a completely different direction. The swaying pines outside put the light in motion, a motion I witness often. But over time - minute by minute - I experienced a secondary motion - much slower than the first and suddenly, I realized that I was directly experiencing the Earth's rotation. Not thinking about it - experiencing it.

Sit quietly. Let go. Breathe. Watch. The subtler machinery of the cosmos reveals itself to us conscious creatures, if we but pay attention.

At the risk of hyperbole, I will say that what happened next was one of the most profound, revelatory experiences of my life. Words simply fail, but they are all I have, so I will persevere. I was sitting in my familiar zazen posture, completely still and calm, when quite suddenly I was filled with an intense, palpable joy. My chest filled with a glorious warmth, and a feeling of pure elation began to ring throughout my body. It was as if a doorway heretofore closed, had been opened, revealing a beauty utterly unexpected. A veil had lifted where I had no idea a veil existed at all.

Without warning, my body physically reacted. Tears welled spontaneously in my eyes and rolled down my face and continued to do so for many minutes. I was at first distracted by them as they tickled my skin, but quickly found I did not need to wipe them away, relishing the sensation and marveling at this astounding physical manifestation of an indescribable joy in my heart. Somehow, I knew Truth and Love was being visited upon me. I had no idea from whence they came, but only desired to experience them as completely as possible, for as long as possible.

As I ponder the memory and read these inadequate words, it occurs to me that this experience might be described by others as an experience of "God's presence" or "divine visitation". I am not a theist, but this rings completely true to me. While this intense experience did not last more than a handful of minutes, I found that a beautiful lightness remained in my heart throughout the day and beyond. Such clarity - not of thought, but of purpose! In its wake, all the little difficulties of daily life had become trivial. They were not so much resolved, as simply rendered insignificant by the revelation of a reality utterly new and beautiful. Thankfully, what had risen quickly and overwhelmingly, now lingered - like a great wave that had suddenly crashed against my personal shore, but now receded away only very slowly.

Yokoji has embraced a Native American tradition they call Council and incorporated it into the final day of sesshin. The assembled participants are, in turn, given an opportunity to briefly share anything at all with the group. As we proceeded around the Buddha Hall, a wide variety of personal experiences and thoughts from the preceding two days were shared by nearly everyone, yet a common theme of gratitude also emerged - gratitude for each other, for the opportunity to be here, for a beautiful shared experience.

When it was my turn, I could not help but recount my challenges from the day before, the dramatic transformation that had occured for me in a mere 24 hours, and the astounding joy I had experienced that very morning. I said that yesterday I had been counting the minutes remaining, and today I was wishing we could continue indefinitely. I was still full of emotion and I’m sure some heard the catch in my voice as I thanked everyone for their presence and community - a profound community sprung from a special commitment between strangers.

Later in the day, before we departed our separate ways, one of the others came to me and thanked me for my words during Council. They had rung true for her, as well, for she also had experienced a great personal happiness that morning. I thanked her for saying so and we bowed to each other in mutual gratitude.

Many more details of my first sesshin might be worth recounting, but I have already written a good deal more than I had planned, so they will have to wait for another time. A month has now past since that first sesshin, and the joy that visited me that Sunday morning has certainly mellowed, but I can say honestly that the experience seems to have changed me subtly. The lightness still pervades my days and nights, albeit softer and less urgent, yet still tangible, and I find a deeper appreciation for the opportunity to simply live each and every day.

I’ve often heard it said that spiritual enlightenment is not a dramatic, all-at-once “lightning bolt”, but rather a succession of little awakenings, experienced throughout life, often when least expected. My experience at sesshin certainly feels like such an awakening.

So, it should come as no surprise that I will be returning to Yokoji in the future, eager to deepen my practice in the company of others similarly committed to unfolding the layers of their lives. I look forward to that opportunity to uncover our true essence, together. And if any of this is compelling to you, I ask you to consider joining us. All are welcome, for this journey is deeply personal.

Until then, breathe - in, out. Take each step purposefully. Sit quietly. Watch. Listen. Be present, and sometimes the cosmos reveals.