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| Photo by Sara J. Heidt |
I could talk about the experience of being held by the schedule, flowing with the movement of the community throughout the day. But when I describe the details, they seem very narrow.
I could talk about the people. Each person, like me, looking to find something or deepen something. Each person bringing an openness and sensitivity to each meeting, or at least more than we would assume of the stranger who is gassing up his truck next to us at the service center. Again, saying it, it feels narrow.
I could try to explain how the weather nurtured me. Soft sunsets, blazing hot days, pouring sweat in the Zendo, waking up cold at 3 am. Narrow.
In the end, if I was going to offer anything about the time spent there, it would be zazen. The work was there, but that does not mean the work was in the zendo.
My first meeting with a Zen teacher was about 14 years ago. Alone with Daido Roshi (founder of ZMM) I asked him how I could go about bringing the clarity I found in zazen into the rest of my life. He said "sit more" and rang the bell, ending our meeting. I left in shock, certain that I had been blown off. It must have taken everything in his power not to scoff at my question. Brushed off. Yep, that was it. But despite my initial reaction, I had learned enough about practice to trust that there was something there; something to take a look at.
That exchange has informed my practice ever since. How does a person close the gap between zazen and the rest of their life? I tried mindfulness practices, little signs, mantras, you name it. In the end, the only thing that seemed to close this gap was more zazen. Over the years, the more I sat, the more readily that focus, that mind, was available. The gap bewteen zazen and everything else I saw or did began to close.
Now don't get me wrong, I still hit that gap a lot in my life. But today it is smaller, and it does not last as long when it arises. I have no doubt that zazen has been the key to this.
When I left for ZMM, I kept fixed in my mind that I was not running away from my difficulties. Those places in which we have trouble are not in the nature of the external circumstances of our lives, but how we use our mind when we encounter them. Sure enough, the shadows of my difficulties were cast at ZMM as well.
However, living in a practice community that is designed to help people wake up to their inherent nature, I was able to dive deep into a relentless, ceaseless awareness.
ZMM itself is an amazing place, but it is still just a place. The work of the sangha and teachers is a marvelous activity, but it is still just making soup, editing audio, cutting grass, and talking to people.
In these early years after the death of Daido Roshi, nostalgia is abundant. Sometimes it evens starts to cross the line into deification. He shaped a community and a form that presents countless entry points to practice, but the mind that built this place is not to be found in the stone building, the mountains or the rivers. During a retreat talk in July, Ryushin Sensei, the current abbot of ZMM said "you want to know Daido Roshi? Sit Zazen. That's him."
I went to that place. It was just a place. I left that place. Still just a place. But what moves from here to there and back is this changing life. I appreciate the time spent. I appreciate the training. It helped.
So go. Go to the mountain, but never leave the city. Then go back to the city without leaving the mountain. Maybe your mountain is in the Catskills. Maybe your mountain is in Toledo. Maybe it is on a cushion in the corner of the living room. Maybe it is in line at the gas station. Just go.
That's how it felt.
