For the first time in quite awhile I didn’t run at all over the weekend – I was participating in a weekend sesshin at our zendo that started Friday night and lasted until noon on Sunday. Every sesshin has its own subtle energies, its own memorable moments and flashes of insight that emerge from the silence and stillness. I had never previously sat at our zendo for an extended period of time during a hard cold spell, and the cold was a good teacher. It wasn’t until around 4 o’clock on Saturday when my body and mind came to the collective realization that some part of me was always going to be less than warm no matter how much I fought against it, and perhaps the best thing to do was simply be cold. I immediately felt my body relax, and my breathing and mind felt less rigid. The rest of my sesshin proceeded with considerably less tension. When even something as ordinary as a change in temperature can be a teacher, it’s no wonder we are exhorted to never let a moment pass by unaware.
As we were slowly pacing in kinhin after a sit during Saturday night, I was startled to pass by the totally prone figure of one of the participants – eyes closed and still lying on his back on the same bed of cushions he had been lying on during the rest period earlier. Were we not going to wake him up from his nap? I wondered, and then, startled, looked at his hands: he was holding them in the meditative mudra position. After we broke our silence at the end of the sesshin on Sunday, I found out what had happened: he had a recurring back problem that flared up and he had considered going home, then decided to stay and participate any way he was able. It was his first sesshin, and I found it both moving and inspiring to see him lying prone on the floor, hands in the mudra. It was a powerful image of perseverance and a true passion for the practice. It is, fortunately, an image I will probably never be able to forget.
