Understanding Sanshin style sesshin
The purpose of sesshin
Hoko Karnegis, senior dharma teacher
An experienced practitioner recently asked me, "What is the purpose of sesshin?" It's an important question, one we continue to ask even after we've completed many sesshin. It's not hard to look up the definition of the word and the meaning of the kanji (接心). 接 means to touch or bring together and 心 is the heart/mind, and we know that we're talking about a retreat that increases the intensity of our daily practice to some degree. However, we need some context to understand why we do this kind of practice at Sanshin and what part it plays in our practice life so we understand the attitude we need to take.
In the training temple (senmon sodo) in Japan, there are two patterns of intensifying and relaxing our practice. One is in the two practice periods (ango) held each summer and winter. These are three-month periods in which we remain in the temple and focus on our practice by carrying out a more intensive schedule. During the spring and fall quarters our schedule is a bit more relaxed and we can enter and leave the temple as necessary. Thus periods of more intensive practice are alternated with periods of more relaxed practice. The other pattern is in the monthly sesshin. For three, five or seven days each month we shorten our liturgy, put aside work periods and other activities and increase the number of zazen periods on the daily schedule. Taken together, the regular inward intensive focus alternated with the more relaxed approach are like breathing in and out, creating a practice life that is neither too strict nor too loose. This is the regular rhythm of life for a community of practitioners who already live and practice together every day.
In many Western dharma centers, sesshin is a sort of re-creation of the average day in the training temple. It includes liturgy, formal meals, work periods, dharma talks, dokusan and other things. Although this would be an unremarkable day to someone living in a training temple, it becomes a special event for householders who don't usually spend all day at the dharma center engaged in practice. It's an opportunity to participate in many kinds of activities during a short space of time, so rather than reducing the number of daily activities, it can feel like the increased intensity comes from the full and busy schedule.
Sanshin style sesshin is not like this. We do only three things during sesshin: eat, sleep and sit. Since our sesshin is completely silent, there's no liturgy or other chanting, no dharma talks and no dokusan. Uchiyama Roshi calls this style "sesshin without toys." We don't get to play with anticipating a beautiful service, getting the work assignment we want or putting our dharma questions to a teacher. We've got only the cushion, the wall, the bell, and our own hearts and minds, without the distraction of the elements of the life we would be living in the training temple.
I sometimes remind folks at the beginning that there are no "breaks" during sesshin. That doesn't mean that we ignore the needs of the body or that we need to be tough and harsh with ourselves. Sesshin is not a test of endurance for people with something to prove. "No breaks" means that there is no time during the sesshin at which we let go of zazen mind. Zazen is not always very interesting, and it's natural that after awhile, we want to do something else. It would be nice to step outside for a few minutes to look at something prettier than the wall, or to go see what's available in the library or on our phones. We're either chasing after something to play with or running away from thoughts we don't like. The problem is that we've just spent 50 minutes letting go of thought, and now we're just replacing one set of thoughts with another that we're going to spend the next 50 minutes trying not to grasp. One set of thoughts isn't better or worse than another. We've put ourselves into a container designed to help us let go of all thinking, even thinking about the dharma, and the idea that we need to "take a break" works against the very situation into which we've chosen to enter. Instead, we just immerse ourselves in the practice of letting thoughts come and go, hour after hour, without searching for anything else to do.
When you decide to come to Sanshin for sesshin, please take care of your practice by refraining from making the sesshin a special event in your life. It's simply the intensification for now of a practice you're already doing, not something at which you need to "succeed" or from which you need to wring all the benefits before your time is up. While there are certainly advantages to sitting sesshin in a zendo with a community that can provide leadership and support, you can also sit at home on your own following the daily schedule.
So what's the purpose of sesshin? I think it's the chance to remember what's at the core of our practice: clearly manifesting our Buddha nature. Yes, we do that no matter the activity of the moment, but zazen is where we really settle into it. We do only four things in our zazen: take the posture, keep the eyes open, breathe deeply through the nose and let go of thought. Taking care of just those four things hour after hour, we get really quiet and our vision clears. We return to the reality of this moment and we don't need to make anything out of it. Sesshin is challenging, but in the midst of it we find a deep rest.
Hoko Karnegis, senior dharma teacher
An experienced practitioner recently asked me, "What is the purpose of sesshin?" It's an important question, one we continue to ask even after we've completed many sesshin. It's not hard to look up the definition of the word and the meaning of the kanji (接心). 接 means to touch or bring together and 心 is the heart/mind, and we know that we're talking about a retreat that increases the intensity of our daily practice to some degree. However, we need some context to understand why we do this kind of practice at Sanshin and what part it plays in our practice life so we understand the attitude we need to take.
In the training temple (senmon sodo) in Japan, there are two patterns of intensifying and relaxing our practice. One is in the two practice periods (ango) held each summer and winter. These are three-month periods in which we remain in the temple and focus on our practice by carrying out a more intensive schedule. During the spring and fall quarters our schedule is a bit more relaxed and we can enter and leave the temple as necessary. Thus periods of more intensive practice are alternated with periods of more relaxed practice. The other pattern is in the monthly sesshin. For three, five or seven days each month we shorten our liturgy, put aside work periods and other activities and increase the number of zazen periods on the daily schedule. Taken together, the regular inward intensive focus alternated with the more relaxed approach are like breathing in and out, creating a practice life that is neither too strict nor too loose. This is the regular rhythm of life for a community of practitioners who already live and practice together every day.
In many Western dharma centers, sesshin is a sort of re-creation of the average day in the training temple. It includes liturgy, formal meals, work periods, dharma talks, dokusan and other things. Although this would be an unremarkable day to someone living in a training temple, it becomes a special event for householders who don't usually spend all day at the dharma center engaged in practice. It's an opportunity to participate in many kinds of activities during a short space of time, so rather than reducing the number of daily activities, it can feel like the increased intensity comes from the full and busy schedule.
Sanshin style sesshin is not like this. We do only three things during sesshin: eat, sleep and sit. Since our sesshin is completely silent, there's no liturgy or other chanting, no dharma talks and no dokusan. Uchiyama Roshi calls this style "sesshin without toys." We don't get to play with anticipating a beautiful service, getting the work assignment we want or putting our dharma questions to a teacher. We've got only the cushion, the wall, the bell, and our own hearts and minds, without the distraction of the elements of the life we would be living in the training temple.
I sometimes remind folks at the beginning that there are no "breaks" during sesshin. That doesn't mean that we ignore the needs of the body or that we need to be tough and harsh with ourselves. Sesshin is not a test of endurance for people with something to prove. "No breaks" means that there is no time during the sesshin at which we let go of zazen mind. Zazen is not always very interesting, and it's natural that after awhile, we want to do something else. It would be nice to step outside for a few minutes to look at something prettier than the wall, or to go see what's available in the library or on our phones. We're either chasing after something to play with or running away from thoughts we don't like. The problem is that we've just spent 50 minutes letting go of thought, and now we're just replacing one set of thoughts with another that we're going to spend the next 50 minutes trying not to grasp. One set of thoughts isn't better or worse than another. We've put ourselves into a container designed to help us let go of all thinking, even thinking about the dharma, and the idea that we need to "take a break" works against the very situation into which we've chosen to enter. Instead, we just immerse ourselves in the practice of letting thoughts come and go, hour after hour, without searching for anything else to do.
When you decide to come to Sanshin for sesshin, please take care of your practice by refraining from making the sesshin a special event in your life. It's simply the intensification for now of a practice you're already doing, not something at which you need to "succeed" or from which you need to wring all the benefits before your time is up. While there are certainly advantages to sitting sesshin in a zendo with a community that can provide leadership and support, you can also sit at home on your own following the daily schedule.
So what's the purpose of sesshin? I think it's the chance to remember what's at the core of our practice: clearly manifesting our Buddha nature. Yes, we do that no matter the activity of the moment, but zazen is where we really settle into it. We do only four things in our zazen: take the posture, keep the eyes open, breathe deeply through the nose and let go of thought. Taking care of just those four things hour after hour, we get really quiet and our vision clears. We return to the reality of this moment and we don't need to make anything out of it. Sesshin is challenging, but in the midst of it we find a deep rest.
The origin of our style of sesshin
Because zazen is so central to our practice, we might assume that sesshin is an ancient tradition. Like several other familiar elements of our practice, such as kinhin, it's really only been around for four hundred or five hundred years, when Japanese temples began engaging in sesshin in order to spend some focused time on zazen. Generally, activities such as work periods and long morning services are set aside so that that time can be redirected to zazen. The life of the temple must go on, so the day still includes liturgy and other basic functions, and perhaps some teachings. This kind of day looks similar to what happens during sesshin in a dharma center in North America, but it's not what Sawaki Roshi and subsequently Uchiyama Roshi wanted to do.
Sawaki Roshi was ordained as a novice at the end of the 19th century. He had been practicing at Eiheiji, but he saw that zazen was not the central activity of the day there and made arrangements to stay instead in an abandoned temple in Nara. Entering and closing the gate, he sat by himself for two or three years. He had to go off to fight in the Russo-Japanese War in the early 1900s, and after the war he returned to his practice and to the study of the Shobogenzo. By 1935 he was teaching zazen at Kanazawa University.
The style of sesshin we do at Sanshin began in the 1940s, when Sawaki Roshi practiced at Daichoji. He was not always in residence there, but he came once a month for a standard sesshin, which probably included liturgy, meals using oryoki, a dharma talk and a work period. Many people from outside the temple came to participate. When Sawaki Roshi was away, however, the residents of the temple held a second monthly sesshin for themselves which only included sitting. During this sannai (inside the temple) sesshin, sitting went on 24 hours a day. The day began at 2 am and followed a familiar pattern of 50-minute zazen periods and 10-minute kinhin periods until midnight. After that time, until 2 am, there was no kyosaku and the residents could sleep while sitting on their cushions. This was the first place where Uchiyama Roshi practiced, having been ordained as a novice in 1941, and he stayed until 1944, when the residents had to leave the temple during World War II. They didn't have a consistent place to practice until 1948, when they settled at Antaiji.
Antaiji had been founded in 1920 by Oka Sotan, who, among other things, served as the president of Komazawa University and a director at Eiheiji. It was re-established with funding from a former Soto Zen clergy turned successful businessman as a place for Komazawa graduates to study Dogen's teachings. With those funds no longer available due to the war, the temple was empty and thus available to Sawaki and his disciples. Antaiji had no lay members and thus no regular donations. Nonetheless, two monthly sesshins went on as usual, one with Sawaki Roshi and one without.
Eventually, Uchiyama Roshi took over leadership of Antaiji, and began to modify his teacher's sesshin schedule. To protect their wellbeing, participants now slept from 9 pm to 4 am and on that basis were expected not to sleep during zazen. As had happened with Sawaki Roshi, many people came from outside to participate. The usual dozen or so residents were joined by as many Japanese laypeople and as many again foreigners living in the area. This is the sesshin that Okumura Roshi engaged in while living and practicing at Antaiji, and the style that he vowed to transmit to us in North America.
Because zazen is so central to our practice, we might assume that sesshin is an ancient tradition. Like several other familiar elements of our practice, such as kinhin, it's really only been around for four hundred or five hundred years, when Japanese temples began engaging in sesshin in order to spend some focused time on zazen. Generally, activities such as work periods and long morning services are set aside so that that time can be redirected to zazen. The life of the temple must go on, so the day still includes liturgy and other basic functions, and perhaps some teachings. This kind of day looks similar to what happens during sesshin in a dharma center in North America, but it's not what Sawaki Roshi and subsequently Uchiyama Roshi wanted to do.
Sawaki Roshi was ordained as a novice at the end of the 19th century. He had been practicing at Eiheiji, but he saw that zazen was not the central activity of the day there and made arrangements to stay instead in an abandoned temple in Nara. Entering and closing the gate, he sat by himself for two or three years. He had to go off to fight in the Russo-Japanese War in the early 1900s, and after the war he returned to his practice and to the study of the Shobogenzo. By 1935 he was teaching zazen at Kanazawa University.
The style of sesshin we do at Sanshin began in the 1940s, when Sawaki Roshi practiced at Daichoji. He was not always in residence there, but he came once a month for a standard sesshin, which probably included liturgy, meals using oryoki, a dharma talk and a work period. Many people from outside the temple came to participate. When Sawaki Roshi was away, however, the residents of the temple held a second monthly sesshin for themselves which only included sitting. During this sannai (inside the temple) sesshin, sitting went on 24 hours a day. The day began at 2 am and followed a familiar pattern of 50-minute zazen periods and 10-minute kinhin periods until midnight. After that time, until 2 am, there was no kyosaku and the residents could sleep while sitting on their cushions. This was the first place where Uchiyama Roshi practiced, having been ordained as a novice in 1941, and he stayed until 1944, when the residents had to leave the temple during World War II. They didn't have a consistent place to practice until 1948, when they settled at Antaiji.
Antaiji had been founded in 1920 by Oka Sotan, who, among other things, served as the president of Komazawa University and a director at Eiheiji. It was re-established with funding from a former Soto Zen clergy turned successful businessman as a place for Komazawa graduates to study Dogen's teachings. With those funds no longer available due to the war, the temple was empty and thus available to Sawaki and his disciples. Antaiji had no lay members and thus no regular donations. Nonetheless, two monthly sesshins went on as usual, one with Sawaki Roshi and one without.
Eventually, Uchiyama Roshi took over leadership of Antaiji, and began to modify his teacher's sesshin schedule. To protect their wellbeing, participants now slept from 9 pm to 4 am and on that basis were expected not to sleep during zazen. As had happened with Sawaki Roshi, many people came from outside to participate. The usual dozen or so residents were joined by as many Japanese laypeople and as many again foreigners living in the area. This is the sesshin that Okumura Roshi engaged in while living and practicing at Antaiji, and the style that he vowed to transmit to us in North America.
The sesshin day
Sesshin may be three, five, or in the case of Rohatsu sesshin in December, seven days long. On the opening day, participants gather for announcements and a review of mealtime procedures. Following some final dharma words from the sesshin leader, we begin our silent practice with several periods of zazen and end the day.
The daily schedule during sesshin is very simple. Maintaining complete silence throughout the day, we begin sitting at 4:10 am and sit two 50-minute periods with a 10-minute period of kinhin in the middle. Servers quickly set up low folding tables in the zendo and bring in the containers of food, and we gather with our bowls for breakfast. There is no chanting; the jikido signals us with the clappers when the doshi is ready for the steps of opening bowls, getting our food, eating and cleaning up. Following the meal, the servers put away the tables, the cleanup person starts work in the kitchen, and everyone else tends to personal business for half an hour or so before the next block of zazen periods begins at 7:10.
Five more periods of zazen alternating with kinhin take us to noon, and it's time for lunch. Once again, at the end of zazen, servers prepare the tables and food and we eat another silent meal. Half an hour of personal time is followed by five more periods of zazen beginning at 1:10 pm, dinner, brief personal time, two more zazen periods, and the end of the day. Participants take out their bedding and sleep in the zendo, or camp on the grounds, or go home for the night and return in the morning.
On the final (Sunday) morning, we practice as usual through breakfast. After that, we break silence and prepare to welcome the rest of the sangha for our usual Sunday zazen period, dharma talk and informal teatime. Following practice and reconnection with the larger sangha, participants make their way home.
It's important to know that the simple and repetitive schedule is intentional in itself, and is not the result of anyone disliking various other activities, finding them meaningless, or not knowing how to carry them out. The second of Sanshin's six points of practice, keeping forms simple so we know what we're doing and why, is relevant here. There are times and places for morning liturgy, for instance, but this sort of sesshin is not one of them. As we'll see, stripping our activities down to the essentials and keeping forms simple during sesshin allows us to let go of relationships, helping us to return to the self that is only the self. Without distraction, we have the opportunity to see more clearly what's going on in our hearts and minds -- without interacting with whatever is happening there.
Sesshin may be three, five, or in the case of Rohatsu sesshin in December, seven days long. On the opening day, participants gather for announcements and a review of mealtime procedures. Following some final dharma words from the sesshin leader, we begin our silent practice with several periods of zazen and end the day.
The daily schedule during sesshin is very simple. Maintaining complete silence throughout the day, we begin sitting at 4:10 am and sit two 50-minute periods with a 10-minute period of kinhin in the middle. Servers quickly set up low folding tables in the zendo and bring in the containers of food, and we gather with our bowls for breakfast. There is no chanting; the jikido signals us with the clappers when the doshi is ready for the steps of opening bowls, getting our food, eating and cleaning up. Following the meal, the servers put away the tables, the cleanup person starts work in the kitchen, and everyone else tends to personal business for half an hour or so before the next block of zazen periods begins at 7:10.
Five more periods of zazen alternating with kinhin take us to noon, and it's time for lunch. Once again, at the end of zazen, servers prepare the tables and food and we eat another silent meal. Half an hour of personal time is followed by five more periods of zazen beginning at 1:10 pm, dinner, brief personal time, two more zazen periods, and the end of the day. Participants take out their bedding and sleep in the zendo, or camp on the grounds, or go home for the night and return in the morning.
On the final (Sunday) morning, we practice as usual through breakfast. After that, we break silence and prepare to welcome the rest of the sangha for our usual Sunday zazen period, dharma talk and informal teatime. Following practice and reconnection with the larger sangha, participants make their way home.
It's important to know that the simple and repetitive schedule is intentional in itself, and is not the result of anyone disliking various other activities, finding them meaningless, or not knowing how to carry them out. The second of Sanshin's six points of practice, keeping forms simple so we know what we're doing and why, is relevant here. There are times and places for morning liturgy, for instance, but this sort of sesshin is not one of them. As we'll see, stripping our activities down to the essentials and keeping forms simple during sesshin allows us to let go of relationships, helping us to return to the self that is only the self. Without distraction, we have the opportunity to see more clearly what's going on in our hearts and minds -- without interacting with whatever is happening there.
No one is forcing you to sit
Although it seems obvious, sometimes we forget that we practice of our own free will. No one is requiring that we take precepts or study the dharma or sit sesshin. No one is requiring even that we sit zazen at all. Somehow we make our own decision that we want to practice. However, it's not as though at that moment we've signed up for something and now we're going to be carried along by a system or structure that's going to go to work on us, move us through various milestones, and turn us out the other end as a finished product. We have to do our own practice; no one can do it for us. This is a recurrent theme in the teachings of the Buddha as well as both Sawaki and Uchiyama Roshis. We have to walk forward on our own legs in the direction that we want to go.
This means that we have to take responsibility for ourselves. We don't step into the sesshin container expecting it to do the work for us. We're not reliant on system requirements or on the expectations of others to keep us on the cushion for 14 zazen periods a day, and what we do with ourselves during those 14 periods is our own problem. If we decide that instead of doing zazen we'd rather analyze our circumstances, figure out how to be more creative, or "work through" our emotional struggles, it's our own doing if by the end of sesshin we realize that we've wasted a precious opportunity to awaken from the fabrication of self. If we're feeling constrained and constricted by the unchanging nature of the schedule, and compelled to rebel against the restrictions being imposed upon us, we're only rebelling against our own desire to sit sesshin. Our resistance isn't going to convince the leadership to change the schedule, make the container feel any less restrictive, or make us any less uncomfortable. We're simply working against our own aspiration to practice, and then there's little point in being in the zendo. No one is forcing us to be there, and maybe our time would be better spent elsewhere. Even if we don't intend to do these things, if we cast about for something to work on or savor during zazen in order to entertain ourselves, we're wasting our time.
One of the most important things about the sesshin container is the opportunity for restraint. The established daily schedule does not include time for looking things up on the internet, talking with friends, napping, or enjoying a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood -- and we can take this as a gift rather than a condition against which we should rebel. It's not often that we can free ourselves from these things. Writer Pico Iyer recently noted, "The future of travel, I’m reliably told, lies in 'black-hole resorts,' which charge high prices precisely because you can’t get online in their rooms." When we participate in sesshin, we voluntarily restrain ourselves from engaging in our usual distractions, and for some, this may feel like the most challenging endurance of all. Yet, secluding ourselves from the ordinary activities and obligations of our daily lives from time to time is a practice we share with many other spiritual traditions in order to make the space necessary to see our hindrances and move them out of the way. Sawaki Roshi said that he spent his entire life being watched by zazen, being scolded by zazen and being blocked by zazen. That doesn't mean he was struggling with sitting. It's an expression of the reality that in zazen, our delusions are obstructed, and that the small self that is driven by ego is restrained from doing whatever it wants. Loosening the ego's grip and its need for control is an important part of encountering the universal self and experiencing some peace.
Since the schedule is fairly demanding even today, participants sometimes ask whether they can skip periods in order to go do other things. In this style of sesshin, every period is zuiza, or free sitting, and it is completely possible to create your own schedule. If you choose to move in and out of the sesshin container, no one will stop you (unless you have a work assignment and others are counting on you), but you'll need to ask yourself why you've chosen to participate in this type of sesshin, where the whole point is to be in a circumstance with as little influence from the outside world and as much repetition and consistency as possible. Popping in and out, even for one period, breaks the container for you and works against your aspiration. It's like wriggling and squirming during zazen.
Consider the challenge of spending hours at a time letting go of thought and loosening the grip of your own habituated thinking, going out of the zendo to engage in some other more interesting activity, and then returning and trying once again to settle into the sesshin. Okumura Roshi explained, "In Uchiyama-style sesshin, we just follow the bell or gong. We don’t need to think about what is next. Next is always sitting. That is the difference between his style of sesshin and other kinds of sesshin where there are many different kinds of activities like chanting, oryoki meals, lectures or interview or work practice. In that case, we go back and forth between sitting and other activities, and we have to think what is next and it takes a little time to return to zazen. That is why I make a clear distinction between sesshin and retreat. During sesshin we really focus on sitting without doing anything else."
There is no reward for time spent on the cushion. No one is keeping score toward moving you closer to an upgrade. It won't qualify you for anything. No system or outside authority is making you sit. It's always your own choice. What are you going to do with that opportunity? If you're not really interested in meeting the universal self, why sit sesshin? If, however, you have this persistent feeling that there's something beyond your own voice that you ought to be in touch with, something beyond the usual subject/object view that results from the fabrications of your thinking about who you are, then sesshin can be a place to experience that.
Although it seems obvious, sometimes we forget that we practice of our own free will. No one is requiring that we take precepts or study the dharma or sit sesshin. No one is requiring even that we sit zazen at all. Somehow we make our own decision that we want to practice. However, it's not as though at that moment we've signed up for something and now we're going to be carried along by a system or structure that's going to go to work on us, move us through various milestones, and turn us out the other end as a finished product. We have to do our own practice; no one can do it for us. This is a recurrent theme in the teachings of the Buddha as well as both Sawaki and Uchiyama Roshis. We have to walk forward on our own legs in the direction that we want to go.
This means that we have to take responsibility for ourselves. We don't step into the sesshin container expecting it to do the work for us. We're not reliant on system requirements or on the expectations of others to keep us on the cushion for 14 zazen periods a day, and what we do with ourselves during those 14 periods is our own problem. If we decide that instead of doing zazen we'd rather analyze our circumstances, figure out how to be more creative, or "work through" our emotional struggles, it's our own doing if by the end of sesshin we realize that we've wasted a precious opportunity to awaken from the fabrication of self. If we're feeling constrained and constricted by the unchanging nature of the schedule, and compelled to rebel against the restrictions being imposed upon us, we're only rebelling against our own desire to sit sesshin. Our resistance isn't going to convince the leadership to change the schedule, make the container feel any less restrictive, or make us any less uncomfortable. We're simply working against our own aspiration to practice, and then there's little point in being in the zendo. No one is forcing us to be there, and maybe our time would be better spent elsewhere. Even if we don't intend to do these things, if we cast about for something to work on or savor during zazen in order to entertain ourselves, we're wasting our time.
One of the most important things about the sesshin container is the opportunity for restraint. The established daily schedule does not include time for looking things up on the internet, talking with friends, napping, or enjoying a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood -- and we can take this as a gift rather than a condition against which we should rebel. It's not often that we can free ourselves from these things. Writer Pico Iyer recently noted, "The future of travel, I’m reliably told, lies in 'black-hole resorts,' which charge high prices precisely because you can’t get online in their rooms." When we participate in sesshin, we voluntarily restrain ourselves from engaging in our usual distractions, and for some, this may feel like the most challenging endurance of all. Yet, secluding ourselves from the ordinary activities and obligations of our daily lives from time to time is a practice we share with many other spiritual traditions in order to make the space necessary to see our hindrances and move them out of the way. Sawaki Roshi said that he spent his entire life being watched by zazen, being scolded by zazen and being blocked by zazen. That doesn't mean he was struggling with sitting. It's an expression of the reality that in zazen, our delusions are obstructed, and that the small self that is driven by ego is restrained from doing whatever it wants. Loosening the ego's grip and its need for control is an important part of encountering the universal self and experiencing some peace.
Since the schedule is fairly demanding even today, participants sometimes ask whether they can skip periods in order to go do other things. In this style of sesshin, every period is zuiza, or free sitting, and it is completely possible to create your own schedule. If you choose to move in and out of the sesshin container, no one will stop you (unless you have a work assignment and others are counting on you), but you'll need to ask yourself why you've chosen to participate in this type of sesshin, where the whole point is to be in a circumstance with as little influence from the outside world and as much repetition and consistency as possible. Popping in and out, even for one period, breaks the container for you and works against your aspiration. It's like wriggling and squirming during zazen.
Consider the challenge of spending hours at a time letting go of thought and loosening the grip of your own habituated thinking, going out of the zendo to engage in some other more interesting activity, and then returning and trying once again to settle into the sesshin. Okumura Roshi explained, "In Uchiyama-style sesshin, we just follow the bell or gong. We don’t need to think about what is next. Next is always sitting. That is the difference between his style of sesshin and other kinds of sesshin where there are many different kinds of activities like chanting, oryoki meals, lectures or interview or work practice. In that case, we go back and forth between sitting and other activities, and we have to think what is next and it takes a little time to return to zazen. That is why I make a clear distinction between sesshin and retreat. During sesshin we really focus on sitting without doing anything else."
There is no reward for time spent on the cushion. No one is keeping score toward moving you closer to an upgrade. It won't qualify you for anything. No system or outside authority is making you sit. It's always your own choice. What are you going to do with that opportunity? If you're not really interested in meeting the universal self, why sit sesshin? If, however, you have this persistent feeling that there's something beyond your own voice that you ought to be in touch with, something beyond the usual subject/object view that results from the fabrications of your thinking about who you are, then sesshin can be a place to experience that.
To stop being in relationship with others
"In the beginning it is natural that we want to understand what is written or what the teacher is saying," Okumura Roshi explained, "but after a certain time, it becomes less important. If we practice with way-seeking mind, we will reach a certain point when we see that because of this desire to attain something, our practice is different from what Uchiyama Roshi is describing." In fact, his sesshin is a space in which we have a very limited opportunity to rely on others. He demonstrated this himself by facing the wall during zazen like everyone else, which was a departure from the usual arrangement in which the head of the temple, as well as a few other practice leaders, faced into the room, keeping an eye on the practitioners as they sat. With no authorities watching, they had to make up their own minds to maintain the posture, keep their eyes open, breathe deeply and open the hand of thought. If they chose instead to sleep, daydream, play with delusions or write stories about themselves, there was no one to stop them. There was no us-and-them, subject-and-object relationship between the people in the zendo. Everyone was alone.
In a way, this style harkens back to Buddhist India, where practitioners did not gather in a sodo to practice but did their sitting in their own huts or hermitages. Likewise, Sawaki Roshi's disciples. including Uchiyama Roshi, carried on their sesshin practice when he wasn't there to keep an eye on them. Uchiyama Roshi felt that the quality of the practice changed and they lost touch with their internal aspiration when they depended on someone or something else to force them to wake up. "Uchiyama Roshi’s idea of sesshin was to be really focused on ourselves, just facing the wall, facing ourselves, and facing the Buddha with no distractions or relationship with the person walking behind or with the teacher watching," recalled Okumura Roshi. "No one helps us to wake up, so we have to make effort, and we have to face ourselves. No one forces us to wake up or even to sit. In our everyday life we define who I am and what I should do in terms of our relationships with others, but during sesshin there are no others, so we are released from this relation between self and others. When we are released, we have responsibility to be alone and wake up."
If the teacher is facing the wall and not keeping watch on everyone else, he doesn't give up doing his own zazen for the sake of leading others. He's not in that sort of relationship with them. Likewise, practitioners are not concerned about being watched by someone else, and they are not in a relationship with watchers. All practitioners, from the teacher to the newest beginner, are taking care of their own practice. Uchiyama Roshi's instruction to sesshin participants was that you apply yourself to your own practice regardless of anyone else. Others are not evaluating you, and you are not evaluating others. You are simply practicing alone together.
This approach to sesshin is a direct manifestation of Sawaki Roshi's understanding of Dogen's teachings about jijuyu zammai, or the complete functioning of the universe. Sawaki Rochi explained it this way: “Zazen is the self doing itself by itself.” In zazen there is no separation between self and others, or subject and object. Okumura Roshi said that this is an essential point of this kind of sesshin, as well as of our practice of zazen overall. "According to Uchiyama Roshi, our life as a whole from birth to death is the same: self doing the self for the self with the self. Our entire lifetime, from our birth to death, is in a sense one period of zazen." Seeing the sesshin, from the first set of three bells on Day 1 to the last bell on the last day, as one continuous period of zazen is absolutely necessary if we're to understand why our immediate ancestors were so enamored of this unusual form -- and why choosing to break the container is such a hindrance.
Uchiyama Roshi pointed out that there are two things that make this kind of sesshin unusual. One is that there is no talking at all, and the other is that the teacher faces the wall. The point of these two elements was to make it more possible for participants to experience becoming what he called “the self that is only the self” (jiko giri no jiko). This is the self we recognize when we awaken from the daydream of "I." Sesshin helps us encounter that self by minimizing our interactions and relationships with others and leaving us alone with our practice. Facing the wall, we are only facing ourselves. We have no choice but to see that no one is compelling us to practice, and no one can do our practice for us. If we can see that in sesshin, we can also realize that we always have to live our own lives, make our own choices, take responsibility for ourselves and walk on our own legs. This is one aspect of the self that is only the self. The other aspect is that of the self that includes everything.
There is nothing which is separate from the universal self. As Okumura Roshi has said, "There is no interaction with others, but this self that has no interaction with others includes everything within it. One is the self without relationship to others, and the other is the self which includes everything." During sesshin, when we're not operating in a world governed by our relationships with others, our definition of our selves can drop away. I am not a teacher and you are not a student. I am not a senior citizen and you are not a young person. I am not clergy and you are not a layperson. I am not American and you are not whatever nationality you are. There's no comparison, categorizing and separation going on. If we don't have to put energy into keeping up appearances and perpetuating the fiction of ourselves, even to ourselves, we can rest in this moment and simply be the self that is only the self. Embellishments and images are not necessary. We model practice not by having some idea that we manage our oryoki bowls better than others but by dropping all ideas that that sort of comparison is real. This is what it means to move beyond subject and object, according to Okumura Roshi. "When we are just sitting, without talking, without interacting with anything, we feel that we separate ourselves from the rest of the world and become alone. Is this what Buddhist teachings teach? To live in this way? It is not. When we sit alone and are really by ourselves without any separation or interaction with others, what we find in our zazen is that when object disappears, subject also disappears, because subject is grasped within the relation with others. When object disappears, subject also disappears." Thus the self is completely alone, completely together with all beings, and functioning conventionally in society.
"In the beginning it is natural that we want to understand what is written or what the teacher is saying," Okumura Roshi explained, "but after a certain time, it becomes less important. If we practice with way-seeking mind, we will reach a certain point when we see that because of this desire to attain something, our practice is different from what Uchiyama Roshi is describing." In fact, his sesshin is a space in which we have a very limited opportunity to rely on others. He demonstrated this himself by facing the wall during zazen like everyone else, which was a departure from the usual arrangement in which the head of the temple, as well as a few other practice leaders, faced into the room, keeping an eye on the practitioners as they sat. With no authorities watching, they had to make up their own minds to maintain the posture, keep their eyes open, breathe deeply and open the hand of thought. If they chose instead to sleep, daydream, play with delusions or write stories about themselves, there was no one to stop them. There was no us-and-them, subject-and-object relationship between the people in the zendo. Everyone was alone.
In a way, this style harkens back to Buddhist India, where practitioners did not gather in a sodo to practice but did their sitting in their own huts or hermitages. Likewise, Sawaki Roshi's disciples. including Uchiyama Roshi, carried on their sesshin practice when he wasn't there to keep an eye on them. Uchiyama Roshi felt that the quality of the practice changed and they lost touch with their internal aspiration when they depended on someone or something else to force them to wake up. "Uchiyama Roshi’s idea of sesshin was to be really focused on ourselves, just facing the wall, facing ourselves, and facing the Buddha with no distractions or relationship with the person walking behind or with the teacher watching," recalled Okumura Roshi. "No one helps us to wake up, so we have to make effort, and we have to face ourselves. No one forces us to wake up or even to sit. In our everyday life we define who I am and what I should do in terms of our relationships with others, but during sesshin there are no others, so we are released from this relation between self and others. When we are released, we have responsibility to be alone and wake up."
If the teacher is facing the wall and not keeping watch on everyone else, he doesn't give up doing his own zazen for the sake of leading others. He's not in that sort of relationship with them. Likewise, practitioners are not concerned about being watched by someone else, and they are not in a relationship with watchers. All practitioners, from the teacher to the newest beginner, are taking care of their own practice. Uchiyama Roshi's instruction to sesshin participants was that you apply yourself to your own practice regardless of anyone else. Others are not evaluating you, and you are not evaluating others. You are simply practicing alone together.
This approach to sesshin is a direct manifestation of Sawaki Roshi's understanding of Dogen's teachings about jijuyu zammai, or the complete functioning of the universe. Sawaki Rochi explained it this way: “Zazen is the self doing itself by itself.” In zazen there is no separation between self and others, or subject and object. Okumura Roshi said that this is an essential point of this kind of sesshin, as well as of our practice of zazen overall. "According to Uchiyama Roshi, our life as a whole from birth to death is the same: self doing the self for the self with the self. Our entire lifetime, from our birth to death, is in a sense one period of zazen." Seeing the sesshin, from the first set of three bells on Day 1 to the last bell on the last day, as one continuous period of zazen is absolutely necessary if we're to understand why our immediate ancestors were so enamored of this unusual form -- and why choosing to break the container is such a hindrance.
Uchiyama Roshi pointed out that there are two things that make this kind of sesshin unusual. One is that there is no talking at all, and the other is that the teacher faces the wall. The point of these two elements was to make it more possible for participants to experience becoming what he called “the self that is only the self” (jiko giri no jiko). This is the self we recognize when we awaken from the daydream of "I." Sesshin helps us encounter that self by minimizing our interactions and relationships with others and leaving us alone with our practice. Facing the wall, we are only facing ourselves. We have no choice but to see that no one is compelling us to practice, and no one can do our practice for us. If we can see that in sesshin, we can also realize that we always have to live our own lives, make our own choices, take responsibility for ourselves and walk on our own legs. This is one aspect of the self that is only the self. The other aspect is that of the self that includes everything.
There is nothing which is separate from the universal self. As Okumura Roshi has said, "There is no interaction with others, but this self that has no interaction with others includes everything within it. One is the self without relationship to others, and the other is the self which includes everything." During sesshin, when we're not operating in a world governed by our relationships with others, our definition of our selves can drop away. I am not a teacher and you are not a student. I am not a senior citizen and you are not a young person. I am not clergy and you are not a layperson. I am not American and you are not whatever nationality you are. There's no comparison, categorizing and separation going on. If we don't have to put energy into keeping up appearances and perpetuating the fiction of ourselves, even to ourselves, we can rest in this moment and simply be the self that is only the self. Embellishments and images are not necessary. We model practice not by having some idea that we manage our oryoki bowls better than others but by dropping all ideas that that sort of comparison is real. This is what it means to move beyond subject and object, according to Okumura Roshi. "When we are just sitting, without talking, without interacting with anything, we feel that we separate ourselves from the rest of the world and become alone. Is this what Buddhist teachings teach? To live in this way? It is not. When we sit alone and are really by ourselves without any separation or interaction with others, what we find in our zazen is that when object disappears, subject also disappears, because subject is grasped within the relation with others. When object disappears, subject also disappears." Thus the self is completely alone, completely together with all beings, and functioning conventionally in society.
Enduring sesshin
There's a lot of advice in books or on the internet about to manage your sesshin experience: what to do about physical pain, how to deal with boredom or sleepiness, what sort of attitude we should have, or how to prepare. All of those things seem useful; after all, sesshin is demanding and you've taken time out of your busy life to attend, so you want to make sure you're ready to have the optimal experience. However, all of those mechanics and techniques fall away when you really understand what Sawaki Roshi and Uchiyama Roshi were doing with sesshin. We can turn the techniques and coping mechanisms with which we sometimes think we need to arm ourselves into toys that simply perpetuate the dream of "me." If we approach sesshin as an endurance test, we're just continuing the story that there's an I that needs to endure something -- and that successfully surviving sesshin makes this I into somebody with certain characteristics. Enduring sesshin, or assuming that we can get better at it, makes it into a project, no less than coming to sesshin with the idea that we'll emerge more content, clear-eyed or kind. Projects require both personal determination and a framework of linear time through which we move from mistake-filled beginning to skilled and competent end. This is not the world of sesshin, which functions only in this moment. In order to avoid getting ensnared by our coping mechanisms, we need to understand both what happens to time during sesshin, and also the nature of our effort.
If all thinking is fabrication, then time is also a human construct. Before we decided to carve up time into minutes and years and centuries, there was only one seamless moment, the eternal now. This is the actual reality of universal functioning, before we poke our heads in and start making observations and measurements. That's not to say that we don't need an agreed-upon concept of time in order to do our work in the world; we just need to remember that we've made it up for ourselves. In sesshin, because we are not in relationship with others and our activities and assignments are very simple, we can let go of time and experience this present moment as the actual, real moment, before we start to think and write a story. How much longer is this gosh-darn period? Did the jikido fall asleep? I can't wait for lunch, and I hope we're having that delicious baked tempeh. Wait -- what am I doing? Let go of that thought. Back to zazen. As soon as we do let go, we stop comparing this moment to any other moment, and time ceases to flow, whether quickly or slowly. Yes, at some point the bell will ring for lunch, and we will do our job and bring in the food, but there is really only now. "When we don’t measure time, it passes of its own accord," Okumura Roshi says. "There is no self which is observed or measures the time. If we sit trying to measure the time, it is really nonsense. The important point is to give up that kind of self power effort."
That brings us to the other reason that sesshin is not an endurance test. If there is no "I" then there is no one making an effort, whether to speculate about time, overcome obstacles, manage pain or avoid falling asleep. This is not to say that we shouldn't take care of our bodies; they are, after all, the ground of our practice. However, it's not a matter of gritting our teeth, telling ourselves we can do it, and getting through somehow using our own willpower. Zazen shows us that struggle comes from our own ideas about difficulty and our resistance to things that are other than the way we want them. As soon as there's a struggle, there's an I struggling against an object. We forget that we don't sit zazen as individuals, and we don't do sesshin as individuals, and we're not in relationship with others. When we give up the separation, we can see the limits of the small self and instead immerse ourselves in the universal self.
What a conundrum! This is why we need to investigate the teaching that the self that doesn't interact with others includes everything. The energy that drives our zazen or sesshin practice comes from the place before we create separation between subject and object or self and other. Until we understand this teaching, we can believe that patience, endurance or toughness is the basis of our motivation to practice. We certainly need intention, aspiration and focus, because practice isn't easy. The problem is that endurance is based on an I that wants to achieve something, and we have to do some careful discernment about our desire to come to sesshin and what we may be looking to get from it.
Since we can't power through on our own, at some point during the sesshin we probably give up the idea that endurance is necessary or even possible, and then the separation can dissolve. As individuals, we can't control what's happening, or make it better or even OK. In fact, much of our struggle is the result of retaining this individual approach and being deceived by our delusions into thinking that liking and disliking will help or that we should be creating some perfect conditions that don't involve daydreaming or sleeping on the cushion. Waking up from the fiction of small self and seeing that zazen is the only reality is the opportunity sesshin offers to us. Uchiyama Roshi called this becoming submerged in zazen, or just sitting. It's possible then to see how "enduring" sesshin doesn't make sense. “I just have to hang on for one more period -- then I can go to sleep,” reflects an important misunderstanding about sesshin.
There's a lot of advice in books or on the internet about to manage your sesshin experience: what to do about physical pain, how to deal with boredom or sleepiness, what sort of attitude we should have, or how to prepare. All of those things seem useful; after all, sesshin is demanding and you've taken time out of your busy life to attend, so you want to make sure you're ready to have the optimal experience. However, all of those mechanics and techniques fall away when you really understand what Sawaki Roshi and Uchiyama Roshi were doing with sesshin. We can turn the techniques and coping mechanisms with which we sometimes think we need to arm ourselves into toys that simply perpetuate the dream of "me." If we approach sesshin as an endurance test, we're just continuing the story that there's an I that needs to endure something -- and that successfully surviving sesshin makes this I into somebody with certain characteristics. Enduring sesshin, or assuming that we can get better at it, makes it into a project, no less than coming to sesshin with the idea that we'll emerge more content, clear-eyed or kind. Projects require both personal determination and a framework of linear time through which we move from mistake-filled beginning to skilled and competent end. This is not the world of sesshin, which functions only in this moment. In order to avoid getting ensnared by our coping mechanisms, we need to understand both what happens to time during sesshin, and also the nature of our effort.
If all thinking is fabrication, then time is also a human construct. Before we decided to carve up time into minutes and years and centuries, there was only one seamless moment, the eternal now. This is the actual reality of universal functioning, before we poke our heads in and start making observations and measurements. That's not to say that we don't need an agreed-upon concept of time in order to do our work in the world; we just need to remember that we've made it up for ourselves. In sesshin, because we are not in relationship with others and our activities and assignments are very simple, we can let go of time and experience this present moment as the actual, real moment, before we start to think and write a story. How much longer is this gosh-darn period? Did the jikido fall asleep? I can't wait for lunch, and I hope we're having that delicious baked tempeh. Wait -- what am I doing? Let go of that thought. Back to zazen. As soon as we do let go, we stop comparing this moment to any other moment, and time ceases to flow, whether quickly or slowly. Yes, at some point the bell will ring for lunch, and we will do our job and bring in the food, but there is really only now. "When we don’t measure time, it passes of its own accord," Okumura Roshi says. "There is no self which is observed or measures the time. If we sit trying to measure the time, it is really nonsense. The important point is to give up that kind of self power effort."
That brings us to the other reason that sesshin is not an endurance test. If there is no "I" then there is no one making an effort, whether to speculate about time, overcome obstacles, manage pain or avoid falling asleep. This is not to say that we shouldn't take care of our bodies; they are, after all, the ground of our practice. However, it's not a matter of gritting our teeth, telling ourselves we can do it, and getting through somehow using our own willpower. Zazen shows us that struggle comes from our own ideas about difficulty and our resistance to things that are other than the way we want them. As soon as there's a struggle, there's an I struggling against an object. We forget that we don't sit zazen as individuals, and we don't do sesshin as individuals, and we're not in relationship with others. When we give up the separation, we can see the limits of the small self and instead immerse ourselves in the universal self.
What a conundrum! This is why we need to investigate the teaching that the self that doesn't interact with others includes everything. The energy that drives our zazen or sesshin practice comes from the place before we create separation between subject and object or self and other. Until we understand this teaching, we can believe that patience, endurance or toughness is the basis of our motivation to practice. We certainly need intention, aspiration and focus, because practice isn't easy. The problem is that endurance is based on an I that wants to achieve something, and we have to do some careful discernment about our desire to come to sesshin and what we may be looking to get from it.
Since we can't power through on our own, at some point during the sesshin we probably give up the idea that endurance is necessary or even possible, and then the separation can dissolve. As individuals, we can't control what's happening, or make it better or even OK. In fact, much of our struggle is the result of retaining this individual approach and being deceived by our delusions into thinking that liking and disliking will help or that we should be creating some perfect conditions that don't involve daydreaming or sleeping on the cushion. Waking up from the fiction of small self and seeing that zazen is the only reality is the opportunity sesshin offers to us. Uchiyama Roshi called this becoming submerged in zazen, or just sitting. It's possible then to see how "enduring" sesshin doesn't make sense. “I just have to hang on for one more period -- then I can go to sleep,” reflects an important misunderstanding about sesshin.
What we're really doing
Carrying out a schedule that consists only of zazen, meals and sleep, without work periods, dokusan, lectures or liturgy, means we don't have to think about or remember what comes next. The next thing is always zazen. While we each have work assignments during the day with which we care for the sangha and the practice, they are relatively simple and repetitive and we quickly stop anticipating what needs to happen when it's our turn to set up the meal tables or hit the han. Everything happens without talking, so there's no potential or past conversation with others that we need to process. Nothing breaks the sesshin container, even as we move from zazen itself to meal practice or sleep. This allows us to let go of surface thinking, and we may notice that the thinking that does arise comes from a deeper or older place.
At Sanshin, we frequently hear the reminder that "zazen is good for nothing," and also that we don't take that to mean that zazen has no result. While we're not attaching to any particular outcome, we certainly have a direction. Okumura Roshi says that his teacher "was always walking facing the direction he needed to go. That means he was always watching the Buddha. He requested that if we wanted to be his disciple, we should follow his path, walking toward the same direction, using our own legs." That doesn't sound like an invitation to give up responsibility for ourselves and our practice on the premise that zazen is somehow aimless or random. Zazen is good for none of the things that the small self thinks it needs, and it's not done by an individual karmic human that's being driven solely by habituated thinking. However, something happens when we sit down and wake up from the dream of ourselves to become the self that is only the self.
During sesshin it becomes quite clear that all thinking is fabrication. That doesn't make it bad, but it's important to realize, and it really comes home to us when we return from a period of daydreaming to find that we're in the zendo sitting sesshin. Maybe at some point the bell has brought you back from a lovely fantasy and you've realized that for a few minutes (or longer) you've entirely forgotten that you were on a cushion sitting zazen. All of that thinking was a complete fabrication and had nothing to do with your immediate circumstances. But what about the thinking that happens after the daydream, when you're back in the zendo? Is that version of you any more real? If this kind of daydreaming happens in a relatively non-distracting environment like Sanshin-style sesshin, how much more powerful it can be when it's fed by being in relationship with others during a day filled with activities and roles. Removing these "toys" was Uchiyama Roshi's way of helping to ensure that from first to last, our sesshin is one unbroken period of zazen.
Experiencing the self that is only the self is a gateway to studying namarupa (name and form) and the role it plays in the arising of suffering and separation from reality. As soon as our senses come into contact with an object, we immediately give it a name, and that name is often based on the value or function of that object for ourselves. Right away we've set up a relationship between ourselves and the object and determined the nature of that relationship. Without a name and relationship, it's very difficult for humans to think about things. We don't see things as just material; they're not the objects themselves but objects with names, and they take up residence in our consciousness. From this contact and naming comes like and dislike, and from there suffering begins to arise.
How would things be if we could see this process in our minds as it happens? What if we could have contact with an object in the midst of awakening, just take in that sensation and not set up a relationship with it that serves the small self? This is the opportunity we are afforded by sesshin as one continuous period of zazen without drama or distraction. Since we're not required to take action on our thoughts, it's a safe place to simply see what's happening without chasing or avoiding, stay with zazen, and not lose the connection with the self that is only the self. This is not the same as using the mind to stop thinking, which isn't really possible since that's just another thought. Returning to zazen is enough.
Carrying out a schedule that consists only of zazen, meals and sleep, without work periods, dokusan, lectures or liturgy, means we don't have to think about or remember what comes next. The next thing is always zazen. While we each have work assignments during the day with which we care for the sangha and the practice, they are relatively simple and repetitive and we quickly stop anticipating what needs to happen when it's our turn to set up the meal tables or hit the han. Everything happens without talking, so there's no potential or past conversation with others that we need to process. Nothing breaks the sesshin container, even as we move from zazen itself to meal practice or sleep. This allows us to let go of surface thinking, and we may notice that the thinking that does arise comes from a deeper or older place.
At Sanshin, we frequently hear the reminder that "zazen is good for nothing," and also that we don't take that to mean that zazen has no result. While we're not attaching to any particular outcome, we certainly have a direction. Okumura Roshi says that his teacher "was always walking facing the direction he needed to go. That means he was always watching the Buddha. He requested that if we wanted to be his disciple, we should follow his path, walking toward the same direction, using our own legs." That doesn't sound like an invitation to give up responsibility for ourselves and our practice on the premise that zazen is somehow aimless or random. Zazen is good for none of the things that the small self thinks it needs, and it's not done by an individual karmic human that's being driven solely by habituated thinking. However, something happens when we sit down and wake up from the dream of ourselves to become the self that is only the self.
During sesshin it becomes quite clear that all thinking is fabrication. That doesn't make it bad, but it's important to realize, and it really comes home to us when we return from a period of daydreaming to find that we're in the zendo sitting sesshin. Maybe at some point the bell has brought you back from a lovely fantasy and you've realized that for a few minutes (or longer) you've entirely forgotten that you were on a cushion sitting zazen. All of that thinking was a complete fabrication and had nothing to do with your immediate circumstances. But what about the thinking that happens after the daydream, when you're back in the zendo? Is that version of you any more real? If this kind of daydreaming happens in a relatively non-distracting environment like Sanshin-style sesshin, how much more powerful it can be when it's fed by being in relationship with others during a day filled with activities and roles. Removing these "toys" was Uchiyama Roshi's way of helping to ensure that from first to last, our sesshin is one unbroken period of zazen.
Experiencing the self that is only the self is a gateway to studying namarupa (name and form) and the role it plays in the arising of suffering and separation from reality. As soon as our senses come into contact with an object, we immediately give it a name, and that name is often based on the value or function of that object for ourselves. Right away we've set up a relationship between ourselves and the object and determined the nature of that relationship. Without a name and relationship, it's very difficult for humans to think about things. We don't see things as just material; they're not the objects themselves but objects with names, and they take up residence in our consciousness. From this contact and naming comes like and dislike, and from there suffering begins to arise.
How would things be if we could see this process in our minds as it happens? What if we could have contact with an object in the midst of awakening, just take in that sensation and not set up a relationship with it that serves the small self? This is the opportunity we are afforded by sesshin as one continuous period of zazen without drama or distraction. Since we're not required to take action on our thoughts, it's a safe place to simply see what's happening without chasing or avoiding, stay with zazen, and not lose the connection with the self that is only the self. This is not the same as using the mind to stop thinking, which isn't really possible since that's just another thought. Returning to zazen is enough.
Sesshin is not for the fragile
While everyone is welcome at Sanshin, the reality is that this kind of sesshin is not right for everyone at all times. Attendees should be generally healthy in body and mind in order to have a meaningful sesshin experience. Sanshin's style of sesshin is one of the most intensive available, and while participating in sesshin is not a matter of endurance, it is a matter of resilience. Challenges, both physical and psychological, go with the territory, and participants need to be able to bounce back on their own easily enough to carry on. That resilience comes from maturity of practice, life experience, physical and mental health, and self awareness. We need to understand what's happening when we're feeling resistance to discomfort or potential discomfort, including whatever comes with sitting still, minimal new stimulation, lack of social interactions, and encountering the parts of ourselves that we'd rather avoid. The response to experiencing physical pain or a negative emotion during sesshin cannot be to express an opinion to friends, change the environment, go do something else, or create a distraction by eating, drinking or watching a video. If panic is the result when these options are removed, sesshin is not a good idea for you.
Before making the decision to participate, it's important to ask yourself some questions, and answer yourself honestly.
While everyone is welcome at Sanshin, the reality is that this kind of sesshin is not right for everyone at all times. Attendees should be generally healthy in body and mind in order to have a meaningful sesshin experience. Sanshin's style of sesshin is one of the most intensive available, and while participating in sesshin is not a matter of endurance, it is a matter of resilience. Challenges, both physical and psychological, go with the territory, and participants need to be able to bounce back on their own easily enough to carry on. That resilience comes from maturity of practice, life experience, physical and mental health, and self awareness. We need to understand what's happening when we're feeling resistance to discomfort or potential discomfort, including whatever comes with sitting still, minimal new stimulation, lack of social interactions, and encountering the parts of ourselves that we'd rather avoid. The response to experiencing physical pain or a negative emotion during sesshin cannot be to express an opinion to friends, change the environment, go do something else, or create a distraction by eating, drinking or watching a video. If panic is the result when these options are removed, sesshin is not a good idea for you.
Before making the decision to participate, it's important to ask yourself some questions, and answer yourself honestly.
- Will my physical health be adversely affected? Sesshin can be painful for the fittest of human bodies. If you're recovering from surgery or an injury or have back or joint issues, digestive or dietary conditions, problems sleeping, etc. that may be exacerbated by eating, sleeping and sitting during sesshin, consider carefully whether you really want to take this on.
- Will my mental health be adversely affected? If you're under the care of a therapist or other mental health professional, discuss whether a sesshin like this is contraindicated for you before you decide to register. If not but you have emotional or mental health concerns, be candid with yourself about whether you're prepared to sit calmly with whatever may arise, and to do so for 14 hours a day, day after day. While practice leaders are here to help with practice questions, we are not therapists who can respond to mental health crises.
- Registering for one day of the sesshin, rather than the full event. If that one day goes well, you can attend more of the next sesshin.
- Participating virtually from home.
- Attending sesshin with a sangha whose style is less intensive and which may have support resources available.
- Working with health care professionals to resolve issues of body and mind before deciding to attend sesshin.
Mental health considerations
For the good of everyone, we urge you to consider which activities are most appropriate for you in your current circumstances. This style of sesshin features solitude and lack of interaction, moving us toward letting go of our self-concepts and our stories about who we are. In the zendo, if we're stable and healthy, we can safely take a vacation from "me." If we're experiencing some forms of disorder, that can feel like dissociation or annihilation and can be upsettingly disorienting. The reality is that the intensive style of sesshin we do here is not a good idea for those who have current psychiatric disorders such as psychoses, mood disorders, anxiety disorders and identity disorders. If you are new to practice and have a substance addiction or personality disorder, a sesshin at Sanshin is also likely not the best place for you to start. We recommend that first you discuss your wish to engage in zazen with your therapist or doctor, and once you've established a regular daily zazen practice. you begin by participating in a shorter and less intensive retreat. There are many such retreats offered by dharma centers around the country that are designed to introduce newer practitioners to the schedule, forms and experience of more prolonged zazen practice.
If you are not under the care of a mental health professional but feel drawn to sesshin as an escape from stress, a space for making life decisions, a dose of instant peace or a means of managing challenging emotions, sesshin is likewise not for you. Please seek help to sort out your troubles from people and organizations that are trained to offer the real resources you need. Not only will sesshin not serve your purpose, it may well make things feel worse. We are not mental health professionals, and while we can answer questions about practice, we will not be able to help you navigate psychological disturbances that may arise from intensive zazen.
Many sesshin participants do not live locally or practice regularly with our sangha; thus practice leaders don't always know them well or have familiarity with their situations. Likewise, while participants trust the container and the practice, they may not have any established relationship with our practice leaders. If mental health considerations are a part of your discernment about attending sesshin, you may be well advised to participate in a retreat being held by a sangha with which you can practice regularly in person and led by a teacher with whom you can build a relationship. The teacher can make recommendations about your practice path after getting to know you and can help you choose the best activities for you. The stability of a familiar sangha can be a real support to your practice.
For the good of everyone, we urge you to consider which activities are most appropriate for you in your current circumstances. This style of sesshin features solitude and lack of interaction, moving us toward letting go of our self-concepts and our stories about who we are. In the zendo, if we're stable and healthy, we can safely take a vacation from "me." If we're experiencing some forms of disorder, that can feel like dissociation or annihilation and can be upsettingly disorienting. The reality is that the intensive style of sesshin we do here is not a good idea for those who have current psychiatric disorders such as psychoses, mood disorders, anxiety disorders and identity disorders. If you are new to practice and have a substance addiction or personality disorder, a sesshin at Sanshin is also likely not the best place for you to start. We recommend that first you discuss your wish to engage in zazen with your therapist or doctor, and once you've established a regular daily zazen practice. you begin by participating in a shorter and less intensive retreat. There are many such retreats offered by dharma centers around the country that are designed to introduce newer practitioners to the schedule, forms and experience of more prolonged zazen practice.
If you are not under the care of a mental health professional but feel drawn to sesshin as an escape from stress, a space for making life decisions, a dose of instant peace or a means of managing challenging emotions, sesshin is likewise not for you. Please seek help to sort out your troubles from people and organizations that are trained to offer the real resources you need. Not only will sesshin not serve your purpose, it may well make things feel worse. We are not mental health professionals, and while we can answer questions about practice, we will not be able to help you navigate psychological disturbances that may arise from intensive zazen.
Many sesshin participants do not live locally or practice regularly with our sangha; thus practice leaders don't always know them well or have familiarity with their situations. Likewise, while participants trust the container and the practice, they may not have any established relationship with our practice leaders. If mental health considerations are a part of your discernment about attending sesshin, you may be well advised to participate in a retreat being held by a sangha with which you can practice regularly in person and led by a teacher with whom you can build a relationship. The teacher can make recommendations about your practice path after getting to know you and can help you choose the best activities for you. The stability of a familiar sangha can be a real support to your practice.