Coming Home to Myself

I alternated between eating oatmeal, journaling, and binge-watching YouTube videos with the search “what to expect at your first meditation retreat.” Most of these vloggers were away in Thailand or another country for a ten day silent meditation retreat, which seemed way more intense than what I signed up for. Two days seemed quite doable, especially since these vloggers agreed that people tend to quit by day three and day six.

I gave my dog Brie lots of belly kisses before heading out with a small roller luggage and a fanny pack then sent off the last few voice messages to my friends. I needed to get my intentions and focus inward on this long drive to make the most of this retreat, so it was time to put the apps away. My silver Prius zipped through the highways, and I put on a playlist radio based on “Pennsylvania Skies” by LLULLANAS but then realized that the songs were all too sad and too break up-y, so I opted for some John Mayer albums. The Search for Everything was very fitting with the sprawling hillsides that were canvases of gold with green tangles of trees painted on.

Three hours later, after winding through twisty mountain roads for the last 45 minutes of the trip, I slowly bumped along a dirt path that led to the Yokoji Zen-Mountain Center. I parked and stretched, and then a man asking if I was here for the retreat kindly directed me to repark my car facing outward, which is a safety protocol in case there is a fire. After nervously backing up and praying that I wouldn’t scrape the car next to me, I left my belongings in the car that ended up decently parked after all. I made my way to the office, where I was greeted by two ladies. Deann and Amber were their everyday names, but they also gave mystical-sounding Japanese dharma names that I could not remember. They warmly welcomed me and surprised me with their chattiness, while I stiffly asked to use the restroom. I was confused because, according to the YouTube videos, this was going to be a silent retreat. I just wasn’t sure when the silence was going to begin.

I made more small talk with the friendly ladies until it was my turn to meet with a young man in the office. He turned around in his rolling chair and invited me to sit as I paid the remaining balance for my stay. It surprised me how young he was, and I immediately thought he was cool when I saw his small black stud ear piercings. It was a quick meeting, and then Deann gave me a walkthrough of the center. There were neat white buildings with Japanese style roofs sprinkled across both sides of the creek. I appreciated her bubbly and maternal nature, and I especially appreciated a little secret she shared with me – some of the pine trees around the camp are Jeffrey Pines, which have bark that smells like butterscotch. We wandered for a few minutes smelling a couple of tree trunks, and I could not seem to smell the butterscotch that Deann swore she could smell on the last tree we sniffed. Perhaps I was too preoccupied with trying not to accidentally snort up an unsuspecting ant in my side quest for good-smelling bark.

Deann led me to the Rock Room, where I would be staying. The name comes from the giant stone protruding from the left side of the room when you first walk in. I was the first to arrive, so I got to make my pick of which bed I wanted. There were three beds in the first room that were mostly in the dark, obscured by the bathroom, and around the corner was a tile-floored add-on unit that had a myriad of windows and white curtains. It was a bright little nook, which Deann mentioned might get hot during the day with the sun beating down, but I was okay with taking my chances with the heat. I liked the privacy and the brightness of the space, so I walked back and forth from my car to the room, making multiple trips unloading my comforter, pillows and luggage. 

It was almost 4 pm, and the sun was merciless. I was dripping with sweat, a dry heat hanging over me at a steady 90 degrees, and I felt my head buzzing from the altitude as I lugged my stuff up the dusty hill. I sat on the edge of the bed to catch my breath, surrounded by my belongings, when a girl entered the Rock Room. She introduced herself as Olivia, and I was once again surprised at how young she was. I wondered if she had come across meditation through yoga, but maybe that’s from noticing that she was wearing yoga pants.

Dinner was not until 5:30 pm, so I decided to go exploring. There were buildings that Deann did not mention to me on her mini tour, probably because they were not relevant to my stay this weekend, but the variety of building sizes and shapes had me wondering who lived in some of the more hut-sized buildings. I trekked up the hill, following the creek. The sound of the creek that ran through the middle of the camp was immediately soothing, and I wanted to stay close to it. I was drawn to it, like I was leaning in to listen to some secrets it might tell me if I kept my eyes and ears open. 

I was not familiar with this forest, but I felt safe navigating this wilderness. The mountains hugged each side of the path, so it didn’t feel intimidating or too expansive. I looked out for “leaves of three” to make sure I didn’t fall prey to any poison oak or poison ivy, and after fifteen minutes of trekking through endless greenery, I found the perfect sitting rock. It was a large stone that gave me the perfect view of the water below and the trees above, with the mountains peeking out from behind leaves kissed by the sun. I sat there and took it all in. I was here. I did it, adventured to this point in time to find clarity. 

I closed my eyes to take in the soundscape. There were birds calling out to one another, leaves rustling, but front and center was the steady flow of water below me. I never noticed how streams have so many voices. I could distinctly pick apart the lower and more serious flow from the high-pitched giggly splashes as the water banked between and through the rocks. There were so many layers of its song, and it never played the same melody twice. I stayed for a good half an hour at this concert until I realized I should head back for dinner. 

More of the campers came at this time, and I saw a good diversity of ages and genders. I was not the only gay nor the only POC or first-time retreater, which made me feel less self conscious. I met my other roommate, Micha, a resident of Idyllwild who comes to Yokoji often but who had yet to experience a retreat herself. Over our vegetarian dinner, which was excellent, made up of very soft bread (gluten and gluten free options!), salad with epic homemade hollyhock dressing, and sweet potato soup, we got to know each other through the following questions: “Is this your first time at a meditation retreat? (Oh, me too!)” “So where are you coming from?” “What do you do?” 

When people asked me what brought me to Yokoji, I gave an answer I rehearsed many times over for this precise moment - “Oh, I met my friend Arthur at an open mic. He’s a brilliant classical pianist who also happens to be a Zen Buddhist priest, Wayu, who leads the Zen Meditation Center in Seal Beach. I have been there a few times the past year and got a lot out of the practice there.”

While all of this was 100% true, I could not ignore the urge to spill my guts and respond, “TrAuMaaaaaaa” and whip out a fifty-slide PowerPoint about my life up to this point. After years of running myself into the ground in endless cycles of passion and debauchery that led to periods of burnout, depression, and anxiety, I enrolled myself in a DBT Program - Dialectical Behavioral Therapy. It is a six month program of learning skills through a weekly group therapy session and a weekly one-on-one session with an individual therapist. The skills focus on four main areas - interpersonal effectiveness, distress tolerance, emotional regulation, and mindfulness. I learned the concepts of mindfulness and Zen through my DBT workbook, embracing ideas about taking a Middle Path and being present and non-judgemental of myself and others. 

I had listened to the audiobook of Masha Linehan’s autobiography, A Life Worth Living, and it turns out that the founder of DBT is a Zen Buddhist Master herself! Her descriptions of her time practicing Zen were both hilarious and inspiring, since her struggles with the periods of stillness with our shared proclivity to chaos made for some funny stories. But ultimately, she mastered it, and amazingly, brought these teachings into DBT. It was quite remarkable for her to bring Zen Buddhist teachings into the world of psychology, where these ideas were at first ridiculed for being “unscientific” and “hippy dippy.” But they worked, over and over again, for her clients all over the world. I am so inspired by her. I hope that following in her footsteps could bring me closer to being as cool as she is so that one day, I could help many people with what I have learned from Zen too.

I had just graduated from the DBT program the Tuesday before this retreat. After six months, which felt both long and short, I finally did it. I was proud and relieved and emotional to say goodbye to the program that taught me all of these skills I needed to live a life that I know is definitely worth living…but I also felt scared and unsure. I thought that I would know exactly what to do when it came to reuniting with my family after a long period of being no contact. It’s the same sort of expectation you have when you’re in school, focusing on studying to get an A which will lead to a good GPA upon graduation and then a job…this illusion is shattered once we all step into the “real world.” Currently, I have all of these skills but still don’t feel ready to talk to the people I love who also hurt me more than they could ever know. 

In my Morning Pages before I left home, I wrote:

I hope to become more connected with myself, to know myself better, and to find clarity with what I want to do with my life in this next phase of adulthood. And it will be nice to disconnect and reset, away from technology. I hope I can get my sleep schedule back on track. I know there are childhood memories that will likely resurface. I hope I can feel positively about them. 

After dinner, we gathered in the main meditation hall right next to the dining hall. The wooden steps led to shoe cubbies on both sides of the door. The smell of burnt incense from the past sitting periods suspended in the air as we opened the doors to a preliminary room where we could grab cushions and rectangular wooden stools. There was anticipation as we walked into the main hall and claimed one of the flat square cushions situated against the walls. We sat facing inward toward each other, and they reviewed the traditions of the sitting practice and what the rituals involved.

When you enter the meditation hall, you must step in with your left foot first and bow. Then you make your way to your cushion, adjust it as necessary, bow to your cushion and then bow facing away from your cushion. You can sit in one of three positions - cross-legged (lotus), on your knees (seiza), or in a chair. Your hands are placed with your left over your right, resting below the belly button and facing upward with relaxed palms, thumbs touching gently. Anyo, an older woman with kind blue eyes and silver hair, explained that the thumbs often indicate what state we are physically in - if they are pushing hard against each other, we may be too tense, and if they deflate into the palms, we are probably falling asleep. 

If someone next to you bows to their cushion, you also bow. If someone across from you bows, you, again, bow. Once they are ready to start the sitting period, they ring a high-toned bell that seems to reverberate forever. They ring it once, then twice after about a minute passes when the ringing finally dies out, then a third time. The third ring is when you must be completely still. I soon learned that if you didn’t adjust into a comfortable position within those first two rings…you’re screwed. The slightest rustle of a pant leg sounds like a sonic boom when the room is so quiet and still that you hear everyone’s breathing. 

The ladies who welcomed me with warm and gentle smiles were now in long dark robes and had stoic faces that matched their traditional attire. Everything felt so formal and foreign to me, I began to sweat at the thought of messing up by bowing at the wrong time or being too fidgety. I was so in my head about what the other campers thought of me and whether I was completely messing up that the first sitting period went by without me being able to completely settle into my breaths. Before I knew it, the same bells were being struck again to signify the end of the sitting period. You stay completely still for the first ring, and then you can move and stretch once you hear the second bell. It’s agony when you hear that first bell and your legs are dying because you’ve probably been begging Stef, the timekeeper, to ring the damn bell for the past 15 minutes that have honestly felt more like 15 years!

Then, there’s the walking meditation. Once you are up, you bow to a bell chime, tuck your left thumb in a fist and wrap your right hand around it, placing the hands right above the belly button, and you walk slower than a zombie. I’m talking millimeters per second, feeling every fiber of your muscles contract and relax to place one foot in front of another. It deconstructs the most fundamental of human actions possible. It’s also important to not take too large of a step, or else you end up breathing in the neck hairs of the person in front of you and it will be eons before you can get out of their grill. 

After a few minutes of the slow walking meditation is the brisk walking meditation. There’s a square cushion in the middle that we walk around then go back to tracing the perimeter of the small hall until we hear the bell again, cueing us to make our way back to our cushion. We bow to it and then settle into another sitting period. The movement of the group, weaving around the cushion and conforming to the shape of the hall, reminded me of the water in the creek. Bustling and fluid, taking shape from the walls like the stones in the creek. 

In the next sitting session, my thoughts finally slowed down and cleared out. I felt like a small pebble floating to the bottom of a lakebed, finally settling into the deepest part of myself. The ground beneath me in this liminal space was smooth and cool, like running my palms over a large slab of obsidian. It took on hues of the darkest night with shimmers of stardust spread throughout. I had finally come home to myself.

After these couple of sitting sessions, we were released for an early bedtime at 9:30 pm because we were expected to wake up at 5:30 am the next morning. I hustled out of the meditation hall, which was stuffy despite the ceiling fans clanging up a storm. I needed to take in the sweet mountain air. I found a spot down the stream to gaze up at the stars that twinkled between the trees and the mountains. Stars just don’t shine the same in LA. I felt like I could pick them out of the sky and munch on them like a midnight snack. 

With melatonin in my system, I knocked out shortly after laying my head on the pillow. It was advised to get to the meditation hall a few minutes before six am since it takes time to get adjusted into your sitting position, and absolute stillness starts promptly at the hour. I felt daring that morning and tried my hand at the seiza position, AKA sitting on your knees. I had grabbed the little wooden stool to tuck my legs under, but it was so hard to get the dang cushion to stay on when the stool kept falling forward. I finally willed it into place by the time the bell was struck, but I soon realized that I made a grave mistake. 

Just five minutes in, and my feet were experiencing pins and needles. By the ten minute mark, my legs were actively on fire. Every cell in my body was acutely aware of the burning sensation, and there was no running away from it. I tried redirecting focus to the breaths and counting. Nope. I tried focusing on parts of me that didn’t feel like Satan himself was skewering me alive. Nope. My muscles were screaming and I imagined pushing against my own skin, trying to bust through and run away from my own body. But I remained attached and tethered to the inescapable pain, begging Stef to ring the damn bell, imagining myself collapsing onto the floor and laying down without caring about bows and bells and sonic boom pant friction.

Has anyone ever died from sitting? Will my legs fall off of my body like I’m Mr. Potatohead? GAWD THIS IS THE WORST PAIN EVER AHHH

I thought about how privileged my life has been, for me to feel like this is one of the worst pains I have ever experienced. That morning, I ate a protein bar because I was worried about being hungry during the first sitting period…but what about the children in third world countries who experience the stomach pangs of days without food? What about those who suffer from chronic pain, those dying from terminal illnesses? And here I am saying that I am dying over having to sit still for thirty minutes?

How much more could I accomplish if I was not so attached to a life of comfort and embraced pain as a part of life? I could get stronger at the gym, I could also bear more rejections and conflicts as I take bigger risks with my career and relationships. I could reconnect with my family, even if it is awkward and uncomfortable and triggering. 

As every part of me was lit on fire, I learned that I was stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. I could sit in the flames and be completely still. If I could handle this…then I could take on so much more than I thought I could. 

The embers began to run cold as the sensations from the knees down turned to ice. I welcomed the change in sensation now. I let all of it in. I got curious about these pins and needles. Where was I feeling the sharp pains in the body? How about the dull aches? What color was the pain? I studied suffering the way I did my AP textbooks in high school, genuinely hungry to learn more when I heard the ringing of the bell. 

At the second strike of the bell, I could barely move, so I had to use my arms to get my legs unstuck from underneath me. I felt the rush of feeling return to my body, but not quickly enough before the others already started bowing to their pillows and getting into position for the slow walking. I lunged forward to steady myself on my numb legs, but a buzzing in my head sent me toppling over backwards. I caught myself on my hands, embarrassed that I flung myself out of the line of slow walkers to wince in pain as I grabbed my feet. I grimaced and focused on breathing in and out through gritted teeth until the buzzing stopped. I got up more slowly this time and was able to fully recover feeling in my feet during the fast walk, the shuffling getting my blood flowing again. 

There was another sitting period after that, followed by the service. We were each given a black folder with the chants written out phonetically in English. Chanting as a group reminded me of singing in choir, doing scattered breathing to keep the sound continuous as a group, and splitting into the lower octave and higher octave to remain in unison. There were chants in an ancient language I didn’t know as well as Japanese, so I could barely keep up with the syllable matching but tried anyways.

Following the service, we had breakfast. Each person is assigned a mealtime cleanup duty, and I was on breakfast cleanup, not realizing that I was screwing myself over with that second scoop of oatmeal in my bowl. When I realized that the cleanup crew was starting without me, I scarfed down the remainder of my food and washed my bowl before sprinting to the kitchen, where we scrubbed and washed down all of the pots and pans used to prepare the food. 

We circled up outside of the dining hall, ready for our work service assignments. In the next hour and a half, parts of the group were assigned to a variety of community service projects. These were to be done, for the most part, silently and mindfully. I know I was supposed to not have so many judgements or opinions in my thoughts, but I couldn’t help but strike a fist pose of success in my mind when I heard that I was assigned to the kitchen (RIP to the peeps doing fire control duty in the heat!) 

Me, upon hearing I was on kitchen duty

I was in the kitchen with three other folks, helping our head cook, Tim, prep lunch and dinner. I peeled carrots and fed them into a food processor and was taught how to efficiently slice a giant watermelon. When I saw the parts of the food that I helped prepare show up in the subsequent meals, I smiled to myself and thought, Hey, I did that.

There was another sitting period followed by a dharma talk, which is where they bring a Zen teacher to give a lecture on the practice of Zen and meditation. A man with a toothy grin sat on a chair and remarked, “Wow, I can hardly believe you are all beginners. You are so still that you make me feel like I am fidgety!” I liked how personable and real he was, acknowledging the pains of sitting for so long and telling us about how he used to resist sitting in a chair for fear  that he wouldn’t be seen as Zen enough if he gave in. When he finally caved in, to his surprise, nobody else cared or noticed but him! His name is Tenshin Roshi, but I could hardly remember at the time and kept calling him Zojirushi in my head, which I now realize is the brand of my rice cooker. Oops. 

Sorry, Tenshin Roshi!

Lunch was phenomenal. I swear there was crack in that tempeh. The brown sugar in the sweet soy glaze caramelized around the grains, and I was hooked on that umami flavor. But I learned not to get too excited because over-eating can make a difficult sitting period even harder with bloating and heartburn, so I held back from getting thirds. 

I was relieved to have my meals in silence. This came as a surprise to me because, for most of my life, I struggled with being in solitude. I didn’t sleep in my own bed until I was in high school, since I preferred to share a bed with my mom. I never ate in the college dining halls by myself and never saw a movie alone in my early twenties. But that’s part of what led to the constant burnout - I had no time to recharge in my own space. My thoughts could take a dark and existential turn when I was left to my own devices, so I did everything I could to run away from myself and sprint from social to social. I did not take breaks until I hit a wall and ended up bedridden from physical illness or a depressive episode, becoming one with my mattress. 

But this solitude felt different. The presence of those around me felt like a safety net from the darkness of those intrusive thoughts, and I was able to really taste every molecule of flavor and tune into the symphony of utensils and cups. I liked that I didn’t have to concern myself with small talk or worry about taking care of others in social situations, which I always tend to do because I never want anyone to feel left out. This time, I could focus fully on myself without having to tend to anyone else’s expectations. This was liberating.

We had a couple hours before our next sitting period, so I hiked up to the stream and went past yesterday’s rock-sitting spot to get to a different lookout. I heard that the staffers saw a rattlesnake and caught a few scorpions the night before, so I was careful with where I stepped and kept an ear out for any hissing or rattling noises. I did tell Tim where I would be before I left in case I didn’t come back, but even with all of the potential risks, being in the wilderness and all, I still felt very safe and comfortable. A total city girl, comfortable with nature and bugs and hiking? Who would have thought!

I can’t believe anyone can experience boredom ever when there is so much happening all around us all the time. The thing about being still yourself is that you realize just how not still the rest of the world around you is, how it is ever-changing. I looked up at the woodpeckers and blue jays cutting through the blue sky, and I looked down at the never-ending layers of green and brown foliage tangled into each other in a complex dance. 

I remembered a passage from a book called Siddhartha that I read for AP English in high school, where this young guy who later becomes enlightened learns a lot from talking to the local stream. It shared its wisdom with him. As I walked up and down the creek, I heard the more stoic parts of the water and its gruff “you whippersnapper” murmurs contrast with the other parts that were filled with childlike glee and laughter. 

I asked it a question. “Don’t you ever get bored of doing the same thing every day? Or like, I don’t know, tired? You’re just hustling down this creek over and over again.” 

The creek giggled and joyfully replied, “Of course not, silly! It’s not the same water that passes through here. It is different water every time. Every time we do this, we are new.”

It was then that I realized that I am not showing up as the same person I am from one sit to the next. I am changing, just like the forest, just like the creek’s waters. I am renewed over and over again, even as I repeat these rituals. That is why my experiences are so diverse from one sitting period to the next, even one moment within a sit to the next.

On my walk back from the creek, I saw a building that was more than twice the size of the meditation hall. I was curious to see what was inside, and I noticed a statue of the Buddha, calm and centered, posed in the middle of the room with the light shining down from the skylight between the light wooden beams. I bowed and positioned myself a few feet in front of the statue, and I was determined to master the seiza position so that I didn’t faceplant the next time I attempted it in front of the other campers.

I took two cushions, having learned my lesson. Once I got my balancing act just right, I felt a huge difference. My feet were no longer being crushed, and I felt elevated and lifted. This position was even better than the lotus. I could hold this position for forever! I grinned by myself like an idiot, striking that fist pose of success once again. I could not wait to return victorious, especially after Deann gave me a concerned look of, Oh, honey when I was losing the battle with the seiza earlier that morning.

I was able to reach that smooth obsidian space within myself again. Even without the others’ energy around me, I felt safe within myself. There were no scary thoughts waiting in the wings. This is the deepest I had ever ventured within myself, and I knew I could go deeper if I continued with this sitting practice beyond this retreat.

Before this trip, I had caught glimpses of self love. I took myself out on self dates in recent months, spoiled myself with matcha lattes and ice cream, watched the Spiderverse movie after work on my own. I had entered a honeymoon period with dating myself where I felt like being single wasn’t a punishment from the Universe for being a crappy partner. I was able to hold my own hand, awkwardly at first, like it was a first date, but then firmly and excitedly as I got the hang of this whole love yourself thing. But in this retreat…it felt like I fused with myself. I came into myself, became one with her. I didn’t just hold her hand. I breathed her in and breathed her out, in sync and at home inside of her soul’s depths. We are one, and I am whole.

After my successful sit in the large meditation hall, I felt confident about my seiza position. As a reward, I changed into shorts and let my feet take in the cool creek water. I could not feel the movement of the water through my toes, but I did take in the icy temperature and let the water skimmer bugs dance away from me as I navigated the creek. I walked to a little meadow downstream, the tall grasses and flowers presenting themselves like a painting, when I met the gaze of a young deer across the ways. She was gorgeous, her eyes clear and innocent, matching my same look of wonderment. 

Fascinating creature, we both remarked until she broke eye contact with me to turn around and get back to business. 

I felt a childlike glee take over when I pressed my nose against the pine tree right outside of the Rock Room to discover the unmistakable scent of butterscotch!

One of my intentions for this trip was to learn more about myself, and I learned that I am actually very funny. The thing about being silent for so long is that you catch yourself having these extended conversations in your head. The internal monologue is super loud when all you have around you is the polite chirping of birds and rustling of the leaves. My inner voice would crack jokes at the most unpredictable times. During one of the slow walking meditation periods, I accidentally took too large of a step and ended up way too close to the man in front of me, and my inner voice said, “Stop tailing the poor man like this is LA traffic!” I also caught myself almost doing the sign of the cross instead of bowing when I entered into the meditation hall and internally snorted, “Jesus would be proud.” 

During one of the afternoon sitting periods, Tenshin Roshi had one on one sessions with each of us to offer spiritual guidance. Aside from getting a tarot reading in New Orleans and seeing a psychic in Sedona, I had not had much one on one spiritual guidance. He rang a little bell, a student came out of his office, and then after bowing at his door, I sat in a chair across from him. There was about a foot between us as I introduced myself and told him about my experience with Zen meditation. He nodded and then asked if anything had come up for me in my sitting practice or if I had any questions. I said that I struggled with staying awake. He chuckled, the kind of laugh that showed that he understood. With the meditation hall’s ceiling fans going at full speed, my eyes get dry, so I have to close my eyes sometimes during the sitting periods, but then the instant my eyes are shut for more than two seconds, I get sucked into a dream! I caught myself microsleeping at least twenty times in the last sitting period and couldn’t even make it to five breaths before losing consciousness! He told me that caffeine can help, but that ultimately, some sitting periods may be more productive than others and that it is okay and normal to experience drowsiness. He recommended sitting as upright as possible with my eyeline higher so that my eyelids are less likely to close (and maybe I could use some eye drops). I liked how practical he was. 

Then I came out with a vulnerable question - I came to this retreat to find clarity because I am feeling lost with where to go in my life. I was afraid that I might not find clarity in the time that I was here for the weekend. 

He gave me a reassuring look before he said, “Clarity will come when it does. But what you can do is create a welcoming environment for it, which is exactly what you are doing. Just keep the practice going, and it will come to you.” 

I walked out of his office feeling lighter. He basically told me I was going to be okay, and I knew it too. 

That night, I thought I was going crazy. Maybe it was all this time spent in silence and my brain was filling in the gaps, or maybe it was the start of some hero’s journey…but I swear I heard the flies chanting the Four Vows:

Sentient beings are numberless; I vow to save them.

Desires are inexhaustible; I vow to put an end to them.

The Dharmas are boundless; I vow to master them.

The Buddha Way is unattainable; I vow to attain it.

Sunday morning was our last Zazen, and we each went around the circle and shared our lessons learned from the weekend, breaking our silence from the past two days. People shared how connected they felt with one another despite not speaking at all, like they had known each other a long time. They also shared that despite the physical discomfort and pain that they experienced, they were able to sit with it. People loved the food! I loved hearing about the parallels in our experiences even though we were of all ages and backgrounds. People liked what I had shared about the creek teaching me that we are new every time we sit. Breakfast and lunch were bittersweet as we shared these last meals together and exchanged our experiences, feeling that connection with one another that transcended words. 

Jokai Roshi, another teacher at the center, hosted us at his house at the top of the hill for one last dharma talk. I liked how intimate it was, learning about principles of Zen Buddhism in a teacher’s living room. He shared a story about how a great Zen Master was turned away from a banquet for wearing tattered robes, so he went back in his fanciest garb and was let in. When he arrived to his seat, he took off his robes and put them on the chair, sassily telling the people that they clearly wanted his clothes and not him, then dropped the mic and left! What a boss. 

The last sitting period was my favorite. About ten minutes in, we heard a tapping noise. It accelerated from a polite greeting to a full-on tap dance number. It started to rain, and then the thunder ripped through the valley for a solid minute, like some giant above us was trying to roll his new IKEA furniture down the hall. The smell, though, WOW the smell…it reminded me of the hot summer days when I step into the blissful air conditioning of a Barnes and Noble and take in the smell of new books. But there was something sweeter, even better than the smell of new books, and I could not put my finger on it at first. I could see a zoomed in view of something like a light wood color, something soft…it wasn’t until I got home and gave Brie the belly kisses of a century that it hit me - SHE was what I was smelling in meditation hall in the rain. Somehow the mix of Jeffrey pines, rain, incense, and a Japanese style building brought me the scent of my dog’s comforting pheromones right after she wakes up from a nap. I call it the “unfrosted cinnamon roll” smell. It is my favorite scent in the whole world, and I quietly reveled in it like I was in a soft blanket burrito for my final sit of the weekend.

Brie, the love of my life, and the source of my favorite “unscented cinnamon roll” smell

It has been a week since the retreat, and I was nervous that I would lose the insight that I had gained once I got connected to wifi again. It felt like someone pushed me back into living life at full speed when I did get back into my routine, but I was more aware of the habits I had with multitasking and mindless social media scrolling. I caught myself, then stopped to look up and appreciate the clouds in the sky. I said thank you to my food before digging into my meals, and I put my phone away when walking my dog. These simple and small changes have started to make big impacts on my life already.

And then I heard it. The tires of my Prius against the pavement of the 405 were chanting the Four Vows to me:

Sentient beings are numberless; I vow to save them.

Desires are inexhaustible; I vow to put an end to them.

The Dharmas are boundless; I vow to master them.

The Buddha Way is unattainable; I vow to attain it.

The beautiful sunset view on my drive home from Yokoji

Bonus Material:

My new friend and Rock Roomie Olivia and I decided to explore Idyllwild together after our retreat. We had a blast! We could not believe we had just met two days before…feels like we became instant besties who have known each other for a lot longer!

Olivia and I exploring Idyllwild and taking a selfie in front of Halcyon Hair, which is owned by our new buddies, Byron and Anthony!