A Nameless Dread

I arrived at the retreat in poor shape. I was tired and stressed and, although there were no major problems in my life, the general wear and tear had taken its toll. I always expect the first days of a retreat to be difficult but this time they were exceptionally so. During a previous retreat I had developed a severe middle-ear infection which had required a course of anti-biotics. I had had an adverse reaction to the drug. Along with various physical symptoms I had experienced an overwhelming feeling of agitation and dread, hard to describe and understand. This experience had endured for two weeks gradually reducing in intensity. Now, on this retreat, the nameless dread returned.

I could no longer excuse it as an effect of a drug. Although weary, I was not at all ill. What was happening? In a lengthy interview with John, I explored the aetiology of this debilitating sentiment. I suspected that a deeply entrenched pattern, a samskara, which had a strong connection with the powerful impression of impermanence that I had had since childhood, had surfaced in me. The underlying anxiety was intense.

In my everyday life I compensate for this underlying pattern very well and whenever I have this feeling I point to an exterior circumstance as its cause. It was like a hungry ghost that was accustomed to a diet of worries, responsibilities and problems; now it found itself with a soup kitchen Dharma diet and was not happy. I realised just how joy-destroying and energy sapping this obstruction was to my life and practice. It was not due to anything exterior; it was created in my own mind.

My interview and the talk John gave that evening had a profound effect upon me. The talk addressed the reality of transience and touched upon its nature, drawing on Dogen Zenji's "Being-Time " sermon. During the talk and all next day I had a powerful insight into the identity of time and existence. I realised that time does not happen to things - it is things. Time is the very fabric of the Universe. To wish that something was not impermanent would be to wish that it did not exist. I felt this at the time not as a merely intellectual understanding; it was a gut-felt knowing. I also realised that the ego did not exist, indeed could not exist in the present moment at all. In the Now it is completely superfluous. It could only exist in a reference to the past and future, but past and future play no part in being.

For two days my practice sailed along. Direct contemplation came to me as easily as breathing. I had a feeling of serenity and I began to apply myself to illumination as serenity's necessary conjunct. But then, extraordinarily, on the final day of the retreat the feeling of dread returned full force for no discernible reason. The practice of Chan and the teaching of the ultimate emptiness of self-existence does not excuse one from working out one's personal vexations! I was clear that I would have to do some solid work on this business and that, far from allowing me to escape from my neuroses and negativities, Chan would confront me with them and force me to deal with them at the most fundamental level.

At the end of the retreat I felt shaky and sobered. There was none of the elation I have felt at the end of previous retreats. I knew that my practice had greatly improved but, equally, I had this frightening business of the 'dread' to sort out. I would seek help and be prepared for some painful and maybe extended work onmyself.

I had signed up for the mountain walk which was to take place as a continuation of the retreat. I was feeling so "wobbly" that I almost made up my mind to drop out of it. But some wise and compassionate words from some of my fellow retreatants persuaded me that, if I was cracking up, I'd be better off hanging out with the Sangha in the wild Welsh mountains than back in the 'market place'. So I went.

Over the three days we spent in the mountains, three elements came together for me; the Sangha, the Wilderness and Dogen's "Mountains and Rivers" sutra. John read this to us on the night before our pilgrimage began - around the Welsh Kailas, otherwise know as Pumlimon. I cannot say I understood the sutra, but in some mysterious way the words "green mountains walking" hit me like a thunderclap. For the rest of our time all the extraordinary natural world about me seemed alive in a shimmering, flowing way I had forgotten since childhood. Not just the skylarks and the heart-rending beauty of the Red Kite that came to inspect us over the source of the Wye, but the very streams and mountains, even the sheep-shit. The presence of my companions moved me too. We all seemed able to be what and who we were without fear of disapproval or criticism. We could discuss and disagree without a trace of rancour or point scoring. I think all of us were struck with how easily human beings could live together with the benefit of mindfulness and practice informing our lives. I had time to experience the Sangha outside the discipline of silence on retreat and I realised the importance of the third refuge.

I would like to say how deeply grateful I am to John for his guidance over the last ten days. I know he must be feeling his way into his position as lineage holder, and how difficult this must be at times, and how isolating. To mix the roles of friend and teacher is never easy, but then, fortunately for us all, John isn't stuck on roles. I found a great affinity with his teaching and deep commitment to brooking no bullshit in the pursuit of wisdom. What passed between us in interviews and on the mountain has been of greater help to me than anything else I can remember.