This was my first Chan retreat and I was so excited. My life felt calm and stable and I hoped to be able to work through whatever the Universe presented. I also hoped I would learn greater concentration in sitting to deepen my novice practice. On a previous retreat I had perceived the futility of living solely under the influence of my ego states and it seemed pointless not to search further for life's deeper meaning, to discover what lies beyond the realm of self.
The first day felt good. Events on the schedule flowed naturally into one another. I felt a lightness of spirit, a naturalness at being on retreat again. I remembered the glowing inner space of focused oneness that I had experienced on my last WZR and I was eager to know it again. I felt as though I was looking for a spiritual lover.
Day 2: Sitting began to get difficult. Scattered thoughts and conflicting voices began to take over the meditation and there was a dreadful sleepiness.
Day 3: Battle raged. One part of me wanted to sleep, the other wanted to stay awake and was furious with the sleepiness of the other part. One part was desperately trying to "calm the mind" while the other ridiculed my efforts. I began to weep with distress. A vehement hatred welled up. "I hate you. I hate you" I hissed inwardly. "You are nothing to do with me!"
This was a familiar thought even though I did not know who or what I hated. Inside me, the belittling voice became stronger and more dominant as the day wore on. Sneering, jeering, devaluing the work I had done on previous retreats, telling me it was all nonsense. By evening I was convinced I was hopeless at Zazen and I went fearfully to bed where I was haunted by visions of the rotting corpses of my children. I was consumed by a sense of futility and failure. I was just one big selfish ego which was more powerful than I had ever dreamt. I was wasting my time.
Day 4: Although the sleepiness was wearing off, I had to make extreme efforts to control the vicious voice. By afternoon I was wearily resigned. The voice was like a monster that had become fully manifest in the forefront of my conciousness. It was a cruel monster, dominant and evil. It laughed and sneered, telling me that I had created him and that he now controlled me. All my previous insights had been him in disguise. My spiritual journey, my quest to seek the truth were both tossed maliciously aside. The monster, proclaiming that he was in charge, now dared me to confront him.
I did so, for there was nothing else to do. It was a fight to the death. Indeed, I was actually prepared to die. I was crying out to John to help me yet, as I continued my practice, I felt I was beginning to recover some ground. The monster seemed to be slipping to the back of my head. Fortunately it was time for an interview.
I was stopped in my tracks when John told me firmly that this monster was not my ego but a voice from childhood. Furthermore, he assured me that I had the power to overcome it. I was comforted but still very afraid that the monster might reappear in a different guise. Even so, by the time I returned to my cushion, the monster had shrunk considerably. As I sat I began to feel a growing sense of my own power and a feeling of compassion for the monster appeared. I had no wish to hurt him but needed to remove him so that this terrible inner voice could no longer trouble me. As the compassion grew the monster receded and, prostrating gently before the Buddha, I returned him to the Universe.
Yet, even as I did so, a smaller, more insidious, voice whispered from below saying that I must get things right or otherwise I am nothing. Intuitively, I realised the monster had been my fear of failing. I had fed it over the years with aspects of my fathers personality that I had found difficult. This insight at last allowed the monster to slip away quietly and, later as I was meditating beside the stream, I had a powerful sensation of him whooshing out of my body and away into the blue sky. The gratitude and peace that followed was all the more precious for the struggle that had gone on before.
Day 5: It was not long before my new found inner quiet was once again disturbed. This time a rather virtuous little girl, still working very hard to get things right, was scornfully criticising all those other members of the group who were late for bells or who broke the silence unnecessarily. Seeking approval and attention, she welcomed the discipline of the retreat in order to show off how good she was.
I knew this little girl was just as big an obstacle to practise as was the monster. I took her to John for advice. Gradually I came to realise that the little girl did not need to be good. The reason why she tried so hard to be so was to keep the monster under control. Look how good I am, I cannot be that bad. Indeed I had clung to her when battling with the monster and vowing to continue my practise. The joy when I realised she was actually free! I nearly burst with happiness. I let her out with such tenderness. The joy of her freedom left me reeling. It seemed as though I had at last begun to love those locked in parts of myself enough to let them go. The joy radiated into an all consuming compassion for my parents. Was I not whole and complete and filled with gratitude to them for having given me life?
At that moment I knew I was The Mind that Seeks the Way. What else could I possibly be? My parents, who had given me birth, were quite separate individuals from me. I no longer needed them inside me. It was as if I had existed timelessly long before becoming their child. The Mind that Seeks the Way was uncluttered now by voices. I experienced a wondrous gratitude. The compassion of the Universe filled me with awe.
On the last evening I was deeply moved by the chanting of the Litany to the Great Compassionate One. The words seemed to spring from my own heart. The Bodhisattva of Compassion seemed to be my spiritual lover. I left the retreat feeling exhausted, reflective and strangely different. I had passed through a gateless gate and somehow had miraculously discovered the signless signpost pointing the way home.
With every breath I take the Universe pours out its compassion. I am unable to avoid it. I look into compassion and see that it is empty. That is its nature. It arises out of nothing, and yet it is everything. The compassion of the Universe is my compassion. I discovered on the retreat that when The Mind that Seeks the Way looks into the mind, then there is no self.
