This was my first retreat of any kind and it was very difficult to start with the rigorous Chan approach. However, I felt very privileged to be accepted onto the retreat and I did not want to miss such an incredible opportunity to improve my practice. I undertook the retreat on the basis of intuition; it seemed entirely the right thing to do and the right time to be doing it.
Three years ago Zen helped to change my life after an intense period of losses. There was no need to give up my hectic lifestyle but I did change my attitude towards it. In fact, I enjoyed taking on more commitments, and I found true happiness where I least expected it with a wonderful partner who had made the same journey by a different route, using the same values and principles as exist in the teachings of Zen. I also developed greater emotional awareness, and I became kinder and less critical towards myself. Zen and some lovely people in my life at the time made this possible.
I was mentally prepared for a harsh week on retreat, but it was worsened by the fact that I was unwell for the first day and a half. My illness was a familiar one, but it imposed additional pain and fatigue. I admit I nearly gave up. Thankfully, I became acutely aware of the suffering of others as well as myself, and I rapidly developed a strong sense of community with my retreat companions.
Although silence from conversation was a relief to me, I was anticipating a great feeling of loss for music in my life, especially Bach and Tallis. Imagine my joy when we were given the gift of chanting throughout the whole retreat!
My work-task involved a lot of contact with the cook whose pure delight in cooking for us all was very sustaining. The food was glorious - all my favourite ingredients were included and it was perfectly prepared. I was very fortunate to witness our cook harmonising with the steam engine of a kitchen (as she put it) and I found the whole group generally harmonised well in activities. I so much wanted to play my part and not let the illness get the better of me. I largely succeeded and only missed one sitting session but it was very, very hard.
I came on retreat with an awareness of something stopping my progress. I knew from past experience that it was likely to be an emotional issue but it manifested itself as a very physical phenomenon. It felt as if a huge concrete block was stuck in the upper part of my chest. I knew it had to be confronted but I was afraid of it. I examined it closely. I looked at its shape, size, texture and colour. It was from a time before speech - some very old emotional pain. This frightened me. I am a skilled therapist and I used to be in therapy myself. I had already dealt with some unpleasant truths about myself - what could this new one be?
The process of 'finding out' happened during the retreat and it was a gentle one. I told myself I would try to accept as part of me whatever the concrete block might represent - and that if necessary I would forgive myself for feeling it. This may sound simple to do but, I can assure you, it isn't, even with practice! Outside the Ch'an hall, during a rest period, I was gradually overtaken by waves of immense grief. I had experienced this before but I obviously needed to do so again. I was distressed for several hours, drenched in tears of regret and loss.
Once I knew what had been confronting me, it was no longer terrifying. When the expression of grief left me I was exhausted but I felt somehow cleansed. The feeling of a concrete block in my chest disappeared and an intense pulsating started in the region just above and below the diaphragm. My heart was racing for many hours. It seemed like a prolonged panic attack and I began to worry that it might not go away. The next day, the pulsating continued upwards and formed a line between my abdomen and my throat.
When I consulted John, he explained this sensation as a release of energy in the channel which had been blocked. Since the retreat, this open channel, as I call it, still emits a less intense, pulsating sensation which is often with me both during and outside sitting. Now it is very like the warm glow of being truly and comfortably in love, which I feel for my partner.
What happened to my practice as a result of the retreat was amazing. I had been practising for about two years without really knowing the right posture (a result of learning to fold my legs originally from books, I suppose). John rectified my posture by placing a knee in the small of my back and pulling on my shoulders. This worked well, and I entered a phase of meditation which left me 'gazing in wonder' like a child, presumably a form of silent illumination. This child-like quality of 'gazing in wonder' remained with me during the rest of the retreat, making my actions more spontaneous.
My phase of 'gazing in wonder' was so beautiful it reduced me to tears. I left the Ch'an hall and burst into uncontrollable weeping. This was mainly an expression of joy, though that may not have been apparent to an observer. If there were any observers, they did not come near me which was entirely the correct way to behave towards me. The emotional release was all my own and would not have benefited from any outside intrusion. I was left trembling throughout lunch but again experiencing immense joy.
It happened again during the prostrations when repentance and gratitude seemed wholly fitting to my previous expression of grief. Again I wept copiously. The weeping of another person in the room intensified my reaction. Once over, the feelings which had led to this emotional release were 'washed out' and it was very important that the privacy of my distress was respected. I stress this again because at the time my reaction may have seemed in need of some intervention to an outsider. I wanted others to care about what I was going through but not to take it away from me.
Before the retreat, I had been practising silent illumination via observing the breath, and in one interview I explored the idea of using a koan. I had become very emotionally expressive and I thought using a koan might help to re-balance my intellectual side. John advised me to watch and see if any enquiry arose naturally for me and he gave me the idea of asking "What is my true nature?" I had some thoughts on that question but they were just that, thoughts not insights. Then a question did arise spontaneously during the phase when I was 'gazing in wonder'. This was "Where am I?" meaning "What is this place I have now entered?" That question gradually changed to "Where am 1?" meaning "What has happened to the entity which was me?"
