A Long Hike On The Cushion
Tuesday, April 4th, 2006Korea . Such retreats are also practiced in the Japanese Zen traditions, and are an echo of the long meditation retreats undertaken by the Buddha and his followers when they were forced to wait out the monsoon season. When you wake up on the first morning of a winter retreat to find there is deep, fresh snow completely burying the front steps and the road back to city life, nature seems to reflect the nature of the retreat. As Garrison Keillor put it, nobody imposes their ambitious schedule on winter. Living beings follow winter’s schedule, not the other way around. It is the same with a long retreat: 
<i>Kyol Che</i> has been translated as “tight dharma” and, lately, “coming together.” By any name, it is a traditional 90-day intensive retreat practiced by Buddhist monks in
4:30 AM – Wake up bell
4:45 AM – 108 prostrations
5:15 AM – Morning chanting
6:00 – 7:30 Meditation
7:30 – Breakfast (always rolled oats and fruit)
8:15 – 9:15 Work period
10:00-12:00 Meditation
12:05 PM – Lunch (vegetarian soup with rice, and salad)
1:30 – 4:30 Meditation
5:00 Dinner (soup, bread, fruit)
6:30 – 7:30 Chanting
7:30 – 9:30 Meditation
9:30 – 9:40 Chanting
9:40 PM – Go to bed
The schedule is conducted in silence. At http://www.kwanumzen.org/pzc/
Providence Zen Center , the schedule is repeated seven days per week with as little variation as possible. A former abbot of PZC once explained to me that this repetition is the instrument that gives the retreat its power. Participants are expected to put away their journals and books and sketching pads and cell phones; there is no internet access, no NPR, and no news; there is no eating between meals, and no caffeine. In fact, for three months we drank nothing but water or grain tea. (Grain teas are a Korean staple. We had <i>oksusu-cha</i>, a tea brewed from roasted corn kernels; or <i>bori-cha</i>, brewed from roasted barley corns.)
Zen Master Dae Bong frequently describes this bland environment as a plain white background that brings our minds very clearly into view. If you’ve got buttons, they will be pushed. What impulses arise when you’re not getting the stimulation you are used to? Do you crave sweets, or genital gratification? Do you have an extroverted personality, do you go nuts without social interaction? Do you have an introverted personality, does it make you crazy to be in the company of 5-16 other people for most of the day?
For 12 years, Zen meditation has been part of my day, whether it’s been at a
Zen Center or in an apartment. One important difference between this and a retreat is that with daily practice I am carving some time out of a crowded schedule to sit; on retreat, the crowded schedule is put aside, and all of ones time and energy can be devoted to paying close attention to this moment in time (too late). Most of these retreats have been 1-3 days or 7 days. In 1999, I sat my first long retreat: it was one month of winter <i>Kyol Che</i>. I had recently had my heart broken and was in a turbulent state of mind. Instead of acting on any of the thousands of crazy impulses that were spinning around in my mind, I had a chance to sit still and put all my <i>really great ideas</i> in the fridge for a month.
Very often, people use prison analogies to describe long retreats, and humor may or may not be intended. There is another way to frame it, that comes closer to describing my winter: Kyol Che was like a long, challenging hike; albeit, one without much scenery.
When you read accounts of “thru-hikers” who trek the entire
Appalachian Trail , certain themes emerge that will sound familiar to people who have sat Kyol Che. Consider these quotes by A.T. thru-hikers:
“…I had a daunting feeling…What am I doing here?…I was excited and full of self-doubts. I was questioning why I was there. On the approach trail, I thought, ‘If this is what it’s like the whole way, I’m in trouble.’”
“…it’s such an elemental thing we’re doing out there, sharing the essentials and the really vital parts of living in such close proximity. Maybe it’s the relative anonymity of it, too…Maybe it’s the common goal and common dreams. Almost everybody is there for a little bit of soul searching.”
“Your first week you think, ‘I’m way down in
Georgia and I’m already exhausted.’ No wonder so many people drop out the first week. Then the second week, blisters set in. In
Georgia , it’s straight up and straight down. Six miles is a big deal. You think, ‘How am I ever going to get to Katahdin?’ But then you start wondering just what’s around the next bend.”
“I got rid of a lot of things. If there was malice or hatred, I got rid of it. You get your priorities in order. You look inside, see who this person is, where you want to go.”
“…I realize it wasn’t the destination that was important: it was the journey. It was hard work, but rest and food have never been as sweet. I’ve been in bad weather and on dangerous terrain and have discovered that strength and youth aren’t as valuable as persistence is. And mostly I’ve just been overwhelmed by beauty – every day, every direction I looked. I won’t ever forget it.”
(All of these quotes are from the mouths of thru-hikers interviewed in Larry Luxenberg’s lovely book, <i>Walking The Appalachian Trail</i>, 1994, Stackpole Books.)
As on the A.T., the journey requires some planning, and one depends on others’ help. “Trail angels” and bodhisattvas appear, often when one is feeling discouraged. A couple of sponsors 
helped me with money; one person simply gave me a donation towards my retreat without being asked. During the retreat, a friend of mine had noticed I had filched a towel to prop under my knee, and (silently) presented me with a perfectly-sized mini-cushion. On a day when I fell down outside, a monk noticed I had ripped my pants and presented me with an extra pair he had.
As on the A.T., there is the physical challenge and the body must adjust. On the trail, there are the demands of hiking 5, 10, or 20 miles a day. On the cushion, one must sit still for long stretches of the day; there are about 10 hours of meditation.
As on the A.T., there are people who think it’s all about the gear. Some people pack their entire house. Some people feel that in order to proceed with the retreat they need grey monk clothes, starched and impeccably ironed, and drastic haircuts.
As on the A.T., it is natural that many people expect one kind of experience they’ve heard about and dreamt about, yet they get what they get. If one holds tightly onto a fantasy about “a hike in nature” or “going deeper into my meditation practice,” they are asking for a powerful surprise. Nature didn’t invite you and has not made special arrangements. As for the lovely, peaceful meditation retreat, you may find that you are not sitting in a room full of Dalai Lamas and Thich Nhat Hanhs, and you aren’t so lovely yourself.
At our Kyol Che, one can participate for shorter periods: one week, or increments of one week. One can hike the entire 2,000+ miles of the trail or hike part of it. What matters is the willingness to take one more step, to pay attention. It’s not even about what’s around the next bend, it’s about what is right here. Who is breathing? There are people in the monastery who are there for 90 days and people who are there for 7 days, but it does not matter because all anyone ever has is this moment. In fact, you can’t even have that. (If you have it, email it to me. Send it as an attachment, of course.)
What do you require in order to continue when you aren’t feeling enlightened, when your favorite fruit is not in the fruit bowl at dinner, when your 60-dollar monk pants have a rip in them, when you’re cold, when you wish you could stop thinking about sex or money (or sex with money), when the guy next to you is fidgeting, when you’re dozing off on the cushion, when you’re worrying that your lover is flirting with somebody else, when you think Zen practice is a waste of time or beyond your ability, when you are aching for a cigarette or a pint of beer right now?
In one of Samuel Beckett’s plays, there is this line: “I can’t go on; I’ll go on.” Cheri Huber calls it “willingness,” Zen Master Seung Sahn called it “try mind,” and one of the A.T. hikers quoted above called it “persistence.” When you’re feeling tired in
Tennessee , you remember that
Mount Katahdin is up in
Maine and you don’t have to climb it today. Only one step is necessary. So you take one step at a time. What seems daunting at the beginning is this idea that we have a long distance to cover – omigod, 90 days. It doesn’t even exist. Kyol Che is an imaginary mountain. There is no distance longer than a single breath.
We’re all clever people and we can understand that concept without sitting a single day of retreat in our lives. As an idea, it doesn’t help us. I know how to build a house but I have never done it: I haven’t dug the post holes or framed the rooms or put in the plumbing and wires. I know a lot about building a house, yet I don’t know anything about building a house. Submitting to Kyol Che is submitting to an artificial situation in order to experience how we really respond to that situation, and to experience our persistence to whatever degree it is truly present in us, and to learn what vow we actually want to fulfill.
