Practice Period at Green Gulch

I’ve just got back to the UK after seven and a half months away. Last October I went to the eight week fall practice period at San Francisco Zen Center’s Green Gulch Farm. I went back to Green Gulch for five weeks in January, to work in the kitchen during and after Reb Anderson’s intensive winter retreat. Then some other stuff happened, then in April I went to the Satchidananda Ashram in Virginia, to train to teach Integral Yoga. And now I’m back. The moment I got home, it felt as if I’d never been away. Everything that happened since I left last October feels like Alice in Wonderland. I keep being confused by how warm it is, and it takes a moment to remember that it’s summer again, already.

I was asked if I’d like to write something about my time away – and I would! – but feelings of frustration keep coming up about how little it’s possible to communicate. At Green Gulch I grew to love the Genjo Koan, mainly the bit about being in a boat in the middle of the ocean, and how the ocean looks circular, but actually its features are infinite in variety. I’m so aware that anything I write down here will just be this tiny circle of water, when I wish I could show you all the millions of inlets and cliffs and beaches of the last seven months, or even just of the practice period. But let’s have a go anyway.

The first week of October last year, I left my job in London, packed my stuff into a 10’ by 10’ storage unit, said goodbye to my friends and family, and flew to San Francisco for the eight week fall practice period at San Francisco Zen Center’s Green Gulch Farm. On arrival I had the most violent episode of food poisoning of my entire life. Or rather, my body freaked out completely at the sudden massive change that it was being subjected to.

Before going to practice period, I had only been to two sesshins, and had never managed to develop a regular sitting practice. But ever since turning up by chance at Meiya Wender’s zen forms and ceremonies retreat at Gaia House in March 2009, I’d felt this persistent attraction to zen center. So I thought maybe a good way to establish a regular home practice would be to go and practice with a community for a bit. I naively assumed that the practice period would be full of people with similar stories to me. Turned out not: all of the other 28 students had a longstanding daily sitting practice; and half of them were already residents at Green Gulch.

Due to my whole-body freak out, I arrived a day late, when these 28 sombre-looking strangers were already sitting Tangaryo (the day of continuous sitting that opens practice period). The place felt totally alien and unwelcoming. It was overcast and drizzly, and the low buildings huddled beneath massive dark trees felt gloomy and oppressive. It wasn’t til much later, when the sun came out, that I started to love the place.

The first two weeks felt like I’d joined the army for basic training. The basic schedule was overwhelming enough (wake up 4.30, five periods of zazen a day, three services, work and study), but on top of that all the free time early on was taken up with learning forms and ceremonies, training for zendo jobs and oryoki. After two weeks my back gave out in protest. There was a one-day sit where it rained all day, and from my seat in the barely-lit zendo it felt like the sun never even came up. The next day I stood up too quickly and felt a sharp pang in my lower back. The physical pain brought everything else up and I felt totally broken, physically, mentally, emotionally. I signed off work and crawled into bed in defeat. And then Arlene, Green Gulch’s wonderful Tanto (head of practice) sailed into my room, all robes and compassion. She sat with me while I sobbed uncontrollably, and then swept me off to her house and fed me tea and chocolate all afternoon while doing some amazingly reassuring straight-talking about how weird Zen Center can feel.

From there, more or less, things went slowly uphill. My back gradually calmed down, although sitting remained a massive challenge physically. Mentally and emotionally, it became slightly more bearable. Maybe once every few days I’d even have a period of zazen where my mind really did quieten down to the point where it felt like I could just watch, without getting involved. I started to connect with the other practice period students, and by the end of November they all felt like old friends. We had study period most afternoons, sitting quietly at long tables in Cloud Hall next to the Zendo, and I’d find myself looking round at these people reading or sewing and feel completely filled with love for them all.

I discovered that I love living in community. I love getting up each day with a whole bunch of like-minded people, all making their best effort to practice. I grew to love the forms – I miss bowing when you sit down to eat with people! It amazed me how quickly it all sunk in. One time in November, I saw a guest in the zendo with a sitting bench casually slung over her arm rather than held up carefully with both hands, and felt a reaction of shocked disapproval… and then double shock to realise how quickly I’d gone from being the person who innocently gets the form wrong, to the person who’s become too attached to the form!

I loved the zendo, and services, and dharma talks and classes and practice discussions. I love the books that I had time to read. There were also moments – sometimes days at a time – that I hated, and practicing with that was invaluable. Linda Ruth, Green Gulch’s abiding senior dharma teacher, led the practice period, and sitting with and talking with her over eight weeks was awesome. Her theme for the seven-day sesshin that ends practice period was “just this”. Just this moment. Just this person. When I was hating sesshin, dying to run away, her teaching was – great, the “just this” of hating sesshin and dying to run away. What a precious moment. Whatever you’re thinking or feeling, just turn it up a notch and suddenly it’s the wonderful, fascinating experience of your own life! What amazing luck, to be here for this ride, to experience all this hatred and anger and fear – and joy and love and gratitude – and to really start to understand that all of it is just an illusion!

The first three days of sesshin were pure torture. (Schedule: wake up 4.30am; ten or eleven periods of zazen a day plus a dharma talk; no work period; all meals at your seat in the zendo). I was eating oryoki at a table because of my back injury, but sitting in a chair felt just as tortuous as sitting on a cushion. There were a couple of meals that I wept right through, and it took everything I had not to push the table over and run out of the side doors of the zendo. On the third day I saw Linda Ruth for practice discussion. I told her about all this agony and drama, and she said - that’s funny, because, from the outside it looks like you’re just sitting there, totally calm. Just sitting sesshin.

The fourth day I woke up and all the pain had gone. Days four and five floated by in a state of pretty much bliss, as far as I can remember. Days six and seven dragged a bit, but then the whole thing ended and I was again filled with all these amazing feelings of calm and love and gratitude to everyone and everything.

And then I slept for three days straight.

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