The Enso Healing Altar is like many home altars—symbolic and grounding—created as a personal space to share with others. It came into being early in the ZMM pandemic quarantine, first as a conversation between two nurses in residence about grief, gratitude, fears and hopes for a future that could transform suffering into healing. Talking with other residents, they began to gather items—a Medicine Buddha, an altar cloth from a blue hospital scrub, a hand-made bowl—sharing the urgent feelings of concern for those who were on the front lines.
The bhikkhuni Uppalavanna said to Mara the Evil One: Though a hundred thousand rogues just like you might come here, I stir not a hair, I feel no terror; Even alone, Mara, I don’t fear you. I can make myself disappear. Or I can enter inside your belly. I can stand between your eyebrows, yet you won’t catch a glimpse of me. I am the master of my own mind, the bases of power are well developed; I am freed from every kind of bondage, therefore, I don’t fear you, friend.
Then Mara the Evil One, realizing, “The bhikkhuni Uppalavanna knows me,” sad and disappointed, disappeared right there.
Of all the many things we might imagine, as we begin practicing the dharma, we might not think of courage as being something we will need to draw upon, and yet it’s there in the teachings, from the beginning.
The wake-up drum and bell sounding through the hallway, people moving quietly before dawn, three rings on the bansho bell beginning morning zazen. Sesshin has its soundscape, and with a little bit of added technology, an unprecedented 133 people shared the experience of the Apple Blossom sesshin sounds.
Last Saturday a group of new residents entered the monastery for the first time—about thirty thousand of them to be more precise. On Saturday I picked up three new packages of bees from Hudson Valley Bee Supply to replace the hives we lost over the winter. Each package holds approximately ten thousand bees, each with its own queen.
Print is in some ways an outmoded format, lacking the speed of digital or the ease of consuming audio/video content, so it was with some degree of soul-searching that the Monastery staff decided to collect a years’ worth of teachings and practice in the new annual journal Mountains & Rivers: Zen Dharma and Practice.
Residency at our Brooklyn Temple has always been an interweaving of NYC energy with the Zen Buddhism of a lay practice center. In these early weeks of the pandemic, our current residents Oliver, Jo and Brian, have shifted gears from their personal and Temple related routines. Here they offer an inside view of their lives and Zen training, greatly changed and yet in important ways still very much the same. — MR
Until two weeks ago, joining the residents for zazen meant hurriedly finishing the dinner dishes, throwing on my coat and heading down the road to the Monastery. Opening the front door, I would be greeted by the smell of incense and the wooden dragon’s arresting gaze before finding an empty seat in the zendo.
These days, sitting with the sangha has a very different routine. As 7:30 pm approaches, I along with practitioners living down the road or as far away as New Zealand will make room on our altars for a laptop and open the Monastery livestream, where gray-robed residents filter in and take their seats to the familiar rhythm of the timekeeper’s han run. This week, more than a hundred people are participating in “virtual sesshin” from their own homes, committing to four hours of zazen per day, periods of mindful eating and work practice, and limited contact with email and the news.
as it is to have my laptop and Internet connection suddenly become a
central part of my meditation practice, it’s surprisingly powerful to
be able to see and hear the zendo. Particularly poignant are the
small, ordinary sights and sounds: the familiar rustling of robes and
crackling of radiators, the straightening of zabutons after service,
and whispered conferences about the subtleties of service positions.
Shugen Roshi recently made a small but telling change in the liturgy:
instead of bowing towards the center of the room as part of the
formal exit, the monastics and residents now turn and bow towards the
back of the zendo, where the livestream camera is mounted. This
subtle shift makes me feel intimately included in zendo practice,
even at a distance.
Not all of our digital community happens in silence, though. Everything from Zen Kids meetings to art practice sessions to conversations with teachers and monastics has been moved online, so almost every day there is an opportunity to see the faces of the sangha. As much as I miss the physical presence of the community within the monastery building, there is an unexpected silver lining to this time of distancing—the ability to be in closer contact with the many practitioners who live too far away to come to the Monastery regularly. On many of the Zoom meetings, there are faces I’ve never seen, or see infrequently—the New Zealand sangha gathered in their zendo, students living overseas, old friends of the Monastery who have moved away, and many others.
In addition to the generous virtual offerings coming from the Monastery cloister, the lay sangha has found a number of other ways to use the digital tools available to nourish practice in this time of uncertainty. Seigei Spark and Sankai Lemmens, both senior lay practitioners, started a “Sangha Treasure” google group, a platform for sharing photos and staying connected. Shea Zuiko Settimi and Mary Bosakowski, who share a house in Phoenicia, host a Zoom meetingevery night at 8 PM to check in, chant the Metta Sutta, and offer dedications or intentions.
this daily moment of connection, Mary writes:
so warming, so enriching, so tender for us to spend this time and
explore this teaching, together. And, afterwards, to go around the
circle and offer our personal dedications. We have members of our own
sangha, other sanghas, as well as friends who, while they may not
identify as Buddhists, join in whole-heartedly. We may be few,
or more than a few, on any given night, but each and every night has
its own power and grace. I’m grateful for this time together.
Grounded by it. In awe of it.”
new digital tools have great potential, but also present some
challenges. It’s hard to maintain a mental cloister when the same
screen that houses my virtual zendo also offers email, text messages,
work, and a host of other distractions. After some experimenting, I
found a method that works for me: I tune into the livestream while
sitting, but keep my laptop out of sight. That way, the kyosaku’s whack and dokusan bell provide the familiar soundtrack of
sesshin without the seductive glow of the LED screen.
lay practitioners have found their own ways of balancing digital
engagement with solitary practice:
Shea Settimi says, “I’ve learned that I have to get really quiet and grounded before I ‘enter’ the day. I do stretching, liturgy, sitting, tarot practice and journaling. And then I open it up. I’m blessed to have a very large and amazing circle of friends, but talking/texting all day with others can be exhausting. I’m still learning to find the balance. I’ve also begun evening rituals to plant intentional seeds in my mind before going to bed. In a time like this where there is so much uncertainty and so little that I can control, the power of my mind feels really magnified. Every choice is important because I can experience the effects so directly and immediately.”
Seigei Spark set up a new home zendo in her painting studio. She spoke to me about the challenge of doing zazen in front of the computer, noting that the “checking mind”, which is pulled to texts, emails, or the news, is hard to let go of when the device is within arm’s reach. Although Seigei mostly does her zazen practice off-line, she expressed gratitude for the extensions of zendo liturgy into the home sphere that the livestream enables.
I’m sitting outside the Sangha House on day nine of quarantine away from other residents and monastics (I get wifi here), and its a bright, drizzly spring day. A friend down with Covid-19 after we visited—maintaining appropriate distance—and so protecting the other 35 residential sangha members, including our monastic teachers, is a huge priority. So just in case (I feel fine, so far so good), I am practicing solo. The escalation of new cases in New York this week has us all on edge.
The garden is always a refuge but especially now—the delights of the greenhouse and the fresh earth outside are intoxicating—spring has truly come. In the “new normal” at the Monastery and the Temple, life continues with adjustments great and small. Here are some highlights from our new precautions and practices as the reality of social distancing in a communal monastic cloister comes home to us.
This excerpt is from Mountains and Rivers, the annual book-length journal of the MRO which features original contributions from dharma teachers like Hojin Sensei, an artist, ceramicist and director of training at Zen Mountain Monastery. Learn more here about the journal and enjoy this teaching Hojin offered on creativity, connection and spiritual integrity.
Hojin Sensei: You can do an entire art practice with your eyes closed, so it’s not about technique. It’s about connections, about staying connected, turning off those voices that judge. Or, let the judge do your work! What does ‘judging my work’ actually look like? What would a judge draw? I mean, give ‘em a pen! Say “go to it, judge,” you know. They’d probably be, like, “naw, not that. You’re going to do that? no way, that doesn’t look like art.”