Reflections on Spring Sesshin

We used to sit for 20 minutes with our fellow Aikido friends once a week. Then Covid started, and so did our Zen practice with the Virtual Dojo. David had participated in Sesshins as a young adult, and just recently joined in again at Spring Green Dojo. For him, this was a return to an active volcano. For Sarah, she was jumping into the volcano for the first time. “Eyes wide open, baby” was our motto on the drive to Spring Green. The falling snow, budding tree blossoms, occasional sounds of rain drops, and a range of bird songs accompanied us through the days, hours, minutes - breath after breath. 

In a sense, we failed. The physical pain was too intense. The emotional and psychological turmoil wore Sarah down. Her anxieties and panic attacks were one of the reasons she wanted to go through this experience; the hope being to come out the other end more whole. That meant facing it again and knowing that it is a messy business to be fully alive. David’s protective instincts tried to shield her from the suffering, but he could not.  Instead, he was forced to sit still and let her handle it fully. 

We both got burned up and spit out. We had heard that Sesshin will break you sooner or later, but the truth was that the compassion and support from everyone in this collective was a glue. It was like the gold that is used to piece together broken bowls in Kintsugi; it made us whole in a way that included all our faults and tribulations. The love from the kitchen, the almost palpable extension of mental sustenance coming from the jiki, Roshis, handaikan and fellow students created a powerful dynamic for growth and change. 

We not only survived, but in the days that followed, we found ourselves thriving. Sarah’s motivation to unlearn her anxieties without medication, and to rewire her brain to be less stressed and overcome by panic was renewed. We came out the other side of this experience, both humbled and motivated to expand both our personal training and to seek out opportunities to offer this to others at some point. 

It’s hard to describe in words what it feels like when a group of people ceases to be made up of individuals, and starts breathing, living, and acting as one big loving heart and hara. Still each uniquely ourselves, as shown in our calligraphy, but also woven completely together. It is rare and precious. Those last few hours on Sunday morning were one such occasion. We felt pure flow and joy. There were still lots of small mistakes and a bit of nerves trying to get bowls put away before the handaikan sent them flying, but all was in earnest and with a twinkle in our eyes. Thank you all. 

On a last note, learning to be less fragile and more powerful from the core requires sitting in uncomfortableness. Proof is in the pudding or, in this instance, in the fact that we sat down to write these few lines and did not shy away from it. Here’s to new beginnings, change, and hope!