"The cold is real," the master said. "When you're sick, be sick."
I was sick.
"But worrying is extra," he added.
Twice at dharma study I excused myself from the table to tend to my coughing. My sinuses were so sensitive to pressure that I removed my glasses and let them hang from the lanyard around my neck. I said nothing, asked nothing, trying not to irritate my throat and lungs and trigger a fit of coughing. My concentration lapsed. I felt exhausted from trying to control my weeping eyes, runny nose, and scratchy sore throat and when in gassho we recited the simple eko and vows to conclude our study I rested my elbows on the table.
The master corrected me.
"Bob!"
"Yes?"
"Don't rest your elbows on the table!"
I bowed.
Later the master had more to say about this in my journal.
"Always make your best effort to sit up straight, to stand up straight, and to hold gassho up in a dignified posture. If you sit up and stand up straight, mind will be straight, for body and mind are not two."
Understood.
I told the master that I wondered if I should just skip the two-day sesshin which would conclude the practice period. I was concerned about my coughing fits, some so violent that I gagged, and about infecting others at sesshin. But I had been going to work with this crud—I did feel slightly better—and it seemed that I got more rest in zazen than in trying unsuccessfully to nap.
The master thought I should attend and sit.
"I've never regretted sitting sesshin with a cold," he told me.
I decided to sit.
"I have great faith in the healing power of zazen," added the master.
Prayer?
In the end my cold did not bother me much. I was almost well by Saturday morning and an antihistamine dried up the postnasal drip that caused my coughing, except for three or four spells I could not control, and for those I just excused myself and took to the bathroom till I got myself well. I experienced less anxiety than in the past and, though I made the same number and kind of mistakes as ever, this time I neither dwelled on them nor let them fuel my anxiety about the next. I let them go. I had always tried to let them go. I just had not been able. Now I had. At sesshin I felt I learned a lot about myself and the world even though it was hard to express in words exactly what. In the two days my legs and back had remained stronger than in any sesshin previous. Even at the end I could sit forty minutes in half lotus, even fifty, without serious discomfort no matter which leg I had up or down. I felt bad for Irene. I could see on both days that Irene was grinding. She suffered both physical and emotional pain, Irene said in our informal final discussion.
"This sesshin has been the most difficult I have ever been through."
"Can I do anything to help?" I asked Irene as we adjourned.
"No," she said.
"I knew you were having a hard time because you acted so sober," I said.
Irene laughed.
"I mean—"
I had meant withdrawn, grim.
But my poor choice of words made Irene laugh again and then smile broadly.
"That's better than acting drunk," Irene joked.
We hugged.
I felt fortunate and grateful to be able to work with and for these people, Edward, Alison, David, Sally, Irene, and of course with and for the master without whom none of it would have been possible.
"It's inspiring to practice with people who are trying so hard to be good!"
My words.
Even as I wrote this observation in my journal it brought tears to my eyes and I knew I had spoken for others present, too, because, for many months to follow, more than once I heard both Edward and the master refer to my remark. The sesshin had felt to me like an authentic religious and spiritual experience. It was hard to say exactly why, but I hoped that maybe one day I might be able.
No comments:
Post a Comment