I was in the midst of a personal crisis. By Labor Day, it was clear that my 19-year relationship was coming to a painful end. Though my partner and I still slept in the same bed, it seemed like months since I'd been able to sleep through the night. By 5 AM, I was awake, restless, and agitated.
I’d heard that there was a meditation hall of some kind in the Castro. I either asked around or looked it up in the phone book (we still had them in 1988). A few minutes before 6 AM on a grey morning, I went down a few concrete steps on the right side of a small garden at 57 Hartford Street, opened a creaky door, and found myself alone in a small meditation hall. I took off my shoes and sat on a black cushion nearest the door in case I needed to escape quickly and quietly. I’d sat before, even done a few day-long retreats with a Theravadin teacher, but that had been at least a decade earlier.
At 6 sharp, I heard a few clacks, sounding like a wooden hammer, and another creaky door opening at the top of some narrow stairs that lead up to the first floor. A small man with a bald head slowly came down carrying a stick of incense. He seemed a bit frail, but he moved with grace and purpose. When he got to my seat, he bent down, smiled, and said, “We sit facing the wall in this zendo.” I dutifully turned around. Then I heard bells and shuffling. A while later, I heard him get up, and within a few minutes I felt his index finger run gently down my spine. Immediately, something shifted in the way I was holding my lower back. Then, after some more time, there was another bell. I stood up, and Issan motioned for me to stand to his left. He handed me a card covered in plastic with a whole series of syllables.
He bowed nine times, and I followed. Then he did the whole service himself, lightly moving from drum to bell to altar, lighting incense and chanting those weird syllables. I had no idea what he was doing, but he moved with such grace and ease that I felt entirely comfortable. Then we bowed three more times. He bent down and folded up a strange cloth he’d placed on the floor; he looked at me and smiled. Then he said, “Don’t worry. If you keep coming back, it gets easier.
He disappeared upstairs, and I let myself out. I did keep coming back. There were a few more people most times. My sitting became steadier, more grounded. I learned when to bow and a few other things. A few of the chants also became easier to follow. When I joined the 6 PM sitting, I learned the Heart Sutra in English.
But looking back, there was absolutely nothing missing from Issan’s Zazen introduction: Do what you’re told, even if initially it seems to make no sense. Sit as straight as possible. Pay attention to your spine. Relax. Bow whenever you hear a bell and see others bowing. Watch the more experienced people. Be respectful. Smile. Keep coming back. It did get easier.
Issan didn’t hug me and kiss my cheek that morning. He probably didn’t want to scare me off.
Oh, Issan, you were wonderful. Thank you.
At 6 sharp, I heard a few clacks, sounding like a wooden hammer, and another creaky door opening at the top of some narrow stairs that lead up to the first floor. A small man with a bald head slowly came down carrying a stick of incense. He seemed a bit frail, but he moved with grace and purpose. When he got to my seat, he bent down, smiled, and said, “We sit facing the wall in this zendo.” I dutifully turned around. Then I heard bells and shuffling. A while later, I heard him get up, and within a few minutes I felt his index finger run gently down my spine. Immediately, something shifted in the way I was holding my lower back. Then, after some more time, there was another bell. I stood up, and Issan motioned for me to stand to his left. He handed me a card covered in plastic with a whole series of syllables.
He bowed nine times, and I followed. Then he did the whole service himself, lightly moving from drum to bell to altar, lighting incense and chanting those weird syllables. I had no idea what he was doing, but he moved with such grace and ease that I felt entirely comfortable. Then we bowed three more times. He bent down and folded up a strange cloth he’d placed on the floor; he looked at me and smiled. Then he said, “Don’t worry. If you keep coming back, it gets easier.
He disappeared upstairs, and I let myself out. I did keep coming back. There were a few more people most times. My sitting became steadier, more grounded. I learned when to bow and a few other things. A few of the chants also became easier to follow. When I joined the 6 PM sitting, I learned the Heart Sutra in English.
But looking back, there was absolutely nothing missing from Issan’s Zazen introduction: Do what you’re told, even if initially it seems to make no sense. Sit as straight as possible. Pay attention to your spine. Relax. Bow whenever you hear a bell and see others bowing. Watch the more experienced people. Be respectful. Smile. Keep coming back. It did get easier.
Issan didn’t hug me and kiss my cheek that morning. He probably didn’t want to scare me off.
Oh, Issan, you were wonderful. Thank you.
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