The annual ski trip is suddenly blessed by...good skiing conditions. Meanwhile, I take a few students to the Hayden Planetarium in NYC. A few diligent souls will stay behind to tick away at their work as the term comes to a close.
I spent the weekend at Zen Mountain Monastery. It was sesshin, a longish period of silence, no eye contact, and intensive meditation. Was it difficult to pile on ten or twelve hours of meditation? Physically, no. But I came up hard against a riot in my skull. It was not, not in the least, a quiet weekend.
The Catskills are a place of deep association for me. I camped there often as a scout, and the headwaters of the Delaware, my favorite of all rivers, are tucked away up there. This monastery- a serene, Swedish Arts and Crafts style building backed by a couple hundred acres of mountain- has at its feet a pretty little creek converging with the strong Esopus. Twelve kind and lively monks levitate back and forth between the temple in Brooklyn and the redoubt in the mountains.
Peaceful, serious, with a clear program set out for whomever wants that sort of hard effort. I was happy to get home, but more than a little wired on chocolate. Soon, my mood collapsed. What I wanted was more silence, more chances to face what I missed. The snow storm shook me out of my doldrums and pushed me into the world again, but I found all this very, very interesting.
I intend to write a bit more about such things.
I spent the weekend at Zen Mountain Monastery. It was sesshin, a longish period of silence, no eye contact, and intensive meditation. Was it difficult to pile on ten or twelve hours of meditation? Physically, no. But I came up hard against a riot in my skull. It was not, not in the least, a quiet weekend.
The Catskills are a place of deep association for me. I camped there often as a scout, and the headwaters of the Delaware, my favorite of all rivers, are tucked away up there. This monastery- a serene, Swedish Arts and Crafts style building backed by a couple hundred acres of mountain- has at its feet a pretty little creek converging with the strong Esopus. Twelve kind and lively monks levitate back and forth between the temple in Brooklyn and the redoubt in the mountains.
Peaceful, serious, with a clear program set out for whomever wants that sort of hard effort. I was happy to get home, but more than a little wired on chocolate. Soon, my mood collapsed. What I wanted was more silence, more chances to face what I missed. The snow storm shook me out of my doldrums and pushed me into the world again, but I found all this very, very interesting.
I intend to write a bit more about such things.
No comments:
Post a Comment