Touching the Heart-mind
We recently completed another full sesshin—this time five days instead of four—and what gratitude for being able to have a sesshin in our own home, where we don't have to travel so far to practice!
Dojin, Jisen, and I rang the bells and guided the schedule. Daiko led exercise with yoga, helping us in keeping our bodies prepared for long periods of zazen. And what an extraordinary gift it was to have Shoryu travel from New Mexico to serve as Tenzo, the head cook. In Zen, the role of Tenzo is far more than cooking meals—it is a position of deep spiritual responsibility. Every step—preparing ingredients, cooking, serving—is an expression of mindfulness and loving kindness. Following Dogen’s Tenzo Kyokun (Instructions for the Cook), Shoryu transformed ordinary kitchen work into a path of practice, nourishing our bodies and heart-mind.
The sesshin was a great success, yet it was not without its challenges. Living and practicing closely with others is never entirely easy. Tensions arise, schedules press, and patience is tested. But, this is the heart of community practice—the very conditions that foster growth.
One metaphor that comes to mind comes from Korean Zen Master Seung Sahn: “rubbing potatoes.” It’s not a literal practice, but a vivid teaching about the power of sangha, or community, to purify and refine the individual. It's said that in Korea, rather than washing potatoes one by one, they are placed in a tub of water and stirred together with a stick. The friction of potatoes rubbing against each other removes the dirt from all of them at once.
In the same way, the sangha functions as the tub and its members as the potatoes. Interaction, conflict, and collaboration create friction that rubs off our sharp edges, judgments, and self-centered habits. This metaphor reminds us that challenges within the group are not obstacles—they are opportunities to practice patience, compassion, and mindfulness. It is close to a rock tumbler, polishing jagged stones into smooth, refined forms over time.
Moreover, during this sesshin, I found myself making split-second decisions, often without notice, trying to navigate the dynamics of the sangha while keeping my practice. By the final night, everyone was worn, tired, and perhaps a little raw—but the practice had done its work. In the end, we celebrated together, shared leftovers, and expressed gratitude for the opportunity to sit, work, and live in the embrace of this supportive, sometimes challenging, but always transformative community.
This sesshin reminded us, once again, that Zen practice is not only found in the meditation hall but in the kitchen, in the shared meals, in the subtle frictions and joys of living together. It is in these moments—ordinary, demanding, and intimate—that the Dharma can teach us.
