The last moments of sesshin

The tanto had cautioned us on the second-to-last day of sesshin to not look forward to after sesshin. She explained that often, when we do this, two things happen: what happens after sesshin is never the same as how we had planned it and, in spending our time thinking about what will happen after sesshin, we waste our actual time in sesshin.
I heeded her caution. I didn't pack my bag until the last break. I treated each zazen sesssion on that last day as if it were the first. Each time I caught myself planning for what I would do on Friday night and Saturday morning, I stopped myself and came back to my breath.
But on the last day of sesshin, during the last zazen period, I have to admit that I was looking forward to the final clap of the clackers after the meal chant. I pictured myself running from table to table in the dining hall, finally being able to express my gratitude to all of the people who had supported me during sesshin.
But just like the tanto said, what happened after sesshin did not match what I had planned.

After the last zazen period of sesshin, we chanted the Dai Hi Shin Darani- the very same chant we had chanted at my mother's memorial ceremony last fall. As I heard it and looked around the room at all of the people gathered, feelings came up; feelings that were so strong, I started to cry.
I sat with them, let myself feel them, and then inquired about them: What are these feelings? What is coming up?
Exposure. I answered. And lack of trust.
I felt them some more.
People are talking. They are talking about her.
And then it hit me. I remembered. I remembered being at my mom's funeral or memorial service or whatever it was we had where there were a lot of grownups and they were all talking about my mom. I remember this, I actually remember being there. 
And this is what I remembered. I remembered that everyone was talking about it, about her, about how wonderful she was and how much she would be missed. But no one was talking to me.
They would talk to me. They would tell me how sweet my mom was and how wonderful she was, but no one actually talked to me. No one asked me how I was doing. No one asked me if I was sad. No one acknowledged the fact that I had lost my mother- or at least, I don't remember anyone doing that. But I definitely remember them talking about it. And I think that's why I felt betrayed- they knew what had happened but they wouldn't talk about it.
This is what I felt during the Dai Hi Shin Darani. And then it was over and I thought the feeling was over, but it wasn't. Because then, we chanted the refuges in Pali and I wanted to cry again. I pictured that six year old, probably feeling really sad about all of this, and crying and I thought someone must have held me, someone must have let me cry in their lap or on their shoulder. And I decided that one of my aunts or my grandma probably did this.
The final bell rang, we bowed, and sesshin was over. I stayed behind in the zendo to offer incense for the mother of the practitioner who had been sitting right next to me for the entire sesshin. Afterward, I saw her as I walked out of the zendo. I wondered how I would express to her my feelings of shared loss and whether or not that was appropriate.
And then I was walking upstairs to the dining room. I was still feeling shaky. The feelings weren't really done. I didn't know what to do. I had to eat dinner- I just needed to. But I couldn't imagine sitting with others- talking as if none of this had just happened. I also really didn't want to sit at the silent table. I felt like such a killjoy sitting there- what a total bummer on our final meal together where we usually laugh and smile and are giddy with the relief of finally being able to speak.
I walked in to the kitchen, I didn't really have a choice in the matter, and got my food. I got my utensils and napkin and knew that the silent table was where I had to be. I walked over to it, bowed, and sat down with my back to the room. And then, there I was, with a plate of food in front of me and abolutely no desire to eat. I started to sob again, though I didn't know why. We chanted the meal chant and I finally got the words right but by the end of it, I still didn't want to eat. I listened as voices filled the room, overheard conversations about this day and that, "Is that what you meant?" and "I so wanted to tell you..."
I looked at my food again but a feeling of absolute sadness overwhelmed me. I finally pushed the plate away and realized that I was going to have to feel this one. So, I did. I leaned forward to put my head on my hands and started to cry. I sobbed, made a mess of myself, tried to wipe my face a bunch of times, but basically just kept sobbing at the table.
"You lied," was what I thought. "You said she was in heaven. You said God had taken his favorite angel back. You said she would always be there, watching over me...but she wasn't."
And then I pictured myself, my six year old self, going back to my bedroom, and having my mom not be there. And I think that's when I lost it. I knew I had to cry.
I pushed my chair away from my table, bowed to it, and headed for the roof. It took a really long time to get to the roof. As soon as I got there I headed as far across it as I could and sat down in the farthest corner and cried.
"You weren't there!" I cried. "They said you would be there and you weren't, ever. You were just gone. You weren't in heaven or watching over me or anything like that. You were just gone."
And I cried. I cried the tears of a six year old. They were full and pleading but mostly they were sad. I let them cry for a long time, fully gave in to them, until my six year old self calmed down and sighed. And then I looked at my mom.
"I really loved you. You were a really good mom and I really really loved you and you went away."
"I know," she answered. "I'm really sorry about that. I wish I could have stayed."
I don't remember what I said next but we both acknowledged this loss and I think I expressed my love for her. Because she was a really good mom. I thought I didn't remember that. I thought I never really had her but I did, I really did, and it was sad when she was gone.

After that I calmed down. I rocked myself back and forth a bit, but didn't know what to do next. What I really wanted, was for someone to come to the roof, see me, put their arms around me and tell me that it was okay. I wondered who would do this- wondered who would fit this role but realized there wasn't really anyone who could do this, not appropriately so. I wasn't six anymore. Yes I wanted to be held and cared for but in this case, there wasn't really anyone who played that role in my life.
But I also knew that I couldn't just sit there, on the roof, waiting for someone to notice me. I knew I had to go back downstairs, to find company of my own accord. At first, I considered returning to the silent table, but that felt isolating and what I was wanting was the company of others. So then I considered going to the talking table.
"NO way!" I initially reacted, "That is not a good idea."
But then I remembered two things I had learned during sesshin: when you feel yourself tightening up, notice this and try to step back and loosen instead and, when you feel like you can't do what's skillful, try at least to not do what you habitually do.
I could see that I was trying to protect myself from intimacy by refusing to sit at the talking table. I also knew that it was a little too much to ask me to sit at the talking table after I had, basically, just acted out the loss of my mother. So I decided to do both things: not do my habit and loosen up.
"Maybe you could sit at the talking table and just listen. Maybe you could just come up and sit down and people would kind of pick up on what you're going through or you could even tell them that you're feeling kind of quiet. Just try the talking table."
So I did. I walked back to the dining room. But by the time I got there, everyone had gone. There was one small table of people but that felt a little too intimate for me, so I walked back out.
And then I still didn't know what to do. I knew I wanted company- knew that was the right thing to do, but everyone had left, or was leaving, or was kind of moving on from the whole sesshin thing. It was Friday night after all.
I finally decided to go up to my friend's room- to just walk in and ask for a hug and let it go at that. I got there, knocked lightly, but heard no answer. I considered leaving but saw their shoes were there and saw that I was drawing away from intimacy, not really trying, letting it just be that I hadn't knocked loudly enough. I gave myself one more try, knocked firmly and listened for any sound of life, but there was none so I left.
As I walked back down to my room to get my things I ran into two people from sesshin. Both of them greeted me with such warmth but all I could do was bow, deeply to them. I just didn't have the words just then.
Just outside my room I ran into one of the people whom I had spilled on when I was serving oryoki.
"I am so sorry!" I said to her as soon as I saw her. "I think I spilled amaranth on your hand and I didn't know what to do..."
"I know!" she said. "I saw you go for the towel and I wanted to say 'It's okay- I'm totally fine!"
We laughed about this, discussed the forms for towels and how she was able to finally get the amaranth off her hand.

As I packed up my things and left the building I realized that it was mostly over. Yes, I had gone through a pretty big thing that night but now it was over. That was all. It just happened. And yes, I had tried to make contact again. I had considered isolation but chose against it. It's true that no one was in the dining room and my friend wasn't in their room and now I really was all alone. At first I thought this was a lesson, that I was learning how to deal with this all by myself, that that was why we had places like the silent table. But then I decided that this was just the way things happened tonight. I think it just was, it just was.
I went home, dropped off my stuff, texted my friend one more time but got no answer. I considered going out for a burger but really didn't want meat. That night, meat really felt like suffering. So I got blueberry pancakes instead.
The pancakes were really good but after about a third of the way through, I was full. I considered eating anyway, to feel all "reckless abandon" after eating "just enough" all week but I took a breath instead and felt my stomach. I didn't want to feel over stuffed and I knew that the only reason I was eating the rest was to not make the server feel bad or waste food. I started to get up and leave and then I thought about whether or not I had breakfast at home for tomorrow morning.
"Perfect!" I thought. "I can bring this home as leftovers and actually have breakfast in the morning."
I asked the server for a doggie bag, packed it up, and left.

On my way home, I kept starting to write a blogpost in my head about what had happened, about how I had actually felt what I never got to when I was six. I cautioned myself to be patient, to not write the post until I could get home and actually write it. I also told myself that I was writing a blogpost for connection, that I was hoping that my friends would read it, so that they would know what I was going through. I pointed out to myself that what I should do is call my friends or go to their house or just go be with someone and talk about it.
But it kept coming up, this need to write this post, this need to express what happened, so I gave in to it. I wrote this post.
I considered holding on to it, writing it just for myself and waiting to publish it until I could make it neat or until I could write other stuff about sesshin. But I think I really am writing it to tell you what happened. Maybe I couldn't tell you in person. Maybe if I had seen you I would have thought it was too heavy or maybe it would have come up, I don't know. I just know that something in me wanted you to know that this happened, wanted you to be a part of it.

And now, I know nothing...

I was jiko tonight. At the end of zazen, I heard someone close the doshi door and I thought it was a little strange. I wondered if we were having a special ceremony or if some gong was going to be gonged and that that was why they had closed the door. But then zazen ended, and the bell rang in the zendo, but then also, a gong gonged outside.
"Huh." I thought, "I wonder which one is in charge- the gong outside the zendo or the little bell inside the zendo." I looked around- no one seemed to be preparing for anything special and no one had said anything about a ceremony, so I decided that things were normal. And then I realized that if things were normal, I needed to hurry up and get to the altar so that I could light the incense for service.
When I got to the altar, there wasn't a stick of incense resting on the edge of the altar like normal. I glanced at the ino for direction but couldn't make eye contact. So, I decided that the person who had closed the doshi door didn't have time to put out the incense and decided that I should just grab a stick myself. I picked one up, looked over at the ino again, thought I saw a nod, and so lit the incense. Then I stood there, watched the doshi from the corner of my eye, and bowed when he bowed.
Someone must have left the zendo at that point because I heard the ino say "Please wait for the doshi to exit before you leave." When I heard that, I figured we were back on track and everything was normal. But then the ino approached the altar, said "Special ceremony" and motioned to the doshi that he could exit.
I watched as the doshi walked toward the doshi door and wondered what to do. He was leaving. I was supposed to follow him. But I had a stick of incense in my hands, and it was lit. I couldn't put it down, I didn't know where to put it down. I briefly considered placing it next to the one that was already in the altar but that seemed like I was just putting down incense and it felt like putting down incense was just something you didn't do. I watched as the doshi approached the doshi door. He looked over his shoulder at me, as if to wonder when I was coming. So then I decided that we were still in our roles as doshi and jiko- that I should still be holding the incense and he would still be bowing at an altar, but that the altar was someplace else.
I quickly followed him out of the zendo, up the stairs, laughing at myself for carrying the stick of incense back out of the zendo. Then we got to the top of the stairs and he bowed to me, like we always do when service is over, and I was stuck. Clearly, our job together was over: he had bowed to me, there wasn't going to be another altar. But here I was, with this stick of incense, and nowhere to put it. I laughed again, stood as far back against the wall as I could, and waited for the ino. I watched as people filed past me and walked into the courtyard for the Spring Equinox Ceremony.
"Oh," I thought. "That's what's going on." But then someone approached me and asked if the doshi was going to be doshi for this ceremony and explained that there was special incense for the ceremony.
"I have no idea," I explained. "I'm just holding this incense because I don't know where else to put it."
She went back to what she was doing and I stood back against the wall.
Finally, I saw the ino pass by and asked what to do with the incense. She kindly told me how to take care of it, even took the time to explicitly show me where to put it, then bowed to me and went off to take care of the Spring Equinox Ceremony. After all that I was ready to go home. So I headed down to the coat room, got my stuff, and walked out to my bike.
As I was unlocking my bike, I heard the gong for the ceremony and said to myself, "Okay, so when you hear a gong and a bell in the zendo, it means there's a special ceremony. Wait, and follow the ino's lead for what to do. And if you get to the altar, and there's no incense, don't light a new one. Definitely do not light incense if no one has put any there for you. I'm not quite sure what you should do instead, but I know for sure that you should not light incense."
And then I stopped.
"No you don't." I said. "You don't know what's going to happen next time: you don't know who's going to be doshi, you don't know if someone is going to forget to put out incense for you. The next special ceremony might even take place inside the zendo, and then maybe you should light incense and wait for the doshi.
You experienced what just happened now, and you have an idea of how things might happen the next time, but you know...nothing."
"And now..." I laughed (at myself, at the experience, at the futility) ".. you know nothing."

Who needs ice cream when people love you?

It hadn't been my best weekend. On Friday night, I had been so lonely that I had walked from convenience store to convenience store buying different bags of chips to make me feel better. I noticed this as I was doing it, but did it anyway. On top of that, I was doing this on a night when I knew that a bunch of my friends were having a lovely party, that I had been invited to, that was even my kind of a party- that I hadn't gone to, for a reason that I still didn't understand: it wasn't that I didn't want to go to the party, it was just that I didn't want to go the party. So I was trying to listen to that part of me that didn't want to go. But in the end, it seemed, part of me wanted some kind of company because I was buying chips, at convenience stores, to make me feel not so lonely. Also, it wasn't working. The chips tasted awful- all fake and chemical and also, I knew that I was buying chips to make me feel less lonely and I knew that chips weren't going to help me, but I just kept walking.
At the end of the block, I came to my house. I knew that I would feel better if I went home and called a friend, or did some writing, or read a book, or even listened to music. I totally knew that. But as I stood there, at the end of the block, I also knew that I could walk two extra blocks to another convenience store, where they had really bad fake chocolate goods (Zingers, I believe). I really wanted to do that, really wanted to go there and buy those really bad chocolate goods. I imagined the feel of the frosting in my mouth, the soft resistance of the cake as I took a bite, the pleasure of there being two in the package so that I could repeat the experience.
"Really?" I asked myself as I considered this. "Really you're going to walk two blocks past your own house to buy crap that you know is not going to make you feel good? Really?"
"Yes," I answered as I did it.
I walked down the hill, crossed the street, and kept walking to the corner store. I watched myself do this, saw myself in my blue jacket walking all alone in the middle of this big city to get to a convenience store where I was buying crap to make myself feel better.
"You are totally alone and choosing to be totally alone. You are doing this," I said to myself as I walked down the hill.
And I was. It was what I did that night. I walked around that store for 10 minutes, trying to find the food that would bring me pleasure. At one point, a woman came in and asked the owner if he sold cake frosting. I think he didn't understand what she was asking for because he looked at her blankly. I, however, knew exactly where the frosting was, it was one of the foods I had considered in my search.
"It's right here," I said, and pointed to the top shelf.
"Oh my gosh- thank you so much!" she said, and I smiled as I watched her pay for it at the front. I knew that feeling of actually needing something from the store and searching for it and it finally being there, knew that sense of relief and gratitude.
"See?" I thought to myself. "That's what makes you feel better you know, you just being you, you helping others."
But I kept walking around the store anyway. Finally, I stopped in front of a cheese-danish wrapped in plastic. Honestly, I'm not a huge cheese-danish fan but that night, that was what I wanted, so I picked it up. Then I got worried that I might want some chocolate later so I went over to their selection of Ritter and got the one with cornflakes in it, because it was new so it felt like I could justify buying it.
I paid for the crap and within a block of the store, had eaten all of the cheese danish and half of the Ritter bar.
"Well, that didn't work, did it?" I pointed out to myself. "All you are now is walking back up the hill, with crap inside you. You're still alone. You don't feel any better. You're still walking."
I walked up the hill, into my house, and turned on the radio. I read through my old blogposts until it seemed late enough to go to bed, and then went to bed.
The next morning, as I saw the people who had been at the party, they asked me where I was, why I hadn't come, told me I was missed, and told me about all the food and the sweetness of the party itself. I was disappointed in myself for missing the party. I felt foolish for choosing to be alone when I could have been with friends. I was glad that the party was so sweet, that so many people had gone, that everyone seemed to have a good time.

A couple of times throughout the weekend, I had a chance to talk with two different friends, at length, about where I was on Friday night. With both people I was honest: instead of going to the party, I had walked the streets in my neighborhood, searching for food in convenience stores in an attempt to make myself feel not so alone.
Both people listened to me with a look that wasn't concern or pity but love: a sadness that I had experienced that, a wish that things could have been different, and perhaps a desire that they could have done something so that I could see that I was loved, that, in fact, I am loved, right now. As I saw this look on their faces, felt their presence as I spoke, I realized that in my sharing this with them, not to say how awful I was or how sad it was, simply by telling them what I had done on Friday night, by simply letting them in on my loneliness, we were sharing, being together, I wasn't alone in my loneliness. They were right there with me.

On Sunday night of that same weekend, I was waiting for the bus to take me home after having dinner with a friend. The sign on the bus stop said it would be 20 minutes before the next bus came so I decided to walk home instead. As I walked up that same street that I had walked down on Friday night I thought to myself "Cool, I can stop by a convenience store and buy myself a treat." As I considered which treat I wanted, the thought of an ice cream cone popped in to my head.
"Ice cream cone?" I asked myself. "Why would you want that? It's not hot." I considered which stores would have ice cream cones but realized that I could only buy a pint of ice cream or a milkshake and neither of those seemed to be what I was wanting. "Why an ice cream cone?" I asked myself again.
And then I remembered. On extremely rare occasions, when I was a little girl, usually after a performance or special event at school, my dad would take us to the ice cream shop. It was a huge treat for us. We never had dessert at home. But on these occasions, we got to pick out what flavor we wanted, we got sugar cones, and my dad would even get an ice cream for himself: Swiss Orange Chip.
"Oh," I said. "You're wanting to feel loved. You're wanting to feel treated. You're wanting to feel rewarded for doing something good."
And then a voice popped into my head.
"You are loved. You actually are loved."
And I recalled the looks on the faces of the people who I had shared with that weekend. They loved me. I was loved.
And so I let go of search for the ice cream cone, and just walked home.

Ok Cupid

I decided that since I actually did want to meet someone (and it's still super scary to say that), I should do the on-line dating thing, because, apparently, that's what people do nowadays. I also decided to go on to OK Cupid because, apparently, that's where everyone goes (or, at least, that's what my friends mention when they go on dates). So, I went.
It was weird. There was a woman on the front page, and she was computer generated. That was weird. Also, they wanted my email information which, I know, makes sense, but I kind of freaked out about giving out my information. I know it's ridiculous but, apparently, I don't want anyone to KNOW that I'm interested in dating (and you wonder why I'm still single....).
I think I ended up making another fake email account, came up with a username, and was on my way until...
They asked me a question.
It was innocent enough and they said they were asking it to improve my chances of finding a "match" so I went for it: "Regardless of future plans, what's more important to you right now... (and you had to agree to answer in order to find out the rest of the question)" I agreed and this is what came up:
Sex or True love?
"What?!" I asked. "I have to answer that?! That's totally unfair!"
I knew my answer wasn't sex, sorry, it just wasn't. But true love? Really? I didn't want true love. That sounded like Snow White or some fantasy. I wasn't looking for true love because it seemed really untrue. But sex? That wasn't my answer either.
"Lame," I thought, and clicked on "true love" anyway.
And then guess what they did... they asked me what answer I would accept from a match!
"Really?" I asked. "You actually want me to say that I won't accept 'sex' as an answer from a match?" And I pictured, pretty much, 90% of the guys on the site slipping away from my little match pool simply because I wouldn't accept "sex" as a match for my answer. But was I really going to accept a match whose most pressing issue right now was sex? But on the other hand, did I really want a guy who was looking for "true love"? He sounded kind of wimpy and unrealistic, like he had no experience or something. Or maybe he was just a guy who knew that girls wouldn't pick him if he said sex so he said true love just to get matches....
"I can't win!" I thought to myself. "I'm never going to meet anyone, and we're only on the first question, and it was optional."
And then I looked at the website again and I saw that computer generated lady and I thought, "Dude, this is just not for you."
But then I thought, "Dude, this is just a website. This is just a question. This is just people clicking buttons. It doesn't determine your future, it doesn't determine your date on Friday night. It's not your identity or a measure of your success or desirability. It's a flippin' website- with really bad animation to boot."
So I clicked off the website and decided to come back another day when I was feeling less desperate and more removed from the situation.