By Kim Malcolm—

For some reason, I thought a weeklong silent Zen meditation retreat — called “sesshin” — would be an important life experience. And it was, although maybe not in the ways I expected. I certainly chose a good one. It took place at Mar de Jade, a gorgeous resort on a secluded beach north of Puerto Vallarta. The priest, Norman Fisher, was once the head of the San Francisco Zen Center, and understands the “western,” non-Zen mind. The description of the retreat welcomed “beginners.” I don’t have a Zen practice, but I’ve read books about Zen, so I was a beginner, right?

I arrived at Mar de Jade in the early evening of the first day, just in time for a brief orientation and our first “zazen”– seated meditation. There were about 60 of us in the meditation hall where I found a square mat on the floor with my name on it. Following the lead of those around me, I sat down on the mat and closed my eyes. I began breathing, believing the evening would bring internal quiet and the first in a series of small but significant revelations. This was a wrong belief. My mind was the opposite of peaceful and my only revelation was that the excruciating pain in my hips and back would not be tolerable for six more days. Never mind, I thought. I was there to learn, not to be comfortable.

Each day after that had an identical schedule. Routine sometimes causes me to break out in hives, but, strangely, I enjoyed the predictability. We were awakened at 5am to the sound of clacking wooden sticks. The day began with light exercise followed by eight 40-minute sessions of silent meditation, a 2-hour work assignment, dharma talks, prostrations, and three excellent vegetarian meals. Besides the wooden sticks, the sounds of each day were gongs, bells, crashing ocean waves, birds and the low rumble of a banda band playing at the other end of the beach. We chanted, but we were otherwise mostly silent.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that this retreat was not going to be warm and fuzzy. Perhaps, I thought, it is hard to make friendly connections when no one is talking and your homies are working to accept the fact of universal suffering. Still, the feeling of sobriety surprised me. I’d read Norman Fisher’s book about Zen practice, which described the objectives of bodhisattvas — our Zen muses — as generosity and joyful engagement. I didn’t see much of either from the other participants. For the sake of not complaining, I will spare you the details.

A little frustrated with the prospect of a week of somber, I was determined to continue so I could understand a little about Zen Buddhism and enjoy the beach. Also, there were no refunds LOL. Hoping to avoid feeling too somber myself, I began giving little notes to people. “Thank you for playing the gong for us this week.” “I love your blouse.” “I like sitting behind you because your posture is perfect.” During our free time in the afternoon, I went swimming in the warm ocean and looked for shells on the beach.

After three days of monkey mind during every one of our meditation sessions, I raised the issue of somber at my brief meeting with our priest. “Because of the Bodhisattva’s path,” I said, “I was expecting a feeling of warmth and caring.” He gently explained that Zen practice is one of austerity and many come to it who are trying to get through life’s challenges (I apologize if I am not precisely reporting the content or spirit of his words). He knew that I was the only participant who did not have a Zen practice and mentioned that even Zen practitioners don’t normally attend a weeklong sesshin who haven’t first attended several one or two day silent retreats. Um, apparently reading a few books didn’t even qualify me as a Zen beginner. “Are you ok?” he asked. I replied that yes I actually was, but I didn’t say I was ok partly because of Roman.

Roman is Mar de Jade’s pastry chef. He lives in the village near the resort and makes breads and desserts for 100 people every day. My work assignment each day was to help Roman, and I loved my job. Cutting strawberries and rolling out dough for two hours cleared my mind of the racket it produced during our meditation sessions. Roman got me through the week. Although we weren’t supposed to talk and I don’t speak much Spanish anyway, it was obvious that Roman is generous and joyfully engaged — just like a Bodhisattva.

“Before enlightenment, chop wood and haul water. After enlightenment, chop wood and haul water.” — Buddhist saying

Kim Malcolm is a retired U.S. citizen and author based in San Miguel de Allende. Having traveled to 73 countries, she brings a global perspective to her writing, which often explores culture, place, and personal experience, with many essays rooted in her life in Mexico.

Follow her blog Camino Milagro: http://www.kimmie53.com