A Most Relaxed Retreat with Equal Moments and No Expectations
Retreat Report on Western Chan Retreat
(October 6-11, 2023)
Led by Rebecca Li
The last time I participated in an intensive retreat at DDRC was during the silent illumination retreat led by Simon Child in May 2019. The outbreak of Covid disrupted everything including in-person group practice. Although I was fortunate enough to reconnect with CMC and DDRC through informal gatherings and online lectures, my practice was inevitably impacted. As a beginner practitioner, I rely on the support and nourishing environment of in-person group practice, and the absence of intensive retreats during these four and half years was certainly felt. I began to sense a heaviness in my heart and a sense of losing direction. I began to feel as if I had almost forgotten that I am a practitioner, and the transformative effects of previous retreats seemed to have long faded away.
Causes and Conditions of the Body and Mind
When Covid finally began to subside and DDRC reopened for in-person retreats, I was eager to return. Much had transpired in my life during this period. We relocated to a house in the suburbs, and my parents joined us in our new home. Additionally, I welcomed another baby, and my business became more demanding. Perhaps the most significant change was in my physical condition, as I entered my forties. I noticed a distinct shift in my ability to memorize and concentrate on reading. I used to immerse myself in reading Buddhist teachings and sutras. However, after the birth of my second baby, my regular reading of Buddhist books and sutras also was significantly reduced.
With so much has transpired in my life, the striving Min did not surface this time. The pursuit of enlightenment seemed distant, overshadowed by many other life priorities. It felt like a faint idea from long ago, and I found myself no longer interested in it. Despite lacking a clear goal or expectation for this retreat, an inner knowing urged me to attend. Even when I learned that Simon couldn’t lead the retreat, I didn’t waver in my determination. My past experiences have taught me that, regardless of circumstances and teachers, attending a retreat is a clear and unquestionable choice—it’s always beneficial, even if I just sit and enjoy silence for a few days.
Arriving Friday Night: Refamiliarize with the Method
Upon arriving at the retreat, a wave of nostalgia enveloped me. I was back, but everything seemed different—the Chan hall, the arrangement of the Zen garden, the staff, and the participants had all changed. During the first night, Rebecca called me for the initial interview and inquired about the question I was using. What question? I was at a loss. It appeared that I had forgotten the intricacies of how things worked at a Western Chan retreat. It had been exactly 10 years since I attended the first Western Chan Retreat in May 2013, and it felt like I was back at square one.
I was puzzled and told Rebecca that nothing really arose when I was asked the question “who am I.” Most of the time, I just experienced calmness and the awareness of bodily sensations. Rebecca sighed slightly and approached the inquiry differently, asking me to share a bit about my life since the last retreat. This question triggered a cascade of responses. I conveyed my overall contentment with life but delved into my concerns about changes in my physical condition, a less sharp mind, and a less reliable memory. Rebecca listened attentively and astutely commented, “So, you are not satisfied.” Although I felt a twinge of defensiveness upon hearing this, I had to admit she was right. It dawned on me that my concerns and constant comparisons to the past were subtle expressions of dissatisfaction that I had been unconsciously experiencing. My mind, however, wasn’t clear enough to recognize it.
Rebecca then questioned whether I had lost interest in the fundamental inquiry of “who am I.” She pointed out that I seemed dismissive of the question, blocking my mind. She pointed out that my understanding of the self was purely intellectual, driven by a desire to be an A+ student in my Buddhist studies, and I was overlooking the experiential dimension of the inquiry. She encouraged me to be more open and allow the thoughts to arise and do not be afraid of making a full contact with them. Her words triggered a recollection of similar feedback from past retreats, where Simon had also noted that I was blocking my mind. This memory returned somewhat faded but with a sense of recognition. However, there was also a subtle resistance within me, a thought of, “Not again! Are you sure you didn’t just say that because you have a fixed view of me!” Despite this internal resistance, I made a promise that I would make a sincere effort to be more open.
Experiencing Suffering and the Cause of Suffering: Suffering is INDEED caused by our own lack of clarity
Each day, Rebecca gave us a talk. She first talked about the four noble truths and how our cravings and aversions cause suffering. Initially, the teachings didn’t captivate my attention because I had heard and studied them numerous times over my decade-long journey as a Buddhist. However, when I began to pay attention to whatever arose in my mind, I quickly noticed this disturbing feeling when the thoughts of my work arose. The inability to know all the answers and devise perfect plans for my professional responsibilities weighed on me, creating a cumulative sense of heaviness in my heart. Following Rebecca’s guidance, I allowed these sensations and thoughts to arise and fully acknowledged them and pay close attention to them. I noticed myself resorting to logic and arguments to console myself, attempting to convince that everything was okay. However, the unease persisted, deepening into an unsettling and heavy feeling in my heart.
In the midst of this discomfort, it struck me that the lack of clarity about my own mental processes was the fundamental cause of this unease. The deeply ingrained, unrealistic assumption that I should have all the answers in my work and control every factor to formulate impeccable plans for my clients had been shaped by past misconceptions. These unrealistic expectations were the origin of my anxieties. I came to recognize that the seed of anxiety had long been planted within me, yet I remained oblivious to its cause. When I fell short of these self-imposed expectations, the resulting anxieties were a consequence of my own actions. Yet, due to lack of awareness, my habitual tendency is to run away from these feelings—I couldn’t see that the result had already manifested at that point and avoiding such feelings wouldn’t resolve the issue or prevent me from experiencing anxiety again in the future; what I needed was just to fully accept the result without resistance and to cease planting the seeds causing such anxiety now if I do not want to experience such feelings again.
The teachings on the law of cause and effect in Buddhism resonated in my mind. For the first time, I had verified this truth through my own lived experience: the choices I make today shape the experiences I’ll encounter in the future. It is true that we reap what we sow. Every moment becomes a seed that shapes the nature of our future experiences, so we need to be fully present and aware of each moment.
Sharing this realization with Rebecca, she smiled and pointed out that I had just experienced the first and second of the four noble truths: suffering and the cause of suffering. It was a profound moment for me. Despite being intellectually familiar with these teachings, I had never directly connected with them through my own lived experience until now.
Living in the Present Moment: Every Moment is New!
I quickly settled into the flow of the retreat, and the familiarity of the retreat process helped me reconnect with my prior retreat experiences. Following the flow and employing the method of moment-to-moment awareness, my mind began to settle. Even though I had developed a cold, causing persistent coughing, thankfully, it wasn’t COVID, and it became a constant disruption during the retreat, surprisingly, with almost no expectations for this retreat, such as striving to be a model student or achieving specific outcomes, I wasn’t bothered by the interruptions to my stillness. I didn’t feel the usual anxiety that would have arisen in the past, thinking I was wasting precious time. I had fully accepted the condition for what it was. I sound miserable, but I was actually pretty relaxed.
During my interview, I shared an interesting experience with Rebecca. At lunch, the dessert was exceptionally delightful, and as I took the first bite, a thought crossed my mind, “I’m going to get more when I finish.” Then, I was fully present in the taste, savoring each bite. To my surprise, when I finished, I noticed at that moment there was no desire for more as if the thought of getting more had never occurred moments ago.
This was an interesting experience for me. Typically, if I entertained the thought of getting more, I would either act on it or suppress the desire, leading to a subtle tension and a lingering sense of dissatisfaction. However, in this instance, the thought of getting more completely disappeared, leaving no residual impact. I didn’t conceptualize what I experienced and noticed. Instead, I just took a mental note to share it with Rebecca at the interview. She nodded and commented that I see it for myself that it was okay to be fully in contact with our thoughts, facing them, and letting them go by recognizing that our experience of the present unfolds moment by moment. The experience of one moment does not have to be carried into next moment. Indeed, every moment is new! Now I think I understand what antient Chan masters referred to as “念念不相知” (“Each thought do not know one another.” )
Every Moment is Equal: Nothing is an obstacle to practice.
As the retreat progressed, following Rebecca’s guidance of allowing thoughts to rise as they are not a problem, I found myself growing increasingly relaxed, and my practice became more continuous and fluid. I seamlessly transitioned from sitting meditation to movement, no longer feeling the need to rush when the chime signaled the end of a sitting session. A profound realization dawned upon me—that every moment is equal! I ceased to harbor a desire to hasten to the next moment or yearn for a different experience. No matter what I experienced, –be it leg pain, drowsiness, the mind playing a movie, or my inclination to disengage the practice, or my self-doubt if I am practicing correctly, or my clinging to stillness — I just witness each moment as it is. The experience of each moment is different, but they are equal in my mind. There are no good or bad moments and those previously I would call “bad” moments such as leg pains, drowsiness is not an obstacle to the practice at all.
While thoughts continued to come and go, and various sensations, including bodily discomfort and mental uneasiness, arises and perishes, these experiences no longer bother me. I embraced them fully as they arose, and there was no tension because I harbored no inclination to change the experience.
A Method of Nothing to Hold onto, Yet the direction is clearer than ever!
During my last interview, I asked Rebecca how I can get rid of the sense of self because clearly there is still a “I” being aware of things. Rebecca said I was getting ahead of my experiences, engaging in fantasies by applying Buddhist teachings. She referenced John Crook’s observation that Buddhists are among those most difficult to get enlightened due to their extensive knowledge and entrenched views. Additionally, she highlighted Shifu’s caution that during retreats, practitioners should set aside all book teachings. The emptiness of the self refers to its impermanence, much like a river that is constantly changing. She stressed the importance to direct experience the self moment by moment. The real issue lies in the attachment to the idea of a solid, unchanging self. I found myself wide-eyed when I heard these words, unable to believe that all these years, I’ve been placing the wrong emphasis on trying to experience “the unified self” and boo! The magic moment of “no-self” rather than recognizing that more attention should be directed to paying attention to the mind of grasping and aversion, which solidifies the sense of ‘I.’
Rebecca cautioned me not to solidify the clarity of the present moment into a fixed concept and grasp onto it. However, a sense of insecurity surfaced; how would I discern whether I was on or off practice? Expressing my doubts, I questioned, “Are you sure? What about the conventional teaching we often receive at most retreats: ‘Hold onto your method!’ If I release the last bit of clinging to the method of being fully present, how would I even know if I’m practicing?” It was in that moment of questioning that the essence of silent illumination being a method of no method struck me.
Rebecca acknowledged my concerns as valid and suggested using the huatou as guidance to investigate the mind. I admitted that releasing attachment to the method might make me feel more relaxed but potentially more susceptible to being carried away by thoughts. Despite my reluctance, there was a part of me that recognized Rebecca’s wisdom, realizing that after years of practice, the direction had become clearer than ever. It’s challenging to articulate the subtle differences between false calmness induced by the mind turning off, the mind surrendering to the thought train, and the mind actively experiencing thoughts while still practicing. These nuances can only be truly understood through practice. After years of practice, I have confidence in myself in knowing the differences.
Finally, I couldn’t help but exclaim, “Wow, so the practice is really simple and applicable to daily life.” I continued, saying, “Our practice is essentially about forming a new habit of paying attention moment by moment.” Rebecca chimed in, emphasizing, “Being aware of our habitual tendencies and consciously choosing not to respond to them.”
When I return to the cushion, I had a bold thought, “Wow, the practice is quite simple! Enlightenment seems almost inevitable if I keep practicing!” A smile surfaced on my face, but it was swiftly replaced by a profound emotion, and tears welled up in my eyes. Yet, just as quickly as the sensation emerged, it dissipated in the next moment. Without dwelling on it, I remained seated, allowing the experience to pass without further engagement. Now I realized what the antient Chan master means “善用其心” （”Applying the mind”）
I left the retreat with all the issues in my life absolutely unsolved. nothing seemed to have changed. Yet, everything was changed because they don’t bother me any more at least for now and the practice carries on!
Rebecca Li (智燈法傳 Wisdom Lamp, Dharma Transmitting) 