'Tis the Season

  "Commitment is at the very heart of freeing ourselves 

of old habits and old fears."

― Pema Chodron

 “I think what everyone should be doing, before it's too late, is committing themselves to what they really want to do with their lives.”
― Thich Nhat Hạnh

Whispering through the trees in small patches of red, orange, and yellow, the first hints of autumn have appeared here in Western Massachusetts.  

Here it comes, ready or not.   

To Every Thing There is a Season

As they often do as autumn announces its presence, my thoughts have turned to those times in my life that I have committed to Intensive Practice in the fall.  In Buddhism, like many of the world's religions (Ramadan in Islam.  The High Holy Days in Judaism.  Lent in Christianity,  etc.), there are extended periods of time each year that some folks move beyond "business as usual" to make a special commitment to their spiritual practice.    

In Buddhism, the tradition of the Rain's Retreat (Vassa or Ango) goes back to the time of the Buddha.  Traditionally beginning the first day of the waning moon of the eighth lunar month (June/July), it lasted about three months, the period of time that the monsoon season in India made travel difficult.  During that time the monks, who were homeless wanderers most of the year, would gather in one place to hear the Buddha's teachings and engage in intensive meditation practice.  

To this day, an extended period of meditative retreat is widespread in Theravadan Buddhism.  It is observed in various forms in Tibetan Buddhism and Zen as well.  Here in the US, where hot summer weather is more problematic than monsoons, the rain's retreat seems to have evolved into periods of intensive practice that occur in the Fall and/or the Spring. 

At Insight Meditation Society in Barre, MA, the Rain's Retreat has become The Three Month Course, a meditation intensive that begins in September each year.  In 1991, I joined that retreat for the entire month of October.  
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At Insight Meditation Society, this commitment meant existing in silence for that 30 days, and meditating in one form or the other from 5:30 a.m. until 10:00 p.m. each day.  Except for listening to an evening dharma talk, sometimes receiving a few words of instruction during a period of work, and engaging in a brief interview with a teacher every few days, the entire world was wordless.  Even reading was discouraged.   An inveterate bookworm, this made me squirm.   Yet, this proved to be a powerful support for dissipating the momentum of habitual thought.

My mind got really quiet.  Really...really....quiet.

Being speechless for weeks and weeks left me speechless.  In Silence, a deep sense of awe emerged.  To a mind freed from the fetters of thought, Reality asserts itself.  The answer really was blowing in the wind.  The wind whispering through the trees said all there was to know.  

A decade later, with my youngest daughter now graduated from college and working in NYC, the autumn leaves beckoned me to another month long retreat.  This time I joined the monastic schedule at Zen Mountain Monastery during Fall Ango (their version of the Rain's Retreat) for the month of October.  Later, I spent another six months in residency before heading back into "the world" to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up.  (Now, at age 80, that train has definitely left the station. LOL)

And A Time for Every Purpose

Since I left ZMM in 2005, I have continued a daily meditation practice for another twenty years.  A lifelong nerd, I still devour tomes on the world's wisdom traditions and spiritual practice. (These days I spend time on YouTube and elsewhere listening to talks and interviews as well.)  I'm also grateful for the opportunity to meet on zoom to meditate in silence and compare notes and life and spiritual practice with others so inclined most weekday mornings.  

So, at this stage of the journey, I feel pretty settled in my life and practice.  I don't sense a need to head for the hills to be a monk -- or even spend a month in retreat.  Yet, one patch of orange leaves had something to say to me as I walked through the neighborhood a few mornings ago.  Nestled in a silent choir of green maple leaves, it was whispering: 'Tis the season...

So, as summer wanes and the world rolls toward the Autumnal Equinox, I feel the emergence of a commitment to intensify my personal practice once again.  

I'm not sure exactly what this will look like yet.  But, these days, "not knowing" is particularly sweet. 

It makes me want to shut up -- and pay even closer attention to the Silence! 

Stay tuned!