Jane Hirshfield and Tassajara (96)

Yesterday on my daily walk I listened to Ezra Klein in conversation with Jane Hirshfield. One of the poems she read was perfect for my mood of late, which is one of resistance—to most everything. I have been in a funk. As of today, I am vowing to make a concerted effort to emerge from the funk. Maybe that will include showing up here again every day. It does help me to stay grounded, engaged. Anyway, here's the poem:

A Cedary Fragrance

Even now,
decades after,
I wash my face with cold water—

Not for discipline,
nor memory,
nor the icy, awakening slap,

but to practice
choosing
to make the unwanted wanted.

She was referring back to the eight years she spent at Tassajara Zen Mountain Center in the 1970s, when the bell would ring at 3:40 a.m. and you would get up, get dressed in the dark—no electricity, no heat, no hot water—and you would go sit. Is the sit an hour? I don't recall, but it's certainly longer than the fifteen minutes I sometimes manage to make myself do. Going to the zendo involves a rigid "form"—a set of actions you perform as you step over the threshold, bow to the wall and to your zafu meditation cushion. It's a discipline that takes you out of your ego, as much as anything can. 

Thinking about it makes me want to go back to Tassajara—not for eight years, but a week might do my head and my spirit some good (and they now have electricity and hot water, at least for paying guests). Alas, the Zen Center seems to still be closed, due to a shortage of staff following the pandemic. I wonder if they will ever open up to guests and workshops again. I expect so. It's a good source of income. Then again, the peace of a monastery is something to be cherished. 

Here are some photos I've taken in the past.