Morning kinhin - Zen Retreat part 5 -- (read parts in forward numerical order)

As I had mentioned in part 1 of these Zen Retreat posts, there would be a single defining event that would occur on the very last full day of this retreat that not one person would have ever anticipated, and that would change all of us forever. Well, perhaps that's not entirely accurate. There was one person that could have had a vague idea of the events to come, but I can't be entirely sure, and besides, I am getting way ahead of myself.

After retrieving my pants and bundling up, I joined the outside walking meditation line. The retreat center that the Zen group had rented out was run by Catholic nuns and was situated on a very nice campus that was surrounded by woods and streams and fields. There were houses in the neighborhood of the center, to be sure, but most were on large plots of land and nestled in and around the natural elements rather and were rather unobtrusive and almost part of the natural setting. On a sunny spring day, this would be the most inviting and idyllic New England setting. We walked off the property and onto the back country road well before the sun had even thought of coming up. Even in this darkness the you could see a dark ominous glow from the low-hanging thick cloud cover if you bothered to look up. On both sides of the narrow and hilly road, the land was thick with tall barren trees reaching out with leafless branches rattling from the cold winds gusting without apology through the skeletal forest. Some of the few remaining dead leaves would blow along the road, as if to accentuate the loneliness. Our boots crunched through isolated patches of ice and snow as we climbed a steep hill. As the icy wind stung my skin, I looked at the collection of sleeping trees and thought about how it would be to be a traveler through this very place in the days before any civilized structures were ever built here. It would be an easy place to die. It was a beautiful walk.

Later that day one of the Zen teachers commented about how wonderfully unapologetic nature is. Even in the deadness of winter, with the trees bare and the winds howling and hurtful, there is beauty in the starkness. Nature doesn't come with signs saying, "Pardon our appearance, we are redecorating for the spring." Oh, no. It is what it is. And that was the lesson.