Last month I wrote about how many of us are willing to do various things to support our spiritual lives, and we were willing to do everything but that—the one thing that we make excuses not to do.  My own example was my reticence to do a personal retreat, and at the end of the March issue of The Deepest Spiritual Life, I resolved to design and schedule my own personal, private retreat.

            Well, life provides all kinds of unexpected opportunities.  Just before I was to leave for a one week intensive meditation retreat in California, I came down with a virus.  At first, I insisted (!) that I was going to have a mild version of the virus (that had been knocking down people right and left) and postponed my flight from Thursday to Saturday.  My kind doctor assured me that if the virus didn’t intensify, I would be ready to travel by then.  (She was probably amused at my resolve.)  By Friday I knew that I was in trouble, as the virus moved into my head and chest, and I cancelled my flight and the retreat, which was deeply disappointing for me.  I attend four, one-week retreats each year, and they are not only an opportunity to connect with my dharma friends, but to meet with my teacher face-to-face in a Zen Center set in a beautiful, natural setting.

            So there I was:  ready for an intensive one-week retreat and nowhere to go—except to my own sitting cushion, right here in Florida.  My opportunity was clear:  I would meditate, as much as my illness allowed, for the coming week.  Shortly after my decision, I recognized the irony of my choice; I was going to be able to have my personal retreat in abundance!

            I told my Roshi about my decision, and she supported me, once I assured her that I wouldn’t sit more than my condition allowed.  (Normally we meditate for six to eight hours per day during the one-week retreats, and I doubted I could maintain that type of schedule.)  I contemplated generally what would be the best times, length of sitting periods and amount of rest that would support me during the week, and also decided that if at any time I didn’t feel up to meditating, I would rest instead.

            The week was one of great reward, surprises and blessings.  I discovered the fact that since my dharma friends were also meditating each day, I felt encouraged and supported.  (Of course, any time that I meditate, there are millions of people who are meditating with me all over the world.)  I also was grateful for the positive reinforcement I was receiving from my teacher, and even my husband Jerry was asking me how I was doing.  When I reflected on how much time I spent “on the cushion,” I was surprised to realize that I was meditating much more than I thought I could, with enthusiasm and focus.  I concentrated not only on my practice, but on how I was feeling, whether I felt fatigued or energized, whether my body needed rest, making sure to eat and drink water, even though I didn’t feel hungry.  I let go of expectations about how often or how long I would meditate; I meditated at odd times during the day, when I felt strong enough to do so.

            In spite of my discipline and resourcefulness to make my personal retreat happen, I was still aware of my disappointment, of missing my friends and teacher, of the beauty of meditating early in the morning and listening to the world wake up, eating meals with my friends in silence.  I missed walking in the dried grass, studying the beautiful oak trees, appreciating the spring wildflowers and watching the hummingbirds.  In other words, I was still in touch with the loss that resulted from my illness.

            My practice that week was allowing me to hold all of my experience:  the loss and the opportunities, the aloneness and the community’s support, my commitment to meditation time and letting go of a typical retreat schedule.  Instead, I let myself feel into my practice, to flow with time, to meet the needs of my body and soul as best I could, and experience each moment as it unfolded.  Although I regretted getting sick, I also appreciated the opportunity to work with what was, and I bowed deeply to life as it unfolded.