My First Sesshin

What I learned from 7 days of silent meditation

The room is perfectly still, except for the occasional shuffling of robes or the sound of my neighbor swallowing. My knees and back ache, a persistent throb that’s growing sharper with each passing minute. The pain anchors me in reality.

It’s day two of Sesshin, a 7-day, silent, Zen meditation retreat I attended at the Zen Mountain Monastery. We’re in the middle of Zazen (just sitting meditation). My mind has been racing, mostly about how much I want to go home. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting, time has started to lose its shape. I listen carefully for the quiet movement of the timekeeper, which would signal that they’re about to ring the bell and set me free.

I was warned this retreat would be intense. They weren’t kidding. Sesshin isn’t just sitting. It’s a full immersion into silence, stillness, surrender, service, and self-confrontation. The days were structured and filled to the brim: waking before dawn, 7 hours of Zazen every day, lots of chanting and bowing, formal silent meals, and caretaking of the grounds.

Typically, Sesshin involves a Dharma talk at the end of each day and 1-1 teachings (“Daisan”) offered throughout. This one did not because it was a “Bodhidharma” Sesshin, inspired by the Buddhist monk who was said to have spent nine years wall-gazing alone in a cave. So, like Bodhidarma, we were meant to just be alone with our minds with no outside influence.

There was no escape — not into conversation, not into content of any form, not even into the comforting flow of time. The only option was to be with your experience.

Finally, the bell rings, a low, resonant hum that cuts through the silence. We’ll do a few minutes of walking meditation before returning to our cushion for the next 30-minute round of Zazen. I’ll choose a different way to sit this round to give my body a break. I can’t believe I have five more days of this.

By day three I started to get the hang of it.

I became more familiar with the chants, remembered the process for formal meals (known as "Oryoki”), and got used to the schedule. With familiarity came flow. I found myself feeling awake and energized despite not getting much sleep. I hadn’t even thought about my phone in days. My mind started to quiet, mirroring the silence of my surroundings.

Then I started to notice an inner battle between surrendering to the experience and remaining vigilant.

I’ve never been one to drink the Kool-Aid, especially when it comes to religion or anywhere I sense dogmatism. I have a fiercely independent and critical mind. This made it hard to give myself over to the experience.

The chants felt cringey. The bowing to Buddha felt demeaning. The bowls and bells felt unnecessary. “What’s the point of all this? Who decided this was the right method? How do I know this isn’t a cult?” I wondered.

Then, there was a moment that shifted my entire experience.

We were chanting during one of the formal services and I looked up to observe Gokan Osho, one of the monastics. We didn’t see him much that week because he was going through a training, an ancient ritual, to become a priest. The process involved spending most of the day sitting in a dimly lit room meditating, prostrating, receiving transmissions, copying documents, and doing other secret things that are above my zen grade. But he would come out for meals and specific services, like the one we were currently participating in.

I watched as he moved through the middle of the Zendo, head bowed, brows furrowed, chanting the Sanskrit words. What I witnessed was a deep, unwavering reverence. He said each word with 100% of his heart. I don’t know what was going on in that room he had been sitting in, but he was fully immersed, and clearly believed in this process deeply. He gave himself over to it completely.

I recognized, in Gokan at that moment, something that has been deeply lacking in my life: Reverence.

I’ve long struggled to give myself over to a spiritual belief system. My negative experiences with Judaism as a kid combined with my analytical mind has kept life at a relatively shallow depth. But in that moment of observing Gokan, I saw something that felt deeply true. I felt his dedication and presence. My walls crumbled. After that, I chose, for the rest of the week, to give myself over fully. I chanted, prostrated, and participated with all my heart. I chose to trust in the teachings and experiences that brought me here. And I started having a much deeper experience.

Being in extended silence is powerful. I thought it would be hard, and sometimes it was (like when I was really struggling and wanted someone to talk to). But overall, I found silence to be easeful. It was fascinating how quickly my mind quieted when the world around me quieted.

I learned that many of my thoughts are rooted in interacting with people. When interacting with others, I have to think about what to say, how to be, what they think about me, what I think about them, and on and on. Silence removed the need to worry about any of that.

And I learned that much of the rest of my thoughts are rooted in content. The content I consume adds all sorts of thoughts, worries, and ideas to my mind. Political news murder shows, self-help articles, social media posts… it all just sparks worry, judgment, envy, and all sorts of clinging. Content I create adds all sorts of thoughts too. What should I write about? What will people think when they read it? Do I sound smart? Am I sharing too much? Will this help me grow my business? Should that matter? By removing content, all those thoughts disappeared.

So, remove all the human interaction and content, and what do I have to think about it? Not much, it turns out. I would think about my kids sometimes and how I missed them. I would think about my back when it hurt. But, for the most part, my mind was clear, just focused on what was in front of me.

At moments, my mind landed in the cleanest states of presence I’ve ever felt.

It felt like everything was okay. Life was beautifully unfolding around me. I saw the miraculous in the mundane all around me. The way the light was softly landing on the floor in front of me through the Zendo windows, the curving lines in the wood, the gentle breathing of the person sat next to me…

I sensed myself disappearing. I witnessed the impermanence of my body, of my thoughts, of everything around me. I saw how everything is flowing in and out, how there was truly no separation between me and anything else. I felt equanimity. My ego whispered, “Is this enlightenment?” and another part of my ego whispered back, “Shut up! You’re ruining it!”. Yeah, I’m still here.

But I felt like I caught glimpses of deeper states of awareness. Of pure presence.

There were also moments of great intensity. Interestingly, in the stillness and quiet of my mind, I found myself having intense somatic experiences.

When I’d drop into presence, I would feel a rush of upward energy, like a lightning bolt, course through my body starting at my chest and moving to my head. My lungs would quickly force the air out. It wasn’t painful or too overwhelming but it was unsettling, and would take me out of presence.

This is something that’s been happening to me regularly in my meditation. I often feel an uneasiness, and I often cry, but never with this frequency and intensity. With the amount we were sitting during sesshin, it became more persistent and pronounced. There was a point on day five where I couldn’t drop into presence without it happening. I became hyper-sensitive to my environment. Subtle sounds like a door creaking or a person’s cough would trigger the jolt of energy to shoot through me.

I didn’t know what to do with it, so I decided to request Daison (1-1 teaching with a teacher) with Shugen Roshi. Generally, this wasn’t being offered during the Bodhidharma Sesshin, but they made an exception for those doing Sesshin for the first time.

I entered the room where Shugen Roshi awaited, prostrated twice (as is the process), and, when I came up on my knees, his eyes were open wide, staring straight into my soul.

Daison is an intense experience (this is my second time doing it). It took me a good 10-15 seconds to get the first words out. There was that sense of reverence again, for this practice, for the teacher and their wisdom, for the powerful presence of their full attention.

I explained my experience with the jolts of energy going through me. He sat perfectly still, listening. When I was done, he softened, and we shifted into what felt like a more casual conversation.

Shugen Roshi asked me if I was having thoughts associated with these sensations. I said, “No. my mind is clear, but the sensations arise anyway”. He asked me about my practice and if I’ve been self-taught. I said, “Yes, mostly.” (I had previously attended the intro weekend retreat at ZMM).

His advice was helpful. There was nothing profound. In fact, it was guidance I’ve heard many times before. But something about being in that room, in front of that person, at that moment in the Sesshin, it hit different.

He reminded me that there are different forms of Zazen (focus on breath, open awareness, focus on koans, etc.) and that I could return to my breath when open awareness felt like too much.

He shared the analogy of my awareness being like the vast sky, and thoughts, emotions, and sensations being like clouds, moving and impermanent. I’ve treated thoughts in this way, but it hadn’t occurred to me to look at physical sensations like clouds as well.

He offered some more guidance, some emotional validation that I’m on the path, and I returned to Zazen.

From here, my experience deepened even more.

I practiced letting the jolts of energy arise while remaining in my vast awareness. Not clinging to them, not trying to stop the feeling, not leaning into it, but just letting the energy move in the way it wants to move.

Sometimes, it was still too much, and it would pull me out of awareness, and I would focus on my breath to come back to regulation. Sometimes it would unfold in interesting ways, opening into a blissful alertness, or sometimes just dissipating. I practiced being with it all, without clinging to the “good” or “bad” experiences that arose.

I’m finding that since returning from Sesshin, when I sit, this sensation continues to occur, but my capacity to be with it, to hold it in my awareness without getting swept up by it, has expanded.

This somatic sensation feels a lot like the anxiety I’ve felt throughout my life. An uneasiness with just being that would arise whenever I became too still. Throughout my life, I’ve learned to numb or avoid this sensation by throwing myself into work, social media, TV, video games, weed, alcohol, and anything else that would take me out of the present moment.

Sesshin brought it to the surface and showed me how it’s not always tied to thoughts or circumstances. It’s just something I experience when I’m still. Perhaps it’s from a past trauma I can’t remember. Whatever it is, I’m learning how to be with it without numbing or running away. This feels like a true edge for me in my journey.

By the end of Sesshin, I didn’t want to leave. It felt like a cozy cocoon.

I valued the structure, the way I didn’t have to make decisions throughout the day, the stillness and silence, and the peace I found in my inner world. I found myself dreading returning to the world of noise, work, kids screaming, social media blaring, etc. I sat with that discomfort on the final day.

On Sunday, the last day of the retreat, we sat Zazen and brought Sesshin to a close. After that, for a few hours, we would be allowed to talk before heading home.

I thought talking would feel deeply uncomfortable, but I found it quite easeful. I felt close to the other people, despite having no direct interaction all week. It felt like we had been through something meaningful together.

And, even though we didn’t talk or make eye contact, we still interacted in different ways. Our voices merged when we chanted, the energy of our silence filled the Zendo during Zazen, we took care of each other through cooking, cleaning, and serving. It felt like a purer form of connection, stripped of ego, filled instead with our shared presence and reverence.

Over lunch, it was fun to talk about our experiences and name the little things we’ve been waiting to share all week. I spent a couple hours chatting with people, took a short walk in the woods alone, and set off for home.

Since returning, my integration experience has been surprisingly smooth. I thought that the noise of the world would overwhelm me. What I’ve found is that the week of intensive practice left me with a greater capacity to be with the intensity of life and not get swept up in it, though I’ve certainly been put to the test.

I returned to a relatively intense moment in life. My nana passed away (she lived a long and wonderful life and passed peacefully). There were challenges at Downshift as we prepared for the upcoming cohort. Trump has been treating the world like his personal hacky sack. It’s been challenging to stay present.

I’ve had moments of intense anxiety, fear, and sadness arise. But what feels different is how quickly I notice it and am able to observe it, let myself feel it fully, without avoiding to clinging to it, and without totally spiraling out. I’m able to see the impermanence of it all.

Alison asked me if I felt like a different person. It was an interesting question. On one hand, I feel like less of myself, after chiseling away at layers of my ego. On the other hand, I feel like more of my true self, more fully here, more connected. I’m less my thoughts. I’m more my experience of the current moment.

I’m finding sitting Zazen to be more easeful. Before Sesshin, 30 minutes felt like my max. Now I can sit much longer, both because I’ve improved my posture and my mind isn’t so quick to want to run away from extended presence.

And I’m finding myself holding more reverence for life and for my practice. Though, I notice that this is one of the first things that starts to fade when I’m not practicing with a Sangha. I start to lose contact. Reverence, I’m noticing, primarily happens in community.

Overall I’m so happy I had the opportunity to do Sesshin. I’m grateful to Alison for taking care of our family while I was gone (while also being super pregs). I’m not sure when I’ll be able to do this again, but I’d like to eventually make this an annual practice.

So, that was my first Sesshin experience!

Your turn…

• Have you done Sesshin or any other silent meditation retreat? Did any of this sound familiar? What was your experience like?

• Have any reflections for me on my experience? I’m all ears!

• Are you thinking about doing a silent meditation retreat for the first time? What are you hoping for? Do you have any questions?

• How does reverence show up in your life? Do you also struggle with giving yourself over to it?

• Do you ever have intense somatic experiences when you meditate? How have you navigated it?

Drop a comment or hit reply to this email, I’d love to hear from you!