Meditations from bed
Illness, restoration, and stumbling forward.
I’ve been on a brief retreat these last few days - leaving my small island, to go to another small island and stay in a tiny hermitage cabin nestled in the forest above the sea.
It strikes me that I could create all these same conditions at home with my tiny zendo and 100 square foot residency cabin. But at home I will continue in my daily patterns. I will schedule meetings with people, I will see all the house work around me that needs doing. I will sleep in my comfy bed and scroll through mindless Internet on my phone. Going somewhere else allows me to challenge those habits, to find respite from them for a moment or two and unhook from the cycle of everything that steals my attention.
Normally I attend at least one seven-day Zen silent retreat (called a sesshin) every year, which is a much stricter affair and involves several hours of meditation between 5 in the morning and 9 at night. But I have missed out on these the last couple of years, mostly due to my own stress around internal issues within my Buddhist community that I feel responsible for as a member of the governing council. I will return to this practice of sesshin later in 2026, but in the meantime I found myself craving some quiet time of reflection.
When I scheduled this retreat back in December, I had hoped to set aside some time for writing and get ahead of some essays for this newsletter.
Little did I know that I would arrive in such a state of depletion after two months of illness culminating in an awful flu right after my birthday in February, followed by a dental extraction that took place two days before my arrival here. My energy levels have been far too low for writing.
On the other hand, I couldn’t have chosen a better place for resting, reading, and meditation. At home I would still be trying to do all the things. Here I can just be in the moment of what my body/mind needs. A nap? A sit by the little woodstove? A simple meal? This is all that is required of me in these days.
When I was in bed with the flu last month, I could not do anything at all. I could not read or watch tv or answer email. I was so sick that I could only take care of my basic needs and otherwise lie there, though unfortunately I was not able to sleep. And so I spent a lot of time, many hours and days, meditating on the illusion of separateness that the body affords us. How we believe our skin bags separate us from others in such a total way, even as a flu virus exposes how very permeable we are and how we are connected to every other being through our breath.
I sometimes do a meditation practice where I focus on feeling my skin against the air, to see if I can tell where it actually meets and whether it is separate at all. This came up for me while feverish and lying in bed; I rather spontaneously felt that the borders of my physical body had become fuzzy, the separateness not quite dissolved, but rather merged with the matter around me in some way I hadn’t been aware of previously.
I am under no illusions that this was anything other than a dissociation brought on by fever - it was not “the dropping off of body and mind” that we seek in Zen practice - but it was an interesting sensation to me, and one worth reflecting on further as we witness yet another war unfolding on myriad fronts. How separate are we from the school girls killed by American bombs on the very first day of the attack on Iran? How separate are we from the grief of their mothers?
I have unplugged from the news while away from home, a crucial step in finding silence in a world as noisy as ours is right now. But this is only a temporary measure. A chance to dive into the depths of rest and repair, before surfacing into the world and its requirements anew.
The last time I was at this retreat centre was in 2013, partway through my Master’s degree in Liberal Studies. I had come on a solo retreat to write a paper on meditation after spending a semester engaging with the practice (sitting with both Ch’an and Tibetan teachers) in a course about the nature of enlightenment taught by Heesoon Bai.
A couple of weekends later, at the recommendation of a friend, I went to Mountain Rain Zen in Vancouver and sat there for the first time. After that, I kept showing up every Sunday, and in the spring of 2014 I did two meditation retreats in different traditions - Tibetan and Zen. In the end I stuck with Zen and took my formal precepts (lay vows) in the spring of 2017.
I associate this retreat centre, though it is Christian in its formation, with the beginning of my life in Zen Buddhism. So I suppose it makes sense that I would return here now, in this period of deliberation about my spiritual/vocational life.
For a long time after receiving the precepts, I thought about becoming a Zen priest. This is a natural step for many who wish to deepen their relationship with our practice and serve the Zen community as ritual-holders and eventually, transmitted teachers. But two years ago, on a sesshin, I became acutely aware that the robes are not for me. There are reasons for that, which I shall leave alone for now - but suffice to say, the open question that had been floating around me for a few years, closed right up, and I started thinking about other ways to advance my Zen studies and additionally, serve my broader (non-Zen) community.
Which finds me here, in a hermitage cabin with a stack of books about chaplaincy and Buddhist contemplative care. Ten days ago I was accepted into the Vancouver School of Theology (VST) where I will start a second Master’s program in September (part-time until I retire, mostly online). I’ve been thinking about this for a couple of years, working on ideas around it seriously for a few months - but until now have shared my plans with very few people.
Though I can’t access the kind of Buddhist Chaplaincy program I would like to take (we don’t have one of those in Canada), I think I have figured out a way to make one up between formal education and self/Zen-directed learning: A VST Masters in Public and Pastoral Leadership with a specialization in spiritual care, some online courses from the Shogaku Zen Institute, and close work with my teachers and Zen community. I will apply to do clinical hours (known as Clinical Psychospiritual Education - CPE units) through one of the hospital programs that offer this once I am retired from work and have the hours to commit.
All in, I expect it will take me 4 or 5 years to complete once I start - though I hope to be working within my community in appropriate ways as I go so as to develop more of a sense of where there are gaps that interfaith chaplaincy can fill.
I haven’t quite figured out what my eventual practice will look like given the fact I want to work within my small island community, and not for a religious institution, prison, or hospital. But I’ve realized during my time on retreat that I don’t have to know that yet. All that matters is that I take another step on the path and see where I end up this time.
I have slept very well here, except last night. Today is my travel day back to Gabriola, and although I am not leaving until late afternoon I feel the pressure to get going, pack up, clean my cabin. I am feeling the push to re-enter the flow of my life, despite recognizing that I will need to keep taking things slow until I am finished with illness recovery and dental procedures. Until the energy I had only a month ago comes back to me.
Yesterday’s time change has pushed the morning back into darkness, and my laptop is the only light in my otherwise off-grid hermitage hut. I have spent most of my time here offline, but like the rest of me, this communication is eager to get out into the world. If only to remind my readers that I’m still here, stumbling forward, with my eyes and heart wide open.
In the Studio
After a long break, I returned to the weaving loom in February and have committed to spend some time weaving, or doing weaving related learning for this year’s 100-day project. I have documented each of the days thus far over on my blog.
Before I left for retreat, I started a Jane Stafford kit I had in my stash. Thus far, I have woven 6 of 9 placemats from the pattern kit and will finish the last few on my return home. Each of these placemats is different, and I’m using this weave as a bit of a sample for some gift napkins I’ll weave later this spring.
While on retreat, away from my loom - I spent time pattern drafting and developing some colour palettes to try out when I put a new weave on.
Three Things
I have just finished the third book of On the Calculation of Volume, a 7-novel series by Danish Author Solvej Balle, about a woman who becomes stuck in time and can’t leave the day of November 18th. Six of the novels have been published thus far in Danish, with only three translated into English so far - I’m now waiting on next installment of the strange and moving tale of Tara Selter’s inability to get out of her time loop and back into the throughline of her life. I highly recommend as a kind of apocalyptic narrative.
A read from last month that stayed with me is Liz Bucar’s article What if Trevor Noah is Right About the Left and Religion. As someone from the left who came to religious practice later in life, I have realized the gift that these frameworks can offer to our capacity to move forward, even when the going seems impossible. This piece by Liz Bucar is an excellent examination of how faith may help us find our way to a better world.
The 100 Day Project started on February 22, but it’s not too late to join! This is my second serious go at it, the first being three years ago when I did 100 days of watercolour and ink. This year I’m doing 100 days of weaving-related activity. It’s such a great way to deep dive into an area of creative practice and connect with other people making art and craft!
And finally…..
No recipe this month! But maybe I’ll send something out separately when I am back in my kitchen.
I’ve noted a lot of new subscribers lately, which have mostly come through Substack interactions and referrals. Welcome everyone and thanks to those of you who interact and refer!
If you can’t remember how you got here, it might be because you are also interested in Zen, weaving, thinking critically about the world, end times survival, community building, and occasional recipes.
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Another place you can find me online is my blog at http://red-cedar.ca where I post less formally about my life once a week or so.