Returning to a soft landing
A quarter of a year later (!), I returned to the monastery.
Truthfully, when I left in August, I was glad to do so. I was ready to live out in the ‘real world’ again… ready to experience, pursue, and start things, people, and experiences. (Note: I still feel this way — a conversation with one of the monks seemed to confirm that for me… I have a lot of life I want to live and need to live.)
Also, I was ready to regain weight — I lost a lot of weight at the monastery and felt quite weak when I left. I also had several health issues with my skin, gallbladder, eyes, shoulder, and arms, so I think it was good to take some time away and sleep more. It’s been a journey regaining my health and I’m finally feeling better again.
Unlike last time, I drove up to the monastery alone, retracing the route I took when I first arrived in June. Once I turned off the highway and lost cell signal, my heart began beating faster and I began having trouble breathing, which has become a familiar, but still unnerving experience.
Would people remember me? Was the love and belonging I felt real? What relationship do I even want with this sangha — I’m not an official member or student!
I switched the music to an acoustic playlist so that I could focus on how the landscape has changed since the summer. It used to be so lush and green. Now the mountains burned red, orange, and yellow. Fascinating.
As I meandered through the forest, I remembered when one sangha member educated me on the history and the sacredness of the mountain and rivers of this region. It all came flooding back. I feel it.
Eventually, I reached the gravel driveway and slowly pulled in. It immediately started snowing when I arrived, as if to say, hello and welcome back.
Unlike the first time I arrived, I knew which building and entrance to use. It’s so familiar. I slowly moved towards the common area and immediately saw my friend and one of the monks chatting together. They’re here. I smiled, waved, and held my breath. They’re alive. Smiling. Joyful. Existing.
The visit was surreal and real. I was instantly pulled back into the cadence of the training schedule. I returned to similar feelings of impatience, desire, questioning, and ease. What a strange combination. Nonetheless, it felt like a soft landing.
I was eager and cautious about saying hello. One person recognized me, but forgot my name. Another person asked me many questions and I found myself sharing a white lie. Overall, there were so many smiles and warm tingly sensations. Breathe.
My eyes scanned every space I entered, flitting between the past and present. I soaked in the space, the people, the sounds, the rituals, the acts of care, the lingering eye contact, the warm bread, the wooden benches and tables, the creaky floorboards, the fresh flowers, the wash cloths, the masking tape, the compost bins, the paper towels, the water bottles along the wooden wall. I retraced my daily routine. I replayed where I used to sit, clean, and eat. I sat on the bench outside of the zendo and observed the familiarity and differences. I felt so many feelings during zazen.
It was all the same and it wasn’t.
Yes, always laced with delusion… and oh so real.
Real.
Why was it so important to validate that my experience at the monastery this summer was real?
To know that the love I experienced was real. To know that (or at least feel like) people genuinely saw me and cared. To know that I put my belongings in that locker. To know that I sat in that zendo for hours on end. To know that I lived here for a time.
I’m not crazy. You were really there.
But it was. It is.
After my visit, I recorded a few voice notes about my experience and replayed them back to myself. What struck me was how, in such a short time, I was quickly reminded of my light, my beauty, and my love (again). The same light, beauty, and love you see in others. It made me very emotional. I’ve been trying, trying, trying, which can be so tiring. And then, in almost an instant, I remembered and felt “it.” I remember feeling it during the summer too, but leaving and coming back seemed to validate the realness of it all. I’m awake (again)!
The language was plain. The feeling was clear. The words were so simple. Is that what places like monasteries do to you?
It blows my mind how recognition can illuminate what already exists. I didn’t change. The world didn’t change. I just remembered, or recognized, and that’s what made it feel like things changed in an instant.
The next day, my friend said, “I sensed a bit of nostalgia in you yesterday. And this is totally my projection. But like something was still holding you here. 
I found her word choice interesting because I recall using similar language this summer about my time at the monastery. I felt very held… in both familiar and new ways. And I loved it, questioned it, wondered about it, and really deeply appreciated it.
What’s holding me here? Who’s holding me here? Do I want to be held like this? How do I want to be held?
It has made me all quite curious.
I have a lot of wonder swirling within me.
I wonder if “being held” is what compelled me to return.