Literal Cold Feet
This post was originally published on Substack on May 23rd, 2024. It has been lightly edited.
In late fall, dewy mist engulfs the monastery. Frogs croak honest songs while bare feet strike the cold sidewalk, sinking further into numbness with each step.
My hands cement into the Zen walking form as we circle the meditation hall. One hand wraps over the other fist, sealed together just below the belly button. I grasp tightly, trying to gather heat between my arms and torso.
Half of our walking loop hugs the zendo in the drafty hallways of a former elementary school. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows in the hallway overlook carefully manicured garden courtyards. For the other half of the loop, we step over faded alphabet letters painted on the sidewalk outside.
If I peel my eyes away from the feet of the woman in front of me, I find wet grasses nestled between a bamboo grove and the forest edge. Extending beyond the bamboo, the grasses widen into an open field, overlooking a valley lit by a pastel-tinted sunrise. The Columbia River hides somewhere below.
Each shiver exchanges heat between me and the wind that brings rain to our garden patch.
Cold air jabs at my face and ankles. Recoiling, my mind would happily linger inside the building, calculating how to maximize my time in the slightly warmer indoor corridors. With watering eyes, I pull focus to the sensations of my body, doing my best to stay in the moment.
Each shiver exchanges heat between me and the wind that brings rain to our garden patch. The rain soaks into hundreds of pounds of squash so big the kitchen staff smashes them on the ground before cleaning, chopping, roasting and pureeing them into hearty soups.
The morning is punctuated by the earthy yet sharp smack of two wooden blocks telling us to return to the zendo for meditation. I continue into the building and bow toward my cushion then turn to face the center of the room. Once we’ve all gathered, the blocks smack together once more and we bow again before folding into our preferred seated meditation postures.
Mental chatter softens into an easy stream, the gap between each thought widening as the next passes.
The zendo gurgles and swallows, our bodies not getting the memo about silent meditation. Burps get caught in my throat and release with a low croaking sound, mingling indistinguishably with frogs on the windowsill.
Breath by breath, my nervous system unwinds into a gentle flow of moments. Mental chatter softens into an easy stream, the gap between each thought widening as the next passes.
In waves, the hall erupts into vibrant stillness. Peace that feels rich and electric. Later, the shock of a raindrop outside opens me into cathartic joy.
At a meal after silence has lifted, I speak to a woman who’s developing a language for quantum computing. The idea came to her fully laid out in a dream.
She says Zen teachings make complete sense based on quantum physics. She explains quantum entanglement and while the specifics slip past me, one truth clicks.
This stillness is an offering to the whole world.