On Tuesday the 7th of December, I went to the Zenways dojo in Camberwell, London, to attend Rohatsu. Rohatsu is a Japanese word that literally means the eighth day of the twelfth month: the 8th of December. In the Zen tradition, it commemorates the awakening of the historical Buddha.
Rohatsu is traditionally marked by intensive meditation, and on this occasion we spent the entire night practising. We started at around 9.30 in the evening with a talk by Daizan and finished the following morning at 6. Throughout the night, we alternated 25 minutes of sitting meditation with 10 minutes of walking meditation, with two short breaks for matcha tea.
According to the traditional story, before his awakening Shakyamuni Buddha had spent years practising severe austerities. His body had become extremely weak. A young woman called Sujata offered him food, traditionally described as a kind of milk-rice or rice pudding, which he accepted before continuing his practice. The story became associated with the Middle Way: neither indulgence nor extreme self-denial.
After Daizan’s talk, we ate rice pudding with honey. It was very sweet. I loved it and felt grateful for this symbolic and nourishing food my body was receiving. The course was now set: we would just sit with our strongest resolve to reach enlightenment by dawn!
I forgot to mention that for the night I was Jikijitsu. My role was to keep the timings of the various sitting and walking meditation sessions. To help me with this, I had my wristwatch, two clappers and a small bell called an Inkin. The watch gave me the time; the clappers and Inkin signalled when the various sessions started and finished.
There were ten people practising in the dojo, while around thirty more joined us online. Although meditation can feel like a very solitary practice — sitting with our own thoughts, discomfort and whatever else arises — for me the presence of the Sangha is fundamental. There was something very powerful about knowing that all these people had come together with the same intention to practise throughout the night.
During one of my sittings, towards the end of the night, I heard the sound of an aeroplane overhead. Camberwell must be on one of the flight paths into a London airport, Heathrow I guess.
The sound was simply a sound. Normally I know how quickly my mind can add a commentary: it is too loud, it is ruining the silence, aeroplanes are polluting, or whatever else happens to appear. This time none of that happened. There was simply the sound of the aeroplane.
Then a thought appeared. For a moment, that too was simply a thought. I didn’t have to do anything with it. It appeared and disappeared, rather like the aeroplane passing through the sky above me.
I don’t want to make too much of that experience. Perhaps spending an entire night sitting made it easier to notice things that normally happen too quickly to see. But for those few moments there seemed to be less commentary between what was happening and my experience of it.
The night continued smoothly. After each period of sitting we went outside for walking meditation on a tennis court next to the dojo. We would walk five laps, around ten minutes. It was cold outside, which was actually quite helpful in keeping me awake.
At one point I put on an extra layer because I had a nosebleed and wondered whether the contrast between the warm dojo and the cold outside had caused it. In any case, I enjoyed and benefited from the walking. Cold, sleepy, tired: those were simply the sensations of that particular night. Five laps, then back inside to sit again.
There was another responsibility that came with being Jikijitsu during Rohatsu: using the Keisaku, the flat wooden stick traditionally used during meditation.
It was the first time I had used one and initially I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to do. I imagined gently tapping people on the shoulders to help keep them awake. I soon discovered that the Keisaku is used rather more energetically than that.
I found this interesting because I felt a strong resistance to the idea of striking somebody with a wooden stick. But this was part of the practice we were doing, and the people receiving it knew exactly what was happening. There is a particular way and place in which the Keisaku is used, and my job was simply to learn how to do it properly and with care.
It was an unusual experience for me. My instinct was not to hit somebody; my role that night required me to do something that initially felt uncomfortable. I didn’t need to turn that into a great philosophical lesson about right and wrong. I just had to pay attention, follow the practice and take care of the people in front of me.
And the night went on.
Sit.
Walk.
Bell.
Clappers.
Cold.
Back to the cushion.
At 6 in the morning, I rang the Inkin and clapped the clappers for the last time. We gathered together around the breakfast tables and ate.
Despite having spent the entire night awake, I didn’t feel particularly sleepy, and I couldn’t see much sleepiness in the others either.
Mostly, I remember the joy of sitting there together and sharing breakfast after a long night of practice.
