Spending two nights in the woods was a deeply grounding experience, blending physical activity, contemplative study, and meaningful connection. The retreat took place in a serene spot in Norfolk where, among other things, we built a dojo nestled directly in the forest—surrounded by towering trees, moss, and the gentle sounds of nature. The dojo itself was a marquee, not wooden, but a space created within the living woods, a place to practice, reflect, and embody presence amidst the natural world.
During the retreat, I helped build the dojo, contributing hands-on effort to shape the space. The physical labour of clearing ground, setting up the structure, and preparing the area connected me intimately to the earth and to the community. This act of creation became a metaphor for how I want to manifest myself: through purposeful, grounded action that honours both my inner intentions and the living world around me.
Between building sessions, I took walks through the forest and rested under the trees. In the interplay between nettles and rotting leaves, I found a language for my own inquiry: the nettle, with its sting and upright posture, became a symbol of vitality, and protective clarity; the rotting leaf spoke of surrender, release, and quiet transformation. These became my entry point into the Trikāya.
As part of the retreat, each of us offered a Dharma talk in the forest dojo, sharing our reflections on the Trikāya—the three bodies of the Buddha. These are: the Dharmakāya (Sanskrit; Dharma body), the ultimate reality—the Buddha-nature of all things, beyond form and concept, I like to perceive it as the One Big Body; the Sambhogakāya, the body of self-enjoyment—a blissful, divine presence with infinite forms and radiant qualities, perceived in visionary or deep meditative states; and the Nirmāṇakāya, the manifestation body—the aspect of awakening that appears in the everyday world, teaching and guiding through tangible action. In my talk, I reflected on how these bodies are not abstract ideas, but lived dimensions that can be felt directly. The rotting leaf, in its quiet dissolution, spoke to me of the Dharmakāya—the formless, all-embracing reality into which everything returns. The nettle, upright and full of energy, felt like the Nirmāṇakāya—clear action in the world, full of power, precision, and even sting. As for Sambhogakāya, I sensed it in the golden light through the canopy, in shared silence, and in those fleeting moments of blissful presence—subtle, joyful, and luminous. These three aren’t separate. They interpenetrate. The leaf becomes soil, the nettle grows, the light touches all. We too are part of this unfolding.
Sharing this reflection with others, and hearing theirs in turn, wove a deep sense of intimacy into the space. The dojo had become more than a place—it was now a mandala of practice, listening, and manifestation.
I left the woods, as a storm approached, feeling more whole and more intentional about how I want to live: rooted like the forest floor, flexible like the leaves, and alive with purpose—awake to the play of the three bodies, and committed to carrying them with me in how I walk, work, and speak in the world.
Zen Mindfulness Cambridge Zenways Italia 