On Rohatsu we commemorate the Buddha’s enlightenment by doing as he did, sitting zazen all night. This year our Rohatsu all-night sit will take place in person and on Zoom, starting at 9pm on Saturday, December 7th, and continuing until 7am on Sunday, December 8th.
There will be a Dharma Talk by Mukei Smith.
The rest of the night we will sit in 35-minute periods with kinhin for in-person participants and breaks for online participants in between. For those attending in-person, refreshments will be served.
Participants are encouraged to continue throughout the night, but you may come and go as needed on Zoom and in person.
At 6:30 am there will be short service including the Verse of the Kesa and the Work Gatha.
This will be a hybrid event. Registration is required. Suggested donation of $10.00.
Please join us for any part of Rohatsu to help celebrate this important date on the Buddhist calendar. Let’s embody Shakyamuni’s awakening and make the utmost endeavor!
REGISTER FOR ONLINE ROHATSU
REGISTER FOR IN-PERSON ROHATSU
Sunday, December 8, from 4 to 6 pm
In-Person Only

4:00–4:30 pm: Instructional session
Learn simple, fun techniques for freeing up your sound.
4:30–6:00 pm: Music Improv
How do you translate Beginner’s Mind into sound? Easy. By listening. Harmonizing. Allowing space.
We are all musicians whether we practice an instrument or not. This is a musical improvisation that welcomes all, from beginners to professionals.
Based on Music for People techniques and led by Todd Rogers, a generous and trained facilitator, this open kind of improvisation is inspiring and fun for performers, singers, teachers, dancers, and amateur musicians. No experience needed!
“A highpoint of the month for me,” says Joshin Roshi.
“A superb practice in not knowing.”
Donation: $10
This is an in-person only event.
Saturday, December 14, 2 pm to 3:45 pm
Online only
The Great Matter of Life and Death
Workshop 4: Life Comes Forward

Photo by A. Jesse Jiryu Davis
Let me respectfully remind you
Life and Death are of supreme importance
Time swiftly passes by and opportunity is lost
Each of us should strive to awaken…
Awaken… Take heed!
Do not squander your life.
This is the final workshop in the workshop series on this Great Matter of Life and Death. In the first workshop, we examined the truth of impermanence, noticing what is arising and falling away in our own lives. In the second workshop, we imagined how we would respond if we had only one year to live. In the third workshop, we studied the Japanese tradition of writing a death poem (see examples below).
In this workshop, life comes forward as we look at how we live our lives fully in the complete awareness of our own impermanence. We examine Case 63 in the Book of Serenity, Joshu Asks about Death, and reflect on what it means to “live in daylight.” What does it mean to live life intimately?
The workshop series will be led by Ryoshin Hoshi and Senior Student Jisei Reigeluth.
The cost for each workshop is $30 (members) or $45 (non-members).
The workshop involves small group discussion. It will not be recorded.
REGISTER

There is a long tradition in Japan and China of writing a death poem. Many threads weave in and out making up the fabric of this ongoing tradition. Monks, poets, Samurai, nobility, and common folk have all participated over the centuries.
A death poem captures the words that you want to leave behind for your loved ones—your final teaching. Some write a death poem every year at the beginning of each year or on one’s birthday—just in case! Every poem is unique, expressing the individual’s experience and understanding of their life—their attitude and spirit—a moment in time.
There were two exercises in the workshop:
The first began with silent reading of a number of death poems, followed by dyads where each person monologued about their response to one of the poems.
The second exercise was free writing. We imagined that we would die soon. Death was imminent! The following structure was given as an example to work from or improvise with.
First line: Expresses your life, something essential, looking back at the life you’ve lived.
Second line: How long you have lived.
Third line: What you feel, approaching death.
Fourth line: Your understanding of Zen.
The following was one of the examples used to illustrate the structure.
Sybil Myoshin Taylor
Born on the 5th of June, 1933; died on the 29th of February, 2012, at the age of seventy-eight.
Sailing in all weathers
For seventy-eight years
My boat dissolves
Into the great ocean itself
We ended with the group sharing, as people felt comfortable, reading the death poem(s) they had written.
The beauty and depth of the following poems is a reminder of the sacred space we shared during the workshop.
Thank you everyone!
Gassho,
Ryoshin and Jisei
Joel Wiessler
I’ve been crazy
For seventy-seven years.
Now sanity emerges,
As the body erodes.
I’ve lived the life I’ve had to.
I don’t know why.
Don’t let the disappointment,
The regret, the fear, the anger
Overshadow the astonishment.
Rena Diana
Gazing deep into lake, rocks, light, shadow,
For seventy-six years, grateful and enchanted,
I am ready to melt among them,
To waltz into everywhere, forever and beyond.
(a shorter version)
Gazing deep into the lake,
For seventy-six years,
I am ready to fully enter these waters,
This tiny drop of me becoming whole.
Anne Jisei Reigeluth
Walking the mountain path
For 72 years
Through deepening forest layers laid bare to the horizon
Autumn wind, a dream shattered,
CAW! CAW!
Iris Ryūshō Höger
Heartbeat, and heartbeat, and heartbeat:
More than 48 years to be fully alive.
As I deeply bow to this body:
Joy. Joy. Joy.
Danilo Gakudo Guaitoli
It will be like dusk.
As the sun lets go,
the moon will kiss me.
It will be like dew
on the morning grass.
Marjorie ChoGaKu McCoy
Walking paths, reading signs-
Alone and with others.
Seventy-three years, no step, no day
Like the one before.
I have few steps and short days remaining.
When I encounter the last,
I will bow.
Louise Cadwell
This beautiful world
Has held me for seventy-five years.
Gratefulness overflowing,
I return to dust
To float among the stars.
Charles Ryoshin Kalmanek
Tilting at windmills, chasing the moon
For sixty-seven years.
Now that autumn winds are blowing
I see that the moon shines everywhere.
Jacynthe
From many rivers, and some mountains
Sprung fifty-two roads around the sun
Ha!
I fully admit, bowing, how often I got lost
Though I always returned to the moon nestled in my palms
Nancy Zesho Mann
Forever looking for The Truth that runs through all things.
Nearly a full eighty years
Now body drifting…. words forgotten
Lead me now, for I am One with you.
JoAnn Share
Hearing the deep consonance
70 years, oh my
Wind and weather sing, beckon
Grab my sturdiest staff
Mountains and clouds await
Navah Torei Steiner
Pushing back and questioning everything
For 52 years
As my heart slows down, I realize
I am the answer
Monica Raymond
Seeing the beauty in chaos
this whirlwind 75 years
so much left unfinished–
nothing to straighten
Nina Shuka Klippel
Gliding, bumping, stumbling, swimming
for nigh unto a century now –
who'da thunk it?
But thinking is only a part
like a footnote to the text.
explaining, perhaps,
but not the thing itself.
but who wrote,
we cannot know the thing in itself,
(Ding an sich)
but only its manifestation.
and not even that, –
but our perception,
selection,
interpretation,
appreciation —
Ah! that's the word –
the experience –
I've been looking for –
appreciation –
to appreciate
is to grow, improve,
like the value of a stock
or of a life.
Winter Sesshin: Living Zen
Garrison Institute – Garrison, NY
December 26 – January 1

Photo: A. Jesse Jiryu Davis
The Village Zendo’s year-end retreat is a chance to step out of ordinary life and enjoy deep silence and contemplation at the turning of the year. Our schedule is serious (with plenty of zazen meditation) but also spacious, with time to enjoy the beautiful grounds and nearby trails. Dharma talks are given daily, and there is opportunity to meet individually with teachers. Delicious vegetarian meals are offered buffet-style.
If you have put off doing a residential retreat, or felt intimidated to try one, this is a wonderful retreat to attend. Come and join the Village Zendo sangha as we greet the new year with clear minds and open hearts.
Registration closes Thursday, December 21 at 4 pm (Eastern US Time).
For full information and to register, click HERE
REFLECTIONS
A Gust of Wind, by Seido
(Adam Harrison Levy)

Photo by Alice Levy
I’ve been chosen to be Jisha. The teacher walks into the interview room and opens the window. I unfurl the zabuton and lay it on the floor. The teacher gently moves it into the correct position and says nothing.
My heart is racing. I walk to the altar, pick up the lighter, and flick the wheel. Flame bursts forth.
I pick up the candle. It’s difficult to light because the wick is submerged in the wax. I tilt the candle. The flame licks the wick but it doesn’t catch fire. I move the lighter closer. But instead of flaring towards the wick, the flame arcs backward and painfully burns my finger. I fight the urge to fling the candle at the wall. Instead, I turn my body away from the teacher to block his view of this increasingly out-of-control sight.
I move the lighter closer. The wax liquefies, the wick emerges, and the candle lights. There is also the unmistakable smell of burning flesh. Mine.
I place the candle on the altar, pick up the incense, and dip it into the flame. But as soon as the incense clears the lip of the candle a gust of wind from the open window blows it out. I repeat the same action but the flame is blown out again. I try a third time, holding the incense even closer to the flame. A wisp of smoke, the ember glows, and the incense is lit.
The teacher is growing restless.
I bend forward to plunge the incense into the bowl of ash but as I’m moving forward I feel the sleeve of my robe brush against the outside of the glass-enclosed candle. I look down. My robe is, thankfully, not on fire.
With the incense still in hand I continue moving forward towards the bowl of ash. I doubt myself. Not only did I inflict what feels like a third-degree burn on my finger but I almost set my robe on fire. The familiar litany begins: I’m a lackluster Buddhist and an even more lackluster human being. I’m selfish, bad with money, and I don’t love sufficiently. I can’t even light incense.
Nonetheless, this is the decisive moment. I plunge the incense into the ash hoping for it to land straight but it sinks in at a crooked angle. I try to correct it with a twist but it now tilts at an even crazier angle. In addition, it is now surrounded by a messy moat of ash. The teacher looks at me and says, “That’s a pathetic stick.” I burst out laughing.
The next day I’m determined to get it right. The teacher opens the window and I unfurl the zabuton and place it at exactly the correct angle. I light the candle with one flick of the lighter. I move the incense into the flame and it lights perfectly. Without self-doubt, I spear the incense into the bowl of ash with the confidence of a gymnast nailing a landing.
However, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a grey mote of ash fly off the end of the incense. I ignore it. But as I rise into gassho I see that the mote has landed on the altar’s ceremonial swath of silk. The mote is rapidly expanding into a halo of fire as the silk starts to burn.
The teacher’s face contorts into a version of Munch’s scream. “Don’t touch it!” he hisses. But without a thought, I had already picked up the burning ember, flung it on the floor, and stepped on it.
The teacher says nothing. My teaching is complete. He takes his seat on the cushion and rings the bell.
*
For the entire next day, during zazen, work practice, lunch, and more zazen, I obsess over what happened in the interview room. I play the action over and over in my mind, trying to establish vectors and angles. It’s my own Zapruder film. Why had the ash flown off the incense when it did? Had I left the incense burning too long in the flame, tempting fate with such a large cone of ash sitting precariously on top? Why was I rushing? Why had I not taken into account the open window? Was my desire to prove myself to the teacher an act of ego that deserved correction?
I tell the full story to a different teacher during my next interview, including my self-lacerating thoughts. The teacher listens carefully.
“Did you have the right intention?” asks the teacher.
“Yes,” I reply. “I wanted to light the incense and place it in the ash to the best of my ability.”
“So what is the problem?”
“I failed! I burned the cloth!”
The teacher pauses.
“Your intention was correct, that’s all that matters.”
“But I should have taken into account the open window.”
The teacher smiles.
“It was just a gust of wind.”
The teacher rings the bell.

We communicate in three places online:
our email list, a Facebook page, and a Groups.io list
where we share events and information among the whole
Sangha. Explore these various ways of staying connected and
up to date here: https://villagezendo.org/connect-with-us/
Editor: Taylor Plimpton
Editor Emeritus: Nina Shuka Klippel
Managing Editor/ Design & Production: Howard Thoresen

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