Hermitage Experience
I was fortunate to stay twice at the Hermitage: a few weeks during the spring of 2003, and two-months in the summer of 2010 as part of a 4½ month Zen pilgrimage. These were two of the most important experiences of my life, extraordinarily helpful for my Zen practice.
I have been a serious layperson for many years. With family and work responsibilities, I have maintained a daily zazen practice, belonged to sanghas and participated in retreats when I was able. However it was during my stays at the Hermitage that I was able to experience a true taste of contemplative life.
Living in the Hermitage provides the opportunity to do sustained practice and daily one-on-one with Jeff, as well as the experience of living harmoniously with others in a monastic-like yet real-life environment. Sustained zazen and moment-to-moment mindfulness, combined with cooking, cleaning, and other chores done mostly in silence, brings the practice to natural fruition. Exploring Kyoto was also a delightful and invaluable part of the experience.
Participating in weeklong sesshins at Tofukuji is also a precious opportunity. Sitting in deep silence with the monks and other lay practitioners gives one the chance to devote oneself to practice in an atmosphere of supportive rigor.
Now back in Maryland, I continue daily zazen, sit with others in my apartment, belong to a Zen group in Washington DC, and go for monthly and longer retreats when I am able. My Zen practice is stronger than ever and continues in its intensity. I encourage you to give yourself fully to your Zen practice while at the Hermitage!
Tina S, USA (age 64)
A Month at the Hermitage
In 2011 I spent almost the whole month of December at the Hermitage in Kyoto. The first thing I noticed: it is a rather small place. Japanese people are used to living in houses like this, but we were three big foreign guys, and we needed to carefully use whatever space was available. Futons needed to be stowed away every morning simply because otherwise we would not have enough space to do zazen. Even getting rid of our suitcases proved quite a challenge. There is a closet upstairs, but it is best not to bring more than you really need.
S (my Dutch Dharma buddy) and I had come to do some serious sitting: it was the time of the Rohatsu sesshin at Tofukuji and we joined them. I decided, because of an injury, to just go in for the evening sits from 5-11PM, while S stayed at Tofukuji. Coming to Japan allowed me to sit in an environment (be it the Hermitage or Tofukiji) that was dedicated to sitting. Plus at the Hermitage there was Jeff coming in twice a day for one-on-one. That alone was worth every Euro we spent (including all we spent on souvenirs). I set up a zazen schedule (more or less the Tofukuji sesshin schedule) to sit by myself and somehow managed to follow it for almost the whole month. Over time I developed a set routine: espresso, breakfast, groceries, checking emails at the Gojo Café, cooking etc.
Not to be too holy: there was time off for sightseeing, souvenir shopping and dinners out also. We sat hard, but had plenty of good times too. What I especially remember was that I slowly got ‘sucked’ into the practice. I am used to sitting daily and to doing a few 4-5 day retreats per year, but actually sitting a consistent schedule for 25 days (including the one-on-ones) proved a very powerful way to deepen my practice and to become ‘walled in’ by it gradually. This evolved quite naturally and whenever we sat a lighter schedule or had a day of sightseeing, it didn‘t really break the hold the practice had on me.
Going to Tofukuji the first time was impressive. The whole place is geared to just one thing: Zen practice. Everything and everybody is a cog in that clockwork and you just have to make sure you do what is required at the right time. Initially it can be rather daunting. There is an intensity that starts right at the front gate and it is wonderfully inspiring and encouraging. Going there on my own or with Jeff and Alex meant a 30 minute walk south – a natural way of preparing for it.
Another thing I noticed: most Japanese do not speak English well. It is difficult to strike up even a casual conversation. Walking along the Kyoto city streets never made me feel like I was a ‘tourist’ though. The Japanese people are very polite: I’m sure I violated plenty of rules but I was never confronted about it – except of course at Tofukuji. Remember to walk quietly while there!
The Hermitage proved to be an excellent place to practice: the three of us always managed to sit together at least some periods every day and Jeff was available every day at least twice for one-on-ones. During sesshin we did three: one in the morning, one before leaving for Tofukuji around 4:30PM, and one after we got back at around 11:30PM. This too added to the intensity of my stay: there was no escaping or lagging. The mere fact that every single day – without exception – there was one-on-one kept me focused on the practice almost non-stop. Maintaining that for about a month (with all the ups-and-downs that you will inevitably experience in a month of intense sitting) was a unique and truly invaluable process, unlike any retreat or 1 month stays in a meditation centre in India I had done before.
‘Vaut le voyage’ as they say about three-star Michelin restaurants: ‘Worth the journey’. Trust me, that is an understatement here. Gasshou.
Guus v. O, NL (age 52)
Brief thoughts on your stay at the hermitage
The time you are here should have one real focus, one true intention. That is breaking through, that is taking that steady, calm eye and honing it in and looking, digging and gazing into the perplexity of your utterly simple soul.
Sit, walk, bathe, eat and drink and take a dump on that warm toilet, but always without a break; keep that eye in penetrating gaze. Do not give it up for thoughts about pain or boredom or food or comfort. Don’t waste time beating yourself up because you dropped your practice and don’t waste time wallowing in these distractions. Return to your practice and eat, drink, and get some exercise, but do not let your practice go.
Don’t exchange it for the most glorious idea or insight or vision; it is not a fair trade and you will squander your time.
Don’t waste time in reflection or conversation or in fantasy or deprecation. Don’t exchange your practice for any of these.
Don’t give up your practice even for the sweet release of the mind in darkness, whether it’s laying down at night or sitting upright on your cushions. When you have your attention about you, put it to your practice.
The point of this hermitage is single pointed. Do zazen, do kinhin (walking zen), do one-on-one, eat well – and in all you do, keep your practice. You will have plenty of time to reflect later. If you are here at the hermitage you have made a sacrifice to focus on this one thing, this singular practice; continue that sacrifice. This is not the time to integrate your life and your practice; you will learn that after your time here. This is the time to penetrate beyond the usual boundaries of Self. Your entire life will continue in this practice, this is your time to establish some of the deepest foundations and break down some of the most hidden fortresses.
Don’t give my advice another thought.
Fr Justin L, USA (age 30)
Value of the Hermitage
In late April, 2009, at the age of 39, I arrived in Kyoto for a 3-month zazen retreat at the hermitage. There were a lot of events that led up to this, but there were a few in particular that gave me the feeling that I needed to do it. I had given up on a lucrative career in finance in order to pursue a more fulfilling career teaching. Though this was a step in the right direction, something still wasn’t right. I was still searching. About three years before coming to Kyoto I had taken up zazen in the hopes that somehow this practice would help give some sense to a world and/or life that didn’t seem to have any. Though I was immediately grateful to have discovered zazen and the Rinzai tradition, “practice” began as just a part of my life.
Slowly over the following year it became clear that practice needed to become my whole life, and that I needed to start making decisions that would allow this to happen. I had read enough on the importance of cultivating “Great Doubt” to know that this was not happening in my practice. I was still on a career path (teaching) that I pursued largely because I found it fulfilling. Instead of focusing all the energies of this “hunger for fulfillment” on my koan in zazen, I continued to seek fulfillment in my career, and other areas of my life as well, zazen being only one of these. So a little over a year before arriving in Kyoto, I quit teaching, and chose a career (waiting tables) that had little or no chance of catering to my sense of purpose. Though I had often considered such work “dead end” jobs, the lack of ambition and drive this work required was perfect for zazen. Practice was naturally becoming more focused and continuous. Great Doubt was growing.
But why come to Kyoto? I was pretty confident that I knew what needed to be done and that I didn’t need a teacher to do it, but I contacted Jeff (whom I had met once during his sabbatical) by email and asked him what he thought about my idea of practicing alone for a couple of years in a hermitage of my choosing. In his own words Jeff told me that even if it turns out that no guidance is needed in my case, it can’t hurt to have someone around to help keep the practice focused and to point out blind spots in case there are any. I agreed. A year or so later I was in Kyoto practicing at the hermitage.
Was the guidance necessary? I think it would be insulting to call the guidance I received “necessary.” I went to Kyoto because I thought it might be necessary, but I left wondering what I had done to receive such a gift. The retreat environment of the hermitage (including sesshin at Tofukuji) provided the support I was hoping for, but I never could have expected the guidance I received in one-on-one. The harder I pushed, the more helpful Jeff proved. It’s not that I had some great kenshô experience or something like that, because I didn’t. But I could see what genuine zazen was a lot more clearly when I left than when I had arrived. I don’t see how I could have discerned the delicate subtleties and nuances of practice without Jeff’s help. In a very positive sense the entire experience was very humbling. “How the hell did this happen?” I thought. The gratitude I felt during this time has only grown since. It’s obvious that you don’t find this kind of lineage and guidance. It finds you.
If you are at the point in your life where you are trying to figure out how to give yourself more fully to your practice, it “can’t hurt” to spend some time at the hermitage. All the best.
Jack V, USA (age 39)
A Day at Rôko-an
03:00 – Wake-up. Curse myself for a moment. Stretch my arms and legs. Jump-up. Get the lights. Drink a glass of milk with a bit of honey. Splash my face with cold water.
03:05 – Zazen! In the mornings, the whole city slumbers. The sound of the traffic is nothing but a ghostly trickle. Sometimes, I hear the clack-clack-clack of heels against the pavement, but it usually only punctuates the prevailing silence and serenity of pre-dawn Kyoto. Ah, how wondrous just to sit and be!
06:30 – Restless. The pale blue glow of dawn spills in through the back door. The rice paper windows begin to faintly glow. A steady stream of taxis and bikes zip by. I long for sky above and the hues of dawn cast upon the scattered clouds. Make a cup of black tea with a shot of milk. Fill a water bottle. Pack my yoga mat and backpack.
06:40 – Stroll through Kyoto. Stop at a bright orange temple. Bow in gasshou to a 12-foot, 12-headed Kannon statue– “May I and all beings awaken!” Try to keep my attention inward – but what a beautiful girl, and those azaleas are such a vivid pink, as if the bush was aflame with flowers. Walk through Kennin-ji, the first Zen temple in Kyoto, amost next door. My heart settles amidst velvet-green moss, ancient pines, and tea bushes. Stop at a monument to Dôgen. Gasshou. From there, I head west to the river.
07:10 – Sitting beside the Kamo River beneath a willow. An old Japanese man places a can of cafe au lait at my feet and offers to buy me breakfast. I decline. We talk briefly before he gasshous and reverently leaves. I close my eyes and all that remains is the sound of a river, of salary men and joggers, and of bikes and cars flowing by.
09:30 – Walk back to Rôko-an, the hermitage. An old Japanese woman hunched over her cane greets me with a warm smile and “Ohayô Gozaimasu.”
09:50 – Light incense. Take a swig of water and a quick piss. Brush my teeth. Sweep the genkan entrance and the street outside. Pick the weeds out from the cracks.
10:00 – Zazen. Just the three of us – Alex, Jeff, and I, sit still in a windowless room. The walls and doors sometimes rattle as traffic rushes by. “Don’t those jerks know I’m meditating!?” We go upstairs for one-on-one. Jeff”s presence and guidance keeps me sharp and focused.
11:00 – Cook lunch. Alex and I chat while we dance in the kitchen – cutting cabbage, frying eggs, burning toast. We sit for a moment at the table and eat, sometimes talking, sometimes not.
12:00 – A belly full of food, I go for a stroll through Kyoto. Beautiful traditional houses with a rustic charm and modern, concrete monstrosities line the street. A beautiful Juniper bonsai catches my eye.
13:00 – Zazen back at Rôko-an. I sit with only the rattling doors and murmur of traffic for company. Soon, even that seems to fade.
16:00 – Restless. Pour myself a glass of milk. Lay down and admire the wood grain in the panels on the ceiling.
16:15 – Zazen. The traffic continues, joined by the intermittent shouts and laughs of children.
18:45 – Light incense. Swig down some oolong tea cooled in the fridge. Splash my face with water.
19:00 – Zazen. As soon as I hear that door slide open, I become taut and focused. I remember why I am here. Whatever’s said upstairs in the one-on-one room, there is one enduring message: don’t waste your time give yourself completely to whatever you’re doing.
20:00 – Alex and I chat for a bit after zazen. Our conversations range from the beauty of the breath, the history and richness of the Zen tradition, working with doubt, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. After, I pack my bag and yoga mat.
20:10 – To the dead! I stroll down the main street, headlights and backlights streaming by. Young Japanese kids weave through pedestrians on their bikes. As I approach the cemetery, the noises of the city quiet to a ghostly echo. The only living thing that remains here are the stray cats which sometimes dart beneath the streetlights or vanish in the cracks between houses. Even the crows have gone to sleep.
20:30 – Yaza on a granite plateau overlooking the city. The gravestone-obelisks stagger beneath the Kyoto skyline, the mountains behind lost in a dark haze. The graves mock the city which I sit before, a reminder that even the skyscrapers and towering apartment complexes will someday come crumbling down.
22:00 – Tired, I drag myself back to Roko-an.
22:15 – Drink some water. Rub my eyes and yawn. Brush my teeth. Roll out my futon. Ah, sleep!
Brendan S, USA (age 21)
Kyoto: A Stay at the Hermitage 2010
I share here some of my experiences from Jeff’s Hermitage and the Rinzai training monastery of Tofukuji in Kyoto. I hope it will be of some use to those who consider a trip to Japan.
After many years of retreats in The Netherlands, Hungary and the United States, I felt it was time for me to experience Zen practice in Japan. I went to Kyoto with my Dharma-friend G and we stayed at the Hermitage for about a month (from the end of November until the end of December 2010). Jeff provided the perfect opportunity with his Hermitage and his introductions to join two sesshins at Tofukuji monastery. In between the sesshins at Tofukuji, we sat at the Hermitage and allowed ourselves to walk Kyoto streets and hills as regular tourists. It also gave me memorable moments, like night sitting in a graveyard on top of a half built grave overlooking the city lights of Kyoto.
The most valuable part of staying at the Hermitage was the opportunity to have daily one-on-one with Jeff in the mornings and evenings. These frequent exchanges, however short they might be, proved to be pivotal in my Zen training. To continually put myself in front of this Zen-wall was at times deeply frustrating, but equally deeply rewarding. I suddenly realized I had entered Koan training – but in such a natural and informal way that I only became aware of it when I woke up one morning with this nagging question in my head, heart and body. There was no way I could get rid of the damn thing. It made me laugh at myself – so this is what it means when a Koan sticks to you and you get stuck on it. This is definitely not an academic, intellectual word game. And from experience I can now testify – it works!
Although sitting is basically the same any place in the world, the atmosphere of a Rinzai training monastery is incomparable to anything I’ve experienced and as I found, nothing can really prepare you for it. The thunderous sound of fierce hitting with the keisaku, the confusing speed of the dinner rituals, the intense cold in winter, the stone hard and equally cold tatami-mats in the Hondô (hall for lectures and sutra recitations), these things can be told, but are only understood when experienced by oneself. Zen itself it is a matter of practice. Only then will you know how your body and mind react to these conditions.
To be able to take part in a sesshin with the monks and share a bit of their life has made a difference. The intensity and rigor of such meditation discipline definitely affected my meditation practice, as well as my perspective on it. It was also a clash of cultural differences, a confrontation of conceptual views, and ultimately a confrontation with myself. Personally, the experience contributed to a fundamental change from a floundering practice into a daily discipline from within. It brought me a thorough awareness of what Zen practice is about and what it means to me. I learned more in these intense weeks in Kyoto than in many years of European retreats.
All in all, even after dropping out of the Rôhatsu sesshin after five days with symptoms of hypothermia, I can only say that it has been worth the travel, trouble and effort. I recently returned to the Hermitage for a weeklong retreat – sitting in the morning at the Hermitage and joining the monks at Tofukuji for the evening sitting periods. I can now recommend the Spring temperatures over the ones in December, if even just to lower at least one barrier for yourself.
The experiences in Kyoto also taught me that our meditation efforts in the West are in no way ‘inferior’ to the Japanese tradition. When asked about Zen practice in the West, the present master, Harada Roshi at Tofukuji said: “What matters is if it’s done with heart.”
I wish you all lots of ‘heart’ and a wonderful stay at the Hermitage. (By the way, if you intend to take part in a Winter sesshin, don’t forget to bring heat-pads to wear under seven layers of thermal clothes 
)
Gasshou,
Stefan v W, NL (age 46)
A recent visit
I could only stay two weeks, but it was just what was needed.
Very intense; time flew like an arrow.
I can just express my deep gratitude:
so grateful, that I could stay at the hermitage.
I am lost for words.
To stay in the midst of this beautiful, vivid, historic city of Kyoto.
To see and breathe in its Buddhist sights, to encounter the atmosphere of the Kyoto residents.
To enjoy their delicious food.
All these things were blessings on their own.
I could do zazen as much as I wanted.
And receive advice, inspiration, encouragement and admonishment when necessary
in one-on-one at least twice a day.
I was treated like a guest, a friend, a disciple, a son, a brother.
Unbelievable, overwhelming kindness.
Japanese people say that when one of their sons leaves the world and becomes a monk,
the whole family for many generations is saved.
What is the merit then for someone who opens up a hermitage and runs it every day?
After all, what do I want to say?
Well, I have already booked my flight for another stay next year.
Clemens M., Germany (age 55)
