So Many Guidelines – So Many Opportunities to Learn

Sixteen of us sat in a circle listening to a monk review the list of guidelines for the Monastery.   For the umpteenth time that day I questioned my decision to come to the There's Nothing Wrong With You retreat.  I really didn’t know anything about Zen, I didn't meditate on a regular basis, and I certainly had never spent 8 days not talking to anyone.   And now on top of all that, there was this long litany "do's and don'ts" that the Monastery expected me to remember and abide by.   What had I gotten myself into?

I spent the first couple of days in mortal fear that I would mess up and be late for a meeting, forget to change my shoes, drop my dishes, or commit some other equally embarrassing faux pas.   However, as I became more familiar and comfortable with the routine of each day, my initial fear was replaced with a sense of resentment towards this tightly structured environment.

I began having conversations with myself about the logic and necessity of all these guidelines; and then, just for fun, I began breaking some of them just to see if I could.   I met a friend on one of the trails and we spent ten minutes talking. I walked for miles trying to get a signal on my cell phone so that I could call home, and I intentionally decided not to leave notes for the Guestmaster when I walked down to the creek.   

This acting out momentarily fed my conditioning's need to be in control; but the thrill of doing my own thing soon wore off and I was left to ponder what was it about me and rules that made me either obsess about doing everything right, or expend energy trying to get away with breaking them?

As I thought more about this I began to see the structured environment of the Monastery in a whole new light.   Maybe the rules and guidelines were not put in place to confine and control me, but rather as a safety net in which I could safely explore and observe my reactions and behaviors in relation to them.  

The guidelines were the constant in each day.  They didn't change.  My space was defined and my routine was clearly outlined.  I didn't have to think about when, where, or how I did something.  It was all spelled out for me.  Therefore, all my energy and attention could focus on my reactions and behaviors, where I was getting pulled off center, and how I was causing myself to suffer at that moment versus worrying about what I had to do later that day.  All these rules and guidelines were actually a wonderful gift, if I were just willing to see them as such.

I had fought against rules my whole life and to experience this kind of change in my relationship with them was huge for me.  But it wasn't just structure which brought about this change.  I had been in other structured environments, which only served to antagonize me.  What made this experience so different was that the Monastery's rigorous structure is wrapped in a warm blanket of caring and compassion.  If and when I did stray outside the given parameters, there was no harsh rebuke or judgmental reproach – only a gentle reminder of what the guidelines were.  This approach didn't really give me anything to retaliate against, so I was left with just me, my reactions, and another chance to recognize how I cause myself to suffer.

I have been back to the Monastery several times since that first retreat, and with every visit I become more aware of where and how the issue of rules hooks me.  And each time I leave the Monastery I take that increased awareness with me, which has helped to eliminate so many struggles in my life.

When I think back to that first orientation session and how overwhelmed I was, I find myself smiling - not only because of how far I've come, but also because I know that no one could have ever convinced me at that first meeting just how much those rules and guidelines would eventually teach me.