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from the September, 2010 issue of Kiai!
Gasshuku - Get on the Train and Ride!
By Ryan Libel
As I looked at the itinerary we received from Nidaime in advance of Gasshuku I began to do what I always do with anything - hyper-analyze it. Initially I thought we stood about the same chance of accomplishing this ambitious to-do list as I do of becoming President of the United States. Then I just stopped. I quit studying the schedule, turned off that nasty left-brain and realized my only hope for happiness in this endeavor rested on my ability to simply show up, get on the train, and ride. Don’t judge, just ride.
Standing outside of Honbu in Chelsea at 8:00 on a muggy Friday morning those of us riding the bus knew little about what to expect. All the locals had been encouraged to get to the camp on their own, since the bus would be taken up by the exceptionally large non-Honbu-native population participating this year. We boarded the coach only slightly before the karate street performers among us would have been asked to show their union cards.
Through the tunnel and into New Jersey, over the hills and back into NY State, back to the Hudson River and to Mount St. Alphonsus Retreat Center, a true, monolithic landmark of early 20th century Catholicism not too far from Woodstock. Really, this structure is something to see. The austerity couldn’t have been more fitting, nor could the four floors of rooms with very high ceilings, accessible via stairs that always reminded me of the importance of breathing and the inadequacy of my glutes.
My roommate was a pediatrician. I mention that because it brings up one of the coolest things I saw over the course of the weekend. Two doors down from us, a camper from New Zealand had rapidly developed an infection in his foot. Our little alcove of rooms sprang into action, taking turns changing out the hot water this poor guy was forced to soak his foot in – even hotter for the lack of air conditioning and the hot and humid ambient conditions. I checked on him frequently, as did others, all helmed by the pediatrician. Senpai Kitty beamed, “Kaicho would be so happy.”
And Kaicho is so happy - what a thrill it is to spend a weekend with him. Anyone would quickly realize that this camp is something he loves doing. From running around drawing on people’s backs in the middle of advanced self-defense practice to shooting people with water guns during tug-of-war to singing “Besame Mucho,” this guy loves life and living. He also loves Seido t-shirts. I swear I saw at least 20 different t-shirts on him in three days.
He also loves meditation. Friday night was our first hour-long sitting session - a Honbu-style meditation class in St. Alphonsus Hall, our primary indoor meeting space. As is Kaicho’s practice, he discussed a simple principle, illustrated with the Japanese characters for the principle. The Japanese fails me, but the theme he laid out for the weekend was “wash your mind.” Wash your mind. I loved it. I created a mantra. Scrub, rinse, scrub, rinse. During meditation practice all weekend long, anytime I found my mind straying I would inhale, SCRUB…, exhale, RINSE…
Ask Senpai Eric about his Kaicho impersonations. Ask Michelle Curley about her astute trivia knowledge. Ask Kyoshi Martha about her folk singer/songwriter talent. I’m happy to tell you about a conditioning class I took from a Hollywood Senpai. I’m sure any of us could go on and on – and we did, from 4:00 AM to 11:00 Saturday night.
Back to that train. You get on, you ride, you encounter people from Poland and Japan who can barely say hello in English - Germans, New Zealanders, Australians, an Indian, and, yes, plenty of New Yorkers, Chicagoans and Los Angelinos, Austinites and San Franciscans. You ride up to tables in the dining hall where your “is this seat taken?” is met with joyful “by yous!” from people you’ve never met before. From the old and blind (yes, old and blind) to the young and timid, what exactly is it that holds this whole thing together?
For me there was a moment when the train stopped. It was on Sunday morning, after zazen and after our single-file walking meditation through the woods (talk about a train) but before breakfast. We used the main stairs facing out to a huge lawn and the pastoral hills beyond as a stage and each of our randomly assigned teams stood up one by one. Anyone who wanted to could say a few words about their experiences, and every single person spoke. 160 people, some of whom had never been to the United States before, all stepped forward and addressed the crowd. Haven’t we all experienced groups of 15 that proved too intimidating for some? A few speakers required translators, some cried, some laughed, but all spoke. Lined up by rank, lined up by team, we all had a place and we all found words. The power of those reflections and the sense of community I felt in that moment is what I will remember most about Gasshuku. That and the need I think we all have to sometimes just get on a train and ride.