Where Are you Going?

One hundred days of solitude
Losing myself and finding grace on a Zen retreat

Jane Dobisz
Publisher: Wisdom Publications, Boston

ISBN 13: 978-0-8617-1538-1

The tiny cabin is in a small clearing in the middle of the woods. The ground is covered in a foot of snow. It’s the middle of January. Two friends help me unload enough provisions to last the winter, see to it that I get somewhat settled in, then drive away just at twilight. ‘Bye! See you in May! Have a great retreat!’

The rock song on the car radio recedes into the distance as they drive away down the three-mile dirt road that leads toward ‘civilization.’ It’s getting darker. The wind is picking up. My stomach feels empty. To make a cup of tea I have to first boil water. To boil water I have to build a fire from scratch. What was I thinking, doing this?

I have fifty pounds of rice, ten pounds of red adzuki beans, five pounds of soybeans, ten pounds of sunflower seeds, four containers of miso, one lunch bag of dried fruit, two large bags of roasted barley tea, and a medium-sized jar of Skippy peanut butter. This is my food supply for the next one hundred days. I won’t be going out of the woods to town until the spring. No one will be visiting me.

What if something happens and I need help? What if some lunatic finds out I’m alone up here with no lock on the door?

In my desire to emulate the ancients, I foolishly decided not to bring coffee either, let alone cream or sugar.

This is not what you’d call cozy.

The wooden cabin is L-shaped, about 150 square feet total. There’s nothing in it but a cast-iron wood-burning stove, a twin bed, a build-in set of shelves, one green wooden chair, and an old end table. Pine floors and pine walls. The sink isn’t hooked up to any plumbing, which seems kind of odd. I wonder why it’s there at all, and then realize it’s really just a big ceramic basin with a hole in it. A white plastic bucket sits underneath the drain. Outside on the porch there’s some stacked wood, an enamel chamber pot, a five-gallon red plastic jug, a few tools, and an ax. For water, there’s a well down the path, about a quarter mile away.

I post the schedule on the wall with a thumbtack:

The retreat schedule is the core framework of the Zen experience. There’s time for sitting, walking, chanting, work, eating, and rest, all in balance. I officially begin following it tomorrow morning at 3:15. My eyes linger for a moment on its military-like format. Will I be able to adhere to the ridiculously early wake-up and all the hours of sitting and bowing with no one here to check up on me?

I finish unpacking. There aren’t many clothes to put away, just some long underwear, sweatpants, work clothes, and boots. I stack them neatly on the shelf by the bed and place a wooden Buddha on the table with two candles, an incense burner, and a water bowl. I double-check the batteries in the flashlight and in the alarm clock, and take a few deep breaths as the full weight of the silence and my utter aloneness settles over me. I am happy and scared, both sure and unsure at the same time.

As I crawled into the sleeping bag that first night, my last thought was ‘One down, ninety-nine to go.’ I hoped the fire’s sparks wouldn’t fly out and ignite a blaze that would turn the whole cabin into a ball of flames, killing me before I even got started. I lay there wondering whether, as a preventive measure, I should get up and put the fire out with a bucket of water.

How would I get it started the next morning if the ashes were all wet?

What did the Native Americans do in their teepees before the days of electric heat? How did they keep the children warm at night if the fires were put out? On the other hand, if they left fires burning, wouldn’t speaks fly out, land on their blankets, and burn them all to death?

These were the deep thoughts I had my first night in the woods. I was raised in the suburbs and don’t know much about the details of chopping wood and building fires. I guess I’m going to learn. It’s lonely the first night.

Very lonely.

This book is available for sale in
Buddhist Philosophy Bookshop, Hong Kong.