Based on a conversation between the author and Rev Master Olwen Crookall-Greening in November 2023.

I spent three months as a lay resident at Throssel Hole in the Autumn of 2023, and decided to write about the experience, in the hope that others who may be interested can come to appreciate some of the benefits of an extended retreat in a monastic setting.

After yet another birthday, careful consideration and the knowledge that I could take my pension early, I completed my final work commitments and handovers. The last ten years of my life had mostly been spent looking after elderly and chronically ill people, and the last year and a half of that was spent working within a hospital clinic supporting a consultant surgeon.  Having taken the Precepts ten years ago and adjusted my employment away from being a means of maximising my income and towards living the Precept ‘do good for others’, my job had become my wholehearted Buddhist practice.

During that time I had lost track of my meditation practice in the process of becoming busier and busier.  I knew I needed the structure of Throssel’s monastic routine to sit, rest and restore myself in the heart of the practice that I’ve been doing for the last twenty years. So that deeper need was what motivated me to head up to Throssel.

Possibly because of my age, the theme of impermanence and the fact that this is the last quarter or third of my life that I’m heading into, was also something that I felt I needed to sit with: to decide how I wanted to move forward within that impermanence, and within that towards a more sustained depth and continuity of practice.  Going into the meditation hall we always pass the calligraphy that reminds us that ‘This fleeting body reveals the light’; this calligraphy made an impression on me many years ago and the teaching has always stayed with me.

One of the best things about being at Throssel for a retreat longer than just a week or a weekend is the range of different opportunities to develop our training as Buddhists that the monks offer, which means working closely with the monks in their different monastic areas and really getting to see how they express their Preceptual practice in their work.  The basic premise of the daily work offered is that work is approached as an additional form of meditation, so we are encouraged to work in silence, then come together to talk during breaks.  As the mind quietens down and really starts to settle there is more opportunity to observe one’s own mental habits, reflect on the needs driving these, and allow space for loosening – possibly even letting go of – what is limiting us.

The monastery kitchen was my training ground for much of the three months. Within the training offered is the invitation to let go of one’s opinions about how things ‘should’ be done, and one’s preferences, i.e. other things one would rather be doing. Holding on to strong opinions is a closed approach, and being invited to practice letting go of these has been the uncomfortable nitty gritty training of softening the hard edges of the ‘self’ I think of as me. I’ve come up against areas in which my resistance is resilient, and being asked to do the same task that triggers this resistance again and again, and the sheer persistence with this has helped me to see my mind start to soften into a more flexible approach which operates on a different level that is beyond a reaction. So actually just letting go and getting on with what is needed is liberating, and a more fluid way of being.  Although the letting go aspect of training yields positive results in the moment, in my experience the more ongoing underlying loosening of the ‘habitual, defined self’ is a more uncomfortable experience, and cumulatively seemed to be behind a residual feeling of something like a hard shell being ‘broken’. It takes faith to stay with the process rather than back off.

It was useful to change gear and go into retreat mode from time to time during the long stay, in particular the week-long Segaki retreat. Within the sesshin schedule, having so much meditation felt like a gift and the silence too was very welcome. I did feel a lot calmer, and a sense of joy came with it too – even though the theme was how we create our own suffering by clinging on to things. So for me there was sadness, and at the same time there was also a different level of calm acceptance and relief.  Also the collective practice of being part of a sangha gathering together to practice as one group, just all meditating together, or even silently drinking tea together which we did each day, has its own solid strength and somehow consolidates my faith in the sangha jewel.

I think that in sesshin we feel ourselves quite gently being stripped back in certain ways.  And usually around day four a sense of sadness emerges as well as a letting go, and there are usually tears involved.  This most likely has to do with my holding on to the painful and difficult things which busy work and family life naturally produces, and which then builds up in layers as there isn’t time to fully process them. And then if you have time to just sit silently in front of a wall, eventually everything that needs to surface will surface, as it is given time.  At this point you can just be with it, and it is often quite painful – you might cry, and that’s fine. Then it does seem to dissolve, even if it’s a slow process, but it goes, so then there is that feeling of stepping back and letting go, and the lightness that’s behind that is often noticeable at the end of the sesshin.

Having gone deeper within the Segaki sesshin I knew I needed to continue to sit with the theme of impermanence.  I spent time working and meditating in the graveyards at the Abbey. It was a privilege to be asked to do gardening work in the monks’ and pets’ graveyards, even just to be able to sit within the peace and wilderness of the cemetery next to the pines and absorb the natural aging and symbolism of the various stupas. Although I’d been to the Abbey many times on retreat, I had never realised that the door of the Sange Shrine next to the waterfall was always open, and over this longer stay I’ve been a frequent visitor. The sound of a large volume of cascading water is beautiful, but can also quite overwhelming after heavy rain.  I wondered if anybody else had been in the shrine and felt that as they listened and absorbed the sound of the rushing water and became one with the sound – which is quite a strong experience; it’s just flowing through at great speed – and this is just it: your life too is passing quickly away, make the most of it.  That’s what the teachings tell us to do really.

There is such a strong routine there in the daily life at the monastery, which is all geared towards practice. And that is a great structure, a balance between meditation, work of different types, ceremonial and rest and renewal time in which one can walk in the grounds or in the surrounding countryside.  Without the choices available in life outside of a monastic setting there is the opportunity to plunge into the depths of training more.  You don’t have so much decision-making to do, and there isn’t the clutter of lots of different inputs like television, radio, media etc., so the mind is less pulled in all directions. Unencumbered, the mind is more open to experiencing the energy of just being.   If occasionally I get into a bit of a lull, I know I can rely on the kitchen work to nudge me out of this as it requires swift adaptability, careful scrutiny, attention to detail and the ability to let go and move on at speed.

Observing and working alongside the monks helps one to build more faith in the Preceptual side of the practice, as one can see the fruits of this in action, especially with the skilfull communication. There are a lot of different things that go into that: creating a harmonious environment, mindful practice and a lot of careful consideration as well – that produces a really great community atmosphere, when you really feel the harmony that’s here.  Witnessing the way the women in the kitchen work with each other using such loving and considerate speech especially when dealing with difficult situations is quite moving at times, and inspiring to see mature practice in action.

It also should be said that the opportunity to be with, and practice with, other lay residents outside of retreat time has also been great as you can get to know each other more within the parts of the schedule that encourage more sangha connection, and spiritual friendships are of course an important part of life for many of us.

Most days the lay residents have a cup of tea at four pm with a monk, and there is the opportunity to ask any questions that might be arising, and on Tuesdays there is a class which involves a Dharma talk given to lay residents and local lay sangha often attend too.  At times I’ve requested one-to-one sanzen if I’ve come up against something that needs to be discussed in more detail, and have really felt the benefit of delving into issues with the help of a senior monk.

One of the most memorable teachings I received during the retreat came from an encounter with one of the novice monks. I am quite arachnophobic, and had asked a novice if he could remove an enormous spider from the area that I needed to clean. He picked up the spider with his bare hands with so much love and affection and placed it safely on the shelf in the cloister so that it was safe, adding it would suffer from the cold and die if it was put outside. I was completely taken aback by this level of loving kindness towards the spider.  I felt I fully understood the vow to ‘help all living things’ which I say each time I put on my wagesa.

I’m extremely grateful for the opportunity I was given to do the retreat, and to all the monks at the Abbey who continue to provide this opportunity for lay people to deepen their training as Buddhists.