Straight Up the Mountain, by Christine Cordero
Christine Cordero (bottom right) and other participants in the 2020 Winter Sesshin on top of the mountain behind Chozen-ji.
It seemed impossible or at least foolish—maybe even a little crazy—to try.
I had previously lived in at Chozen-ji twice—once for three weeks including sesshin, and a second time for two weeks—so I had some idea of how difficult three months of live-in training would be. It would be difficult in part because I was in the worst shape I’d been in a while, both physically and psychologically. I was also desperate.
Earlier in the summer, a disturbing childhood memory surfaced after 35 years buried deep in my body and psyche. I spent the summer battling PTSD, mostly in freeze mode. I barely functioned. Having spent years processing and healing other trauma in my life with therapy and meditation, I now needed strength and control back in my own body and spirit. Could I regain that through three months at the Dojo?
They say there are three primary responses to threat: fight, flight, and freeze. It became immediately clear that the training would not allow for freezing of any kind. The schedule was relentless. There was always something to do next and no room to overthink or plan. Flight or running away was out as every moment demanded attention to my self and habits, and more importantly to my surroundings and others around me.
What I was left with was fight. I had to learn how to fight again, to regain my fighting spirit. Day after day, week after week, it looked a little different—whether it was training zazen, boxing, outside work, ceramics, or kendo.
I learned how to completely trust that my training partners in boxing were there to help rather than hurt me. And I got to punch back, feeling my own strength and control. Even after jarring and tear-filled zazens, I had to go directly into kendo. At barely five feet, I had to stand tall into every inch of my small stature and enter decisively regardless of who would hit me. And when a dear friend died while I was living in, I channeled all of my grief into okyo, knowing I had a responsibility to keep the beat steady on the mokugyo for the whole group.
Over time, I saw that I could not and did not have to go up the mountain of Zen training alone. As I saw my other training partners face down their own demons, and find and surpass pain, I found deeper wells of strength and boldness to keep pushing forward. After three months of hard training, I was leaner, physically and spiritually. There wasn’t much extra stuff left.
One of the ways I have heard Chozen-ji training described is like a path straight up a mountain. Other approaches may take the switchbacks—still arduous, but tackling the mountain at a different pace. While there are many different ways I’ve been able to train and transform over the years, none have been as direct and effective as living in at the Dojo these past three months. It is one thing to talk about and process my issues and trauma. It is a completely other thing to train new habits into my body, and be able to actually be someone stronger, more sensitive, clear and decisive.
Towards the end of sesshin, we literally hiked up the mountain behind Chozen-ji. Surrounded by others training as hard, I could put one foot confidently in front of the other, breathing deeply, sensing 180 degrees. I knew it didn’t matter much what other mountains lay ahead. We would go straight up—kiai first.
