This morning I woke up with both a sense of excitement and trepidation. The day had finally arrived. Today would be my first day to meet the waves and see if I could still get up and ride on a surfboard after all these years. I was immediately confronted with that familiar sense of resistance that comes when there is something challenging and potentially dangerous I want to do, but am met with underlying pull not to do it. I resisted this and threw my trunks on, attached the leash I had found to my surfboard, and headed out into the damp, foggy mist.
As I made my way onto the shore, the gray clouds were thick and heavy, sitting just on top of the water. The conditions were not at all conducive for surfing, and so I sat upon the shore as it began to rain down upon me. A masterful painting of grays and browns all began to mix in front of my eyes. The rain could not have mattered, as it soaked me completely to the bone.
This was meditation, I thought.
As the morning slowly unfolded I became internally aware of how much I need the rhythm and flow of a morning routine, just as an artist or Buddhist monk. When I sleep past that magical hour, something is missed. I find myself reaching back for it the rest of the day and everything is just a little out of sync.
As I discovered within a day of my arrival, the perfect rhythm for me is the rhythm of nature, waking at the very first beginnings of sunlight coming through the window, getting out into nature for a very long, silent, meditative walk along the shore. Then there is a gradual transitioning from the quiet movement of incoming waves to my morning stretches and exercises. There is something life-giving and nourishing that seems to come from doing these in nature among the elements as a new morning is dawning.
I have discovered useful elements along the shore for my workouts, a Gilligan’s Island home gym of sorts; logs used for makeshift barbells, stumps for pushups. I have also discovered that in order to have the silence and majesty of this beach to myself, I have to get up and outside at the first sign of light. After 6:30, the other early morning walkers begin to arrive.
Today was the furthest I have ever walked, I am sure at least 6 miles total. I made my way to the cove on the other side of what is called Chicken Rock, a huge boulder-like cliff that sits at the edge of the water at the very end of Playa Grande. Once past that, the cove bends around to the most epic and majestic empty beach, lined with cliffs and boulders and a small mountain, lush with green trees covering it.
On the cliffs I noticed a family of four pelicans, the largest one flying out from the rocks to seek sustenance while the other parent and two little ones stood by. The high pitched squeaks of the little ones was a sound I had never encountered before.
Field Notes
Daily Schedule of a Japanese Buddhist Monk.
Eiheiji, Japan, the headquarters of the Soto Zen branch
3:30 – Shinrei (wake up bell)
3:50 – Kyoten zazen (Morning zazen)
5:00 – Choka (Morning service)
7:00 – Shojiki (Breakfast)
8:30 – Samu (Work period)
10:00 – Guchu zazen (Late-morning zazen)
11:00 – Nicchu (Midday service)
12:00 – Chujiki (Lunch)
13:00 – Samu (Work period)
14:00 – Hoji zazen (Afternoon zazen)
16:00 – Banka (Evening service)
17:00 – Yakuseki (Evening meal)
19:00 – Yaza (Evening zazen)
21:00 – Kaichin (Lights out)
Archives
Enjoy four years of past articles from the Zen and Ink Journals journey in the archives.
Enjoy published articles from my travels.
Subscribe. Donate. Share the Journey.
Zen and Ink Journals represents hundreds of hours of writing over the past decade, sometimes from a train in remote China or a coffee shop in Kyoto, a hammock in Costa Rica or a simple cabin on a mountaintop in Boquete, Panama or Ciudad Colón.
On these pages, I share my observations of kindness and beauty from my adventures in the world and invite you to listen quietly for the call within you to explore the places that beckon your soul.
If you would like to become a regular subscriber, please consider foregoing the cost of one cup of coffee and a pastry each month ($8) and becoming a monthly subscriber.
If you would like to stop receiving emails from Zen and Ink Journals simply click the unsubscribe button at the bottom of this email.