I’m sitting silently in seiza, a kneeling meditation position, watching the morning sun catch the eaves of the bell tower outside the window and bathe its copper tiles and vermilion columns in crisp light. The glow spreads to the garden below, over the azaleas, stone lanterns, and a lotus pond, filtering through maple leaves about to turn yellow. I wonder if my kids have done their music practice and whether I should have opted for a crossed-leg position. Certainly not lotus, or even half lotus. I take a deep, intentional breath, sensing the stillness of those seated beside me. I cast my eyes down and let my thoughts come and go as the garden fades from my consciousness.
Soon, a bell chimes. I shake out my legs and follow the head priest, in flowing brown and black robes, as he pads barefoot across the tatami into the ceremony hall, which is noticeably cool at this early hour. He prostrates himself before the altar before breaking into a haunting, discordant ritual chanting that fills the hall, offering blessings: to Buddha, to his teachings, and to the temple family, which, for now, includes me. I make my own offering, and we leave the hall for breakfast.
This is how days begin at Dairyuji, an 800-year-old Zen temple—a place of ancient beams, lofty halls, and deep, deep time—in Akita prefecture, in Japan’s Tohoku region. But Dairyuji is also the vibrant temple-home of the 38th head priest, Keno Miura; his American wife, Gretchen, a certified meditation teacher and grief educator; and their four adult children. Twice a year the family welcomes a small group of participants (seven in our case, a mix of travelers and Tokyo expats) for a two-night Zen mindfulness retreat based around the Soto Zen tenet that we all have within us the ability to become enlightened, and that peace can be found right here, right now, in our daily lives. The retreat incorporates practices that focus on self-compassion, slowing down, breathing, and being present.
Habitually frazzled by work and parenting-related guilt, I need precisely this to recharge and to learn how to reduce stress back home. Happily, the retreat is unlike a typical (and typically austere) Japanese temple stay. Morning and evening zazen (seated meditation) at Dairyuji are by no means compulsory, nor the point. Rather, these and other scheduled activities, like yoga, walking meditations, and mindful crafts, are options for guests to take up as they wish.
Later that first morning, I find myself stretched out on a yoga mat in Dairyuji’s lofty Memorial Hall, surrounded by bodhisattvas and butsudan altars belonging to the temple’s member families. In this extraordinary setting, instructor Aiko takes our group through stretching, held postures, and breath work exercises that are difficult to master but energizing. Afterward, we climb the bell tower to view the mountains and the Sea of Japan before sitting down together for a lunch of hearty donburi. Later a fellow solo traveler and I stroll down to the nearby city of Oga, falling instantly into a conversation about purpose, grief, mental load—and how things might be different after this weekend.
