a place under the sun

I come into a zendo
mats are laid out along the walls
where should I sit?

if I sit on the right, I’ll reach dokusan sooner, since the queue runs clockwise. the seats on the right have windows behind them, which means I’d be responsible for airing the room at every break. if I sit on the other side, there’s a wall at my back. I could lean against it during breaks, if my lower back gets tired

I take a bench from the shelf
what’s the plan for today?
which side suits me better? windows? wall? dokusan?
but that’s only the beginning of the choosing:
on each side there are several spots
one two three four five
I can sit closer to the exit or closer to the altar
I can sit among people or at the edge
I can leave a gap between myself and whoever’s already there
or boldly settle down right next to them
I weigh, I choose

today I didn’t think much
I looked at the second spot in the row by the wall and it looked back at me
a soft smile
of a shadow strip between the parquet and the mat

I sat down on the bench and glanced around at the others
they had either closed their eyes or were looking down
settling into meditation
to the accompaniment of the spring evening street

it felt awkward to peek
to watch each person finding their way toward
what in Christianity is called the soul
the most intimate of processes
under my gaze

the ritual began
now I watch the teacher
we pressed our palms together at our chests
the teacher approached the altar
lit a candle
bowed
the sounds from the street grew quiet

by gazing
by looking
by staring
I invite them to join the ritual
the church dome in the window
two pigeons flying from branch to branch
the apple trees turned from white to green
and still pink cherry blossoms.
do they hear the incense spreading through the room?
and the deeper I look the more I want the window to burst open so that everything mingles in clean sandalwood smoke in a green-grey smear in ringing silence

but as soon as the teacher struck the tibetan bowl with the mallet
and the vibration pierced the room
the sunlight hit my eyes
a direct beam of the setting sun

I can no longer observe
the cherry trees, the apple trees
the church dome
my vision is flooded with yellow-orange
as if a hot towel had been pressed against my face
how does a ray reflect off the building across the street
without losing a drop of its warmth?

after ten breaths, the sun moves on
after fifteen, I can see above the eye line again
but there is nothing left to look for
and I look down
and I say thank you
thank you that today I didn’t have to think about where to sit

22.04.2026