Every summer, samu sesshin is held in Germany as a way to get projects done for the year while still maintaining the usual sesshin schedule in the mornings and evenings. At a traditional Japanese monastery, samu is the word for “working meditation.” It’s hours built into the daily schedule to keep the monastery running. This includes anything from cleaning the bathrooms to building structures to raking leaves, to sewing cushion covers to pickling ginger. If there’s a task to be done, it happens during samu.

While tasks at the monastery are supposed to be done with minimal talking, samu sesshin is also considered a time to get to know sangha members from around the world, an opportunity that a week of silent sesshin rarely fosters. Intentionally.

Originally, Shane and I decided that we couldn’t make the samu sesshin because we had just made the trek north in June. True to typical Lauren fashion, however, three days before the sesshin was set to begin, I felt like I absolutely had to go. I asked around to see if I could finagle a way there and bada bing bada boom, I was kissing Shane and MoMo goodbye and was off for Germany in a tiny silver Volkswagen with three other fabulous Hungarian sangha members.

Since I cannot drive stick shift (bummer), and the two other women in the car didn’t have driver’s licenses, the one man in the car drove us for 13 hours straight to sesshin. He was our hero!

After a few stops for coffee, gas, and Subway sandwiches, we arrived about an hour before sesshin began. I set up my little bed space, and was off to the zazen practice races!

For the samu sesshin, each person is typically assigned to a task that they work on for the whole week. I was originally assigned to the strawberry garden where last season’s strawberries needed to be uprooted, the runners needed to be found, saved, and replanted for next season.

Although I was very grateful to have my hands in the dirt for a few hours, I had a strong yearning to get on the shed building assignment. I asked (begged) to be reassigned so I could learn how to use power tools and build stuff and be cool. Shane and I have several future projects up our sleeves back in the USA and all of them include carpentry work. I figured this was a terrific time to learn. Although I had zero construction experience, my efforts to join were accepted, and for a few days, I became the lone woman on the shed building team. I soon learned that many of the guys on the crew had built their own homes, so I was among terrific construction teachers.

I used saws and drills and hammers and ropes and tarps and ladders and scaffolding and moved massive wood beams and roof tiles and watched people take measurements and have disagreements. I drilled into concrete and wrenched bolts. It was awesome and I felt so happy to be learning. Most of the crew were German, so I got to sit back and relax while they argued about the correct path ahead because I couldn’t understand shit. It was awesome.

So much happens on job sites. One gentleman even fell off a ladder and broke several ribs. Apparently I was getting the full construction experience. (He is okay and will make a full recovery.)

I bonded with the guys on the crew and we shared many laughs. They found it particularly hilarious when a wood saw was dangerously close to my face and I said “whoa, that thing is way too close to my moneymaker.” Since they aren’t native English speakers, I had to explain exactly what a moneymaker is.

By the end of the week, a plain concrete slab turned into an erected shed skeleton that I affectionately and simply named Shed.

One night at dusk (10pm), I went for a walk before bed specifically to see Shed. I felt like a proud dad admiring my week’s work.

As for my zazen, I’m beginning to feel some momentum in my concentration and a stronger connection with my lower belly (tanden). With each breath, I’m learning to sink a little more deeply into it. I still have a very long way to go, but for the first time I’m beginning to feel like the diligent effort of the past two and a half years is actually leading somewhere.

On day five of the sesshin, my sense perceptions shifted and suddenly the world seemed extraordinarily vibrant. It was as though some subtle veil between me and the world had been temporarily lifted. Colors, sounds, movement, and even the smell of grass outside were amplified like never before.

On day six, as we were being dismissed for a short morning break, something caught my eye outside the big windows. About 100 meters away stood a lone black stallion with his head over the monastery fence.

This was my fourth sesshin in Germany and I had never seen the horses before because they only come to graze during the summer at the adjacent property. Almost summoned by an invisible force, I felt I had to go to him. Instead of exiting the zendo with the rest of the sangha, I peeled myself away and headed out the back door.

Uncertain of what his temperament would be, I approached him slowly through the morning misty dew wearing my formal zazen clothing. Samugi top, rakusu on top of that, hakama on the bottom. Very formal. Very Japanese. I walked slowly but confidently as I didn’t know if I’d scare him off.

I have a fascination with horses and have always wanted to be the kind of girl that grabs a horse by the mane and mounts it bareback as we gallop together into the mysterious future. Like Mulan or something. But that girl I have never had the chance to be.

Once I got within a few feet of the horse, I held my hands out and imagined that they’d soon be touching his velvet nose. Time stood still as he didn’t move and I inched closer. He was enormous and silky, shiny black. We locked eyes as my hands met with his snout. He pushed into my hands a little and moved his head to the side so he could sniff me. It was as if I was reuniting with a very old friend. I lost track of where I ended and he began.

When I did eventually return to myself, a tear was rolling down my cheek.

Eventually, he pulled away, walked off into the misty field, paused at an exposed angle, and promptly began to urinate.

Sesshin naturally came to a close as all sesshins do, and after a few more days away, I finally made it back to Budapest, where my body was begging for recovery. So for a couple of days, that’s what she got. Lots of rest, MoMo cuddles, and hydration.

I had planned to have the most relaxed August with zero plans for travel or social ANYTHING after two months of non-stop practice and sangha social interactions, but life has a funny way, doesn’t it?

August has been just about anything but relaxed in the most beautifully vibrant, chaotic, spiritual, sweaty, magnificent way. More on that coming up…

I love writing and I love you reading. Thank you for being here.

Talk soon, okay?

Sending you love always.

-Lauren

This month I skinned my arse on a playground slide, got lost on a run in the Czech Republic, slept in a tent for a week, bought enough cheese to feed a village, and briefly discovered that it is actually possible to stop thinking.

Summer, albeit sweaty, has been good to me.

In June, Shane and I rented a car and went for another 14-hour drive to Germany for an o-sesshin with Shodo Harada Roshi.

If you read my letters often, you know that the last time we rented a car, it turned into a turbo European roadtrip extravaganza. This time, we did less, but still managed to have so much fun.

About 10 years ago, I ran a marathon with my sister. Running has always been a big part of my life, but for the last 4 years or so, it fell off my radar as I opted for more lifting, and quite frankly, sitting tons of zazen.

Recently, Shane became a running fanatic (thanks to his new Garmin watch), so I’ve gotten back into it too and it feels like I’ve rekindled a romance with an old lover. I love to run! It’s wonderful! And it hurts me. I say all of this because on our recent road-trip, I remembered that my favorite way to see a city is very early morning on a run before the hustle and bustle of the day begins.

First stop, very cute little Czech town, Kutná Hora (home of *Bones Church*). We arrived in the night, and I sprung awake in the morning very excited to go for a morning run. I snuck out of the room while Shane was still sleeping and pretty immediately happened upon a park next to a trickling brook.

At the park, there was a large metal slide for children, and I felt called to harness my inner child and slide down it. Well, that thing should have had a warning on it, or perhaps I slid the slide wrong because when my elbows and side-ass met the metal, my skin skidded clean off. Ouch! But exhilarating I guess?

Anyway, I don’t take a phone when I run, so I usually get lost and have to ask locals how to get back to my accommodations. That’s exactly what happened on this morning, and the first few locals weren’t exactly nice to me. When I did finally find a nice person, they told me through a combination of Google Translate and expressive body language that my hotel was actually right across the street. Score! They were so happy to help and I was so happy to no longer be lost.

I made it home in time to join Shane for breakfast before hopping in the car to head for Harz National Park in Germany.

Because we miss Alaska dearly, we’re always searching for places where we can find wilderness refuge away from the city. Luckily, we found a wonderful experience basically by accident… as it usually happens.

We stayed at the most precious family-owned and operated boutique hotel. It was seemingly preserved from the 80s and there were fabulous walking and hiking trails right from our front door. There was an honor system where you could take a beverage from their wine fridge and write down your room number. I participated and had a refreshingly cold glass of Chardonnay upon our arrival.

We went for runs, walked, and stripped down into our underwear to lay belly-up in a river. And each of us even got a tick on our leg. Crap! But adventurous! I picked some wildflowers and kept them in our room.

While we were there, I started a new daily movement practice I found on online: 15 movements, one minute each, combining tai chi, mobility, and stretching. I’ve done it every morning since, and I love how it leaves me feeling both energized and ready to settle into zazen.

After two nights in the fresh national park air, we headed for sesshin.

Sesshin

During the seven days in total silence, with the intention to sharply focus on my lower belly breathing, I had a little glimpse into something special.

I realized that after two and a half years of devoting my life to this practice, day in and day out, it has become possible for me to not think.

Before, I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted to stop thinking, I couldn’t. There was absolutely no way.

Zazen meditation did not come easily to me. At all. No matter how much I wanted to sit in inner silence, no matter how hard I tried, day after day, hour after excruciating hour, my mind would race and race and carry me away. Of course, it’s common for this to happen to everyone in the beginning. In fact, most people say it feels like the thoughts are increasing, but actually, that’s just what’s always been there — we just haven’t noticed it. For me, that process has lasted two and a half years!

Now, for a few moments, I am able to focus so intently on my breathing that my thoughts disappear. Of course, they come right back and I have to begin again, over and over. This is the practice.

But it was a huge realization for me. Not because I suddenly entered some magical state, but because it showed me that what I’m trying to do with my life is actually possible.

If I can have a quiet mind for a few moments, maybe I can have a quiet mind for a several minutes. Then maybe a few hours. Then maybe for a whole day.

The ability to concentrate only on this precise moment feels incredibly precious to me, and I felt relieved to find confidence that what I’m trying to do with my life is possible. I’m a hard case, so if it’s possible for me, I think it’s possible for everyone.

My favorite part of the sesshin was that I slept outside in a tent. We initially brought our camping gear for Shane, but when he opted to sleep inside, I decided to take the tent. Despite a record breaking European heat wave, I was thrilled to be sleeping outside under the stars every night from 10pm-3:30am. Lol

There were 112 people at this sesshin, also a record breaking number! So many people united together from around the world to realize their True Nature. It was a beautiful thing.

On our way home, we brought a friend and fellow American practitioner, C, home with us.

We stopped in Prague for a night at a cute boutique hotel, and were there for the hottest day in Prague’s history. Yowzer! It was so hot that they had trucks in the main square spraying cool mist onto people. 103.5 degrees F. It was shocking, but we survived.

Back to Budapest

When we got home, MoMo, and our fabulous dog sitter friend greeted us. After nearly two weeks away, it felt great to be home. I learned that while we were gone, MoMo had taken it upon herself to jump into the lake while chasing some ducks and that really cracked me up. She had a swimmer alter ego while mom was away!

We hosted our wonderful, piano playing, French speaking, zen practicing friend for two weeks before adventure called once more.

We received a call from our friend, F, that her parents were no longer able to make their family trip, and they couldn’t get a refund for the room. She asked if Shane and I wanted it… about a 2-hour drive from Budapest right at the world’s largest thermal lake. Before we knew it, we were loading up the small manual car our other friend loaned us, and were hitting the road for a getaway.

There, we ran, walked, picked wildflowers, swam in the thermal waters, ate gelato, and visited a wonderful market (Piac) where I bought enough Hungarian treats to stock a small village. Yogurt, pickles, paprika-laced sausage, raw milk, blackberries, sea buckthorn jam, peaches, several cheeses, mustard, honey, and a vintage floral mug. It was a true haul if I’ve ever seen one.

On our way back to Budapest, Shane surprised me and pulled off the highway at a spot seemingly for locals only. He said, “you might want to bring something you can swim in” as he headed for a precarious opening in a line of reed bushes standing 10-feet tall. A sign that read, “private” hung overhead but we ignored it and headed down what felt like a tunnel on a long wooden pier.

The sounds of birds hidden in the vegetation made it seem surprisingly coastal. About 300 steps later, we arrived to a beautiful blue, and very shallow lake, with sailboats everywhere in the distance. We stripped down, picked up Molly, and climbed down the stairs into the refreshing water. With each step we took toward the center of the lake, the water remained the same depth, and our feet sunk down into very soft silty sand.

We laughed and cheered as MoMo swam from one of us to the other and it felt so wonderful to be cooled off under the strong summer sun.

This summer continues to bring visitors as we are now hosting American members of the sangha who have trained with Roshi for over 30-years. I find that welcoming people to Budapest brings out a Martha Stewart quality in me that otherwise lies dormant. It’s fun to incorporate socializing with my practice schedule while meeting and greeting people who have been digging deep within themselves for as long as I’ve been alive. It’s an honor to sit in their midst.

So far, this summer has been like a juicy peach. Sweet, messy, and exploding with flavor.

I leave in two days for another week of sesshin by myself while Shane stays back with MoMo. I’m grateful that I get to spend another week of my life doing what I love most.

As always, thank you for being here.

With love and gratitude,

Lauren

P.S. A small update:

When I moved to Japan for Zen training 2.5 years ago, I stepped away from coaching completely. Recently, someone reached out and asked if I would coach them, and after a lot of reflection, I decided I was ready to say yes.

I love helping people become more confident, charismatic, and intentional in their lives, and I’ve decided to open space for a small number of coaching clients this summer and fall.

If that sounds like something you’d like support with, feel free to reply to this email and we can chat.

I am writing to you from my desk, which is located smack dab in the center of my bedroom. Next to me is a dark cherry wood baby grand piano. The surface of my desk is covered in a Hungarian cloth that’s hand embroidered with the most beautiful bright flowers. My mug from a Czech antique store depicting a children’s tale of a donkey that releases gold coins from his mouth and butthole has one sip of coffee left in it. My favorite hand made tea bowl from Japan sits next to that.

To the right of me is a bright yellow journal where I write a variety of things from notes, to lengthy entries, to how many hours a day I sit zazen. I also have a wooden mala from Chisan that I use some mornings when I do my Tibetan prostrations.

Finally, I have my new laptop sleeve made of 100% cotton cuteness from Vera Bradley. When I was a kid, my paternal grandma would always give us Vera Bradley items. For years, I associated the brand with Southern grandmothers, but after a recent trip through the South, I found myself charmed by it all over again.

To commemorate this writing occasion, I just lit a candle and opened a window too.

The birds are chirping outside and we had rain this morning. A downpour, actually, while I was on my morning walk with Molly.

Since returning from my trip to the USA, I’ve felt more grounded and grateful than I have in a long time. Bringing Molly home with us here in Budapest has been a most wonderful experience. I was nervous that bringing a responsibility into my life again would deter from my zazen practice, but to my delight, she’s only enhanced all aspects of my day.

Every morning, MoMo and I wake up by 5:30 for an exciting adventure. She doesn’t give me a choice. Cue the fake sneezing snorts and tiny chirp barks to bring me out of my slumber.

The moment I wake up, I open my windows to let in the cool morning breeze. The city is so quiet at that time of day and I relish the silence, as the first hints of sunlight begin to touch the tops of the buildings.

I never know where we’ll go for our morning walk as I let Molly guide us (for the most part). Usually, we end up at wonderful parks around the city where I take her off the leash and watch as she roams free. I take my shoes off sometimes and we both run through the grass to get our primal on as much as we can in an urban area.

Budapest has a 300-acre city park that is truly something to write home about (hello, this is what I’m currently doing).

The park is how parks should be. It’s so clean and well maintained with massive green fields and hills and a running track and basketball courts, ping pong, chess tables, soccer, sprinting areas, sand volleyball courts, outdoor gyms, huge playgrounds, three different dog parks, museums, statues, and fountains throughout. Gravel paths, rose gardens, cafes and ice cream offerings. A castle. A lake. And it’s okay for dogs to be off leash everywhere, with the exception of a few dog-free zones.

When we get there very early in the morning, company is sparse. Sometimes it’s just the two of us and a few park employees (with whom MoMo gleefully interacts).

We walk for over an hour and it’s brought a lot of joy into my day. I love getting so much movement and being with the trees before the city wakes up. I use the time as an opportunity to do walking zazen. Often, I catch myself walking and smiling. Not smiling at MoMo or at other people or at memories or thoughts necessarily. Just smiling because smiling is whats happening. Perhaps a physical representation of what’s happening within me.

Sometimes, if I stay up too late the night before, I get home, rinse Molly off, feed her a little snack, and then we jump back in bed and pass out for another hour.

Then I wake up again, do my zazen, and proceed with the rest of my day.

In addition to my magical morning MoMo walks, we had company this month.

Shane’s friend, T, came to visit us from New York for a week before heading to Romania and Bulgaria.

We found a new ice cream shop with the best Pistachio (capitalized due to its heavenly nature) we’ve ever tasted. Naturally, we went two nights in a row after zazen.

It was nice to be able to see Budapest like a tourist again as we showed him around to our favorite spots. We’re coming up on seven months here, and it’s really starting to feel like home as the spring turns into summer.

One of my favorite parts of spring is that everyone opens their windows. Before, I never would have known there was a music school just one building away. In fact, as I’m writing this, I can hear someone practicing piano. Yesterday, there was a flute recital. Throughout the day I often hear opera singing, violin, or even trumpet drifting in through the open window.

Since we don’t have air conditioning in our flat, I’m sure the windows will stay open all summer, and I’ll be able to enjoy live music from home like a true European.

During the last weekend of May, I attended the one-day sesshin at our Budapest zendo. It was challenging but wonderful to sit with twenty other students for an entire day of zazen. I live for each moment I get to practice.

This month, we head to Germany for another week-long sesshin with Shodo Harada Roshi. Per usual, I’m looking forward to it but it gives me butterflies too. It’s never an easy experience, and apparently there will be over 100 practitioners there. Viva Zen!

Well, it’s June already. Somehow we’re nearly halfway through the year. I hope you’re finding yourself in a place where life feels worth living, or at least moving in that direction.

I’m currently reading two books I’d happily recommend to anyone interested in Zen:

The Way of Zen by Alan Watts

The Zen Teaching of Bodhidharma translated by Red Pine

As always, thank you for reading. I’ll write again soon.

xo

P.S. If you’re reading by email, wonderful. If you’re on the Substack app, I post photos throughout the month and have been enjoying it as a quasi-alternative to traditional social media, at least for now.

Despite living in the modern world, my husband and I have created a monastic schedule that helps us maintain the intensity of practice we learned in Japan.

Before I went to live at Sogenji, I had almost no idea what monastery life would actually be like. I assumed it would be relaxing and a nice break from the daily struggles of modern life. In some ways, it was. For example, it was such a relief to turn off my phone for weeks at a time, forget about my outward appearance, and never have to think about what I was going to make for lunch. But in most ways, it wasn’t. It’s a huge misconception that monastery life and Zen training are some kind of escape from the world.

While living at Sogenji for 15 months, I found the social dynamics and work stress significantly more challenging than life outside the monastery. You’re living and working with the same group of people from all different cultures, ages, and temperaments 24/7. Sogenji is affectionately called a “pressure cooker” by its members for that reason.

There’s no escape.

You’re eating together, sitting zazen, sleeping next to each other, working together, and completing challenging tasks (such as sesshins) together with almost no personal space. Not to mention, you’re managing your health on extremely little sleep. It was non-stop and completely exhausting.

In that kind of environment, I learned what true grit is and how I could function relatively well with significantly fewer resources than I thought possible. That said, it was very hard and I had to face parts of myself that I never had to face in society.

In society, I could just go home, be alone, and do whatever I wanted to escape the discomfort.

The monastery creates incredible “pressure” for people who want to go deeply into themselves every single day, every single minute. Relentlessly. It’s a gift that something like Sogenji still exists in the modern world.

As a refresher (or introduction), I am from the USA. After nomading around for a couple of years, my husband and I bought our dream property in Southeast Alaska in autumn of 2023: a small home on three acres in a remote rain forest town of 2,000 people.

In February of 2024, I went to my first sesshin with Japanese Zen Master Shodo Harada Roshi on Whidbey Island in Washington state. After sitting in front of him, meeting Chisan (Roshi’s dharma heir), and participating in week-long silent intensive, I knew immediately that I wanted to train full-time at his monastery in Japan.

It was forbidden for married couples to live there together because romantic relationships often cause disruptions and distractions from the sangha’s harmony. So I went by myself with the plan of staying for five weeks. After week two, I knew I needed to stay indefinitely.

With Chisan’s help, Shane and I decided that he would also come to the monastery and we’d ask to stay as individual practitioners since we’d both already physically be there.

Without any guarantee that this would work, Shane moved all of our possessions into our garage, found renters for our home, road tripped from Alaska to California in our van, dropped our beloved dog off with my mom, and boarded a flight for Japan.

I had been there for two months by the time he arrived, and somehow, our plan worked.

Roshi realized we shared the same last name and were both from Alaska. He confirmed we were married, but saw how seriously we were training and, by some miracle, allowed us to live there together for 15 months.

That all changed when we came home for the summer to take care of Shane’s parents. Romantic drama erupted between other (unmarried) sangha members, and when Roshi got word of it, he said that no more couples are allowed. Because of this, Shane and I were not permitted to return.

We were absolutely knocked to our knees over this decision. It hurt. It stung. It pissed us off. It felt unjust and flat out wrong. We wanted to train there very badly and had done everything in our power while there to train as individual students—putting our marriage essentially on hold.

We could only stay mad at Roshi for so long, though, because we were still very devoted to our training. And to him. We wanted to continue training rigorously within his lineage.

We had met one of Roshi’s top disciples while in Japan, whose depth was profound, and Shane knew immediately that we needed to go to him.

He has a zendo in Hungary with a very active sangha. When we arrived, he welcomed us with open arms and we immediately discussed how to obtain visas so we could stay.

Bada bing, bada boom. It’s now been six months. We have Hungarian visas, and we have created some semblance of a monastery out of our daily lives.

Six times a year, we travel to see Roshi at his satellite monastery in Germany for week-long sesshin, and the rest of the time, we train at home and in the Budapest zendo.

It’s nowhere near as rigorous as life at the monastery, but we try to practice 6-hours of zazen a day, eat simple food, and maintain as much silence as possible during the day.

Our antique-filled flat in Budapest has become its own little monastery. Not in appearance, necessarily. There are still cappuccinos, the occasional Seinfeld-episode, grocery runs, and city bustle floating through the windows. But the underlying thread of our lives is built almost entirely around practice.

In the Zen training world, the question comes up all the time: Is it possible to train intensely outside a monastery?

My answer is yes. But it requires time, structure, and total commitment to practice.

Here’s how Shane and I do that.

Monday – Friday

5:40: Wake up, make bed, drink lots of water, brush teeth, splash freezing water on face, moisturize, get dressed

6:00: Walk MoMo

6:38: Leave for morning zazen. The zendo is a 15 minute brisk walk, and I cherish it each day. I use this time to begin my day’s practice with walking meditation, or what is known in Zen as: kinhin.

7:00 - 8:30: Zazen at zendo (sometimes at home if I stayed up too late the night before)

8:45: Get home, make breakfast… always eggs, toast, cheese of some variety. Delicious. Maybe have 1/2 a cappuccino from the cafe next to our building.

9:30: Go for a run or to the gym, stretch

10:30: 30 min of outdoor zazen

11:00: Bath, snack, samu (laundry, cleaning, errands, e-mails, etc.) Even in between formal sitting practice — when I’m doing life’s daily work — I’m trying to maintain the same focused, clear, open state of mind as I am when I’m sitting on the cushion. As Roshi always tells us, “The practice is 24/7! No gaps!”

12:30: Make food, eat big meal of the day with Shane, talk (usually in a whisper voice), maybe watch an episode of Seinfeld to decompress. Laugh. Cuddle. Take MoMo for a walk.

14:00: Nap or relax or make USA phone calls

15:30: 1 hr zazen @ home

16:30: Leave for zendo

17:00-20:00: 2.5 hrs zazen @ zendo, then 30 minutes of tea afterwards with our teacher and sangha

20:00: Walk home, eat a snack, hang out, love each other

22:00: Read, bed

Saturday & Sunday

A more unpredictable version of above.

Go to zendo Saturday morning and Sunday night for 2.5 hours each.

We may go for an adventure, write, check out coffee shops, thrift, cook, watch a movie, and do zazen in between. More freestyle.

—

Right now, this is our life. It’s unusual, and I know most people don’t fully understand it. In this simplicity, I feel more grateful than I ever have in my life: for my husband, for my teachers, and for my practice. This kind of schedule won’t last forever, but right now, this way feels right.

I know this is not a common way to live, so I’d love to open this up. If you have any questions about our schedule, Zen training, monastery life, marriage inside practice, or what any of this actually feels like day to day, ask me. I’d love to write more about the parts people are curious about.

Sending you big love!

-Lauren

I absolutely loved it. My favorite topics to teach were public speaking, interpersonal, and intercultural communication.

When I was 26, I moved into my newly converted Ford Transit van, drove into the sunset and left teaching behind.

After my brief vanlife chapter, I really missed helping people overcome insecurities and fears (like I did while teaching public speaking), so I started channeling that into my sex education and coaching business. After several years of online coaching and in-person retreats, I stopped everything to move to the Zen monastery in Japan.

While there, I never imagined that teaching at a university would come knocking on my door again, but it did!

A group of Hungarian practitioners came to Japan for a spring training session and I learned that a few of them worked in higher education. I told them that I used to teach too.

Fast-forward to now living in Budapest, I see those practitioners weekly. One day, my now friend, G (a university dean), said, “Hey, do you want to teach?”

I didn’t even think for a millisecond before blurting out, “Yes!”

And just like that, I submitted my CV, and was asked to create a lecture/workshop for an intensive week at the Budapest University for Economics and Business.

This month, all of that prep work came to fruition as I taught real classes in real classrooms at a real university for the first time in nearly a decade. The course was called, The Inner Conversation: Self-Awareness as a Business Skill. I used theory from intrapersonal communication and zen practice to encourage students to notice their thoughts, label their thinking loops, and slow their breathing before stressful situations. We went for a silent mindful walk around campus, discussed our inner conversations in pairs, and of course, did breathing exercises.

On the first day, I was a little rusty, but by the second session, I felt like I hadn’t skipped a day of teaching in eight years. It was a blast! I was high as a kite as I floated from the campus to the bus stop. I look forward to the next opportunity to work with students in person again.

Good Ol’ USA

Before Shane joined me in Japan, we had to figure out what to do with our sweet dog, Molly (aka MoMo aka Mo). Leaving her in the USA was by far the most heartbreaking component of moving abroad to practice, but thankfully, my family stepped up to support us.

First, MoMo stayed with my mom and step-dad in Colorado. Then, she stayed with my dad and step-mom in Florida for a year and a half while we got adjusted in Hungary. Both sets of my parents took such great care of her, and I knew she was very loved. Knowing this didn’t change the fact that every night before I went to bed, I wished I had her with me.

When I was in Japan, I didn’t have a choice but to be separated from her because I couldn’t bring her to the monastery. Once our monastic lives were uprooted and we ended up in Budapest, however, I immediately started envisioning myself on European walks with my baby gurl.

After we secured our visas and it was clear we’d be in Budapest for a while, I booked my trip to Florida to get my little fluffy companion (despite my parents plea to keep her). It just so happened that my trip home coincided with both of my dearest friends randomly visiting Florida too. My one-week trip turned into three-weeks as I maneuvered my schedule so I could see both of them.

West Palm Beach & Sanibel Island, Florida

I landed at my dad’s in West Palm Beach, hung out for a few days, and immediately hit the ground running for a series of adventures.

I first drove to Sanibel Island to see my bestie, E, and her sister, O (who was 5-years-old last time I saw her before I left for College). It was so nice to be with them and to reminisce on old times in the comfort of their parents’ beautiful beach house. We ate well, walked, and got completely sunburned to a crisp at the beach (I, being the most charred victim of those powerful Floridian rays).

After three relaxing nights on Sanibel, it was time for me to make the 11-hour drive to my 87-year-old grandparents’ house in Charleston, South Carolina. After an extremely long driving day, and a USA road trip smorgasbord of cool ranch Doritos, Taco Bell, and a cucumber lime Gatorade, I made it to their house in time to pick my mom up at the airport around midnight. Whew! What a haul.

Charleston, South Carolina

My family has moved a lot, so I don’t have a childhood home to return to that holds memories from my whole life. My grandparents’ house is that place for me. As a kid, my sister and I would fly as “unaccompanied minors” to my grandparents’ house and stay for a month. We had the best time in the world! One summer, I remember my grandma telling us that we’d be celebrating each of the holidays we didn’t get to spend together. For the next few days, we’d wake up, and it would be a new holiday. Easter. St. Patrick’s Day. Christmas. Our birthdays. She’d decorate and everything.

I have so many memories there. Each room, each piece of furniture holding a special place in my heart. To make the nostalgia even more pungent, my grandma has kept the same decor my whole life. And for good reason. Their home is stocked with treasures from their travels abroad when my grandfather was a Navy Dentist. It’s like a perfectly curated museum from Europe in the 70s and 80s.

I always sleep on the bottom bunk of the sturdy wooden bunkbeds in my grandma’s art studio. Since 2003, I’ve been signing the underside of the slats with a sharpie during each visit. Twenty-three years of signatures. I was 11 when I first signed it. Little me meets big me each time I sleep in that bed.

Thanks to my mom’s extremely energetic personality, and my grandparents’ incredible health and agility, we stayed busy with activities for every minute of the week I was there. Each day looked something like this:

Wake up
Take Molly for a walk by myself
Bring Molly back, and go for a longer walk
Mini-breakfast of eggs and toast
Talk to Grandma in the kitchen and see what she’s cooking for the day
Big meal of the day at noon (a real event)
Game of cards immediately following the meal
One hour nap
Head to the backyard for Bocce Ball (girls play, Jiddoo keeps score)
One-hour bike ride (gram, mom, me)
Eat snack and dessert
Watch Jeopardy (Jamie Ding was on a roll!)
Play Chinese Checkers
Chit chat
Read
Bed

Repeat.

One day, we broke from our usual routine and went to Botany Bay to look at driftwood trees and sea shells before visiting the 400-year-old Angel Oak tree.

Now, here’s a photo journal of my Charleston adventure:

After about a week, it was time to make my way back down south in my trustworthy Prius with my little furry travel companion.

We made a stop in St. Augustine for one night. I opted to stay in my hotel room and eat my grandma’s Syrian rice and a slice of her cheesecake before calling it at 8p.m. We woke up early for a beautiful sunrise walk on the beach. I broke the rules and took her off the leash. Oops!

Back to Florida

Returning to my dad’s perfectly manicured yard, cozy air-conditioned house, and my step-mom’s cooking always throws me into some form of a comatose state. I relaxed and recharged there by having a pool day, watching the entire 2nd season of Running Point in one go, playing Yahtzee, taking long walks, and eating homemade meals.

My step-mom and I drove to Palm Beach Island one night just to sit at the ocean under the light of the full moon. We first drove around the gorgeous neighborhood to choose which houses were our favorites. We caught up on life, and she told me stories of who owns which home. When we got to the beach, the sandy entrance was closed due to very high tide, so we meandered to a spot where two benches appeared side by side. I sat on the right one and she sat on the left. We were the only people there and silence fell upon us for probably an hour. I sat zazen. She did her thing. When it was time to drive home, it was late at night and I was grateful for each moment we had just spent together.

If you read my February love letter, you may have seen that I did a special mention for my bestie, A, who had her first baby in January. You’ll be happy to know that I got to go to Miami and spend two nights with the new family! Her son was absolutely precious and I got all the newborn cuddles I could possibly squeeze into 48 hours. He was so smiley and happy and content. It was wonderful to see my friend glowing with motherhood magic.

Just like that, I had one last meal at my dad’s of the best beef stroganoff on Earth (thank you, K!), packed up my small backpack, placed MoMo in her airplane carrier, and took off across the pond.

Budapest, Hungary

I miraculously got back to Budapest without a scratch. Miami to D.C. to Brussels to Budapest. Not a single delay. Not a single bureaucratic hiccup. It was awesome. The customs officials didn’t even check the $800 worth of paperwork I had to have to secure Molly’s admission to the E.U. I was okay with it! Bye!

Upon arriving home, Molly sniffed every inch of our flat and I canoodled with Shane before she and I passed out for 14 hours straight. When I woke up, I was dazed and Molly’s bedhead was hilarious.

Shane and I are in a happy little cocoon welcoming our baby back into our lives. She has such a distinct personality and it’s as if we never spent a day apart. She loves to walk around Budapest and explore as much as we do. It’s amazing just how much love and joy she brings into a room. All her little grunts and snorts and yawns and paw communication. It’s adorable.

What a gift to be alive! Now, back to practice and life in Europe.

I’ll wrap up this love letter because tacos are on the menu for lunch and I’m stahvin’.

Thank you for reading and for being here on this journey with me.

If you read my February love letter, you know that we stayed in Hungary for the entire month while waiting for our visas.

On March 1st, said visas arrived.

We were thrilled. We were also both sick and struggling to exist as humans on Earth.

Still, there was a Zen sesshin (a 7-day silent meditation retreat) in Germany with our 84-year-old Japanese teacher, and now we could go!

Getting from Budapest to sesshin is not especially simple. A person can fly and then take a series of trains and buses, or just take trains and buses, or drive 12 hours with other practitioners, or rent a car and make an epic road trip out of it.

This time, we chose the last option.

Slowly and sniffly, we packed up and left Budapest… unsure of how long we’d be gone.

On our way out of the city, we grabbed iced matchas and mochi. Having both been under the weather, we hadn’t had caffeine in a while.

About thirty minutes into our drive, Shane nearly burst out of his skin as he exclaimed, “I don’t know if it’s just the matcha, but I am feeling extremely positive!”

I proceeded to laugh uncontrollably and that set the tone for the whole trip to come.

Getting to Sesshin

We made very few plans on our way to northwest Germany. We knew our destination, but not so much our stopping coordinates.

We first pulled over for a wonderful walk in Bratislava, Slovakia, and then spent our inaugural road trip night near a castle in Brno, Czech Republic. Coincidentally, we were in Brno on International Absinthe Day, so we scored a rare bottle of magic potion in a cold, brick, underground bar that reeked of marijuana. Who knows when we’ll ever open it.

The next morning, we exited the highway in Kutná Hora, Czech Republic, on recommendation of my grandparents, to see “Bones Church”.

Inside the chilly church, human skulls and bones from the 13th and 14th centuries were arranged into chandeliers, arches, and ornaments. I stood inches away from them, some skulls still holding their teeth.

We thought it might be a tourist trap, but instead, we had the entire place to ourselves. Thank God we did, because I kept standing there, mouth agape, in awe and contemplation. I truly felt the fact of what lives beneath my face and my hair. One day, my skull will look as anonymous as those did and all this life I’m living will return to the great mystery too.

The Grand Budapest Hotel is one of those movies Shane and I have watched on repeat. When we learned it was filmed in Görlitz, Germany, we put that on the list of “must-see” towns. It was quirky, cinematic, and pleasant. As the sun set, we walked across a bridge to Poland for perhaps the creamiest ice cream I’ve ever tasted.

I slept hard in a small single bed. Upon waking, the scene was surreal. About it, Shane wrote in his journal:

The church bells are ringing triumphantly down the street from our hotel room in Görlitz, and a few pigeons coo in the street below in a low, hushed pitch. Otherwise there is no sound: no cars, no people. The sun has risen on the opposite side of the building, leaving us with a shaded but well-lit view of the cobblestone street and its Renaissance and Art Nouveau buildings, just across from the imposing Gothic cathedral, Pfarrkirche St. Peter und Paul. The windows open directly to the air, with nothing between us and the cool forty-degree, cloudless sky.

For our final night on the road before sesshin, we crashed in Hannover, Germany. We went for a walk before bed and the city totally surprised us. We walked through a city park where a big group of young people essentially built a public house party. Loud music, a bar on a park bench, laughter, no tension. They probably thought we were so weird because we walked by twice, lingering too long with puzzled yet approving looks on our faces. This kind of gathering would be impossible in the United States. They were just… living.

Sesshin

We then spent five days in silence.

Lower belly breathing. Sutras. Dharma talks. Eighty people practicing together with intensity and sincerity.

Meeting face-to-face with Roshi remains one of the most meaningful experiences in my life. Each time, I feel assured that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Living my life with purpose and passion for this practice. I’m devoted beyond words.

Amsterdam

After sesshin, we made the decision to take off like thieves in the night and head for the Netherlands. At 10pm, we packed up and drove.

We nearly ended up sleeping on the side of the road before finding a place in Apeldoorn that would check us in at 1am.

My sister always says that Amsterdam is her favorite city, and now I see why. It was absolutely charming and sexual and artistic and quaint and international and fabulous. The dim lighting, tiny boats, five-seat bars, red light district, and the Dutch architecture REALLY did something for me. It felt magical. Full of wonder.

I used every single one of our credit card points to book us two nights at a gorgeous hotel overlooking Dam Square. I spent time in a robe with a cappuccino, watching the city move below me. There was an extremely loud protest in the square one afternoon, flags raised for both Iran and Israel, so it was tough to pinpoint exactly what was unfolding.

We walked endlessly and happened upon a book fair. I bought a 1980s copy of The Tempest and talked to the book vendor about hand knotted rugs. Shane bought Wrangler jeans.

I could live in Amsterdam for a while. I liked it that much.

Sangha Sightings in Belgium and Luxembourg

While in Amsterdam, we planned (kind of) our trip back to Budapest. We had connected with friends from our zen sangha and agreed to meet them at their respective home locations in Belgium, Luxembourg, and Switzerland along the way. What fun!

After meeting friends in Oostende, eating dinner, and taking a beautiful evening beach walk, we stayed that night in Bruges, Belgium, at a hotel built in 1470. Their marketing says the hotel is where opulence and history meet, and I wholeheartedly agree. Before breakfast, we walked the medieval streets in awe of what humans are capable of creating. The town is so well preserved and was the perfect setting for a fairytale if I ever saw one. Hotel breakfast was located in a semi-underground dungeon-style restaurant at eye level with the canal. Very romantic.

I have a secret talent for packing organization. I should own a moving company. Because of this skill, it’s always my task on road trips to organize the car to perfection. Snacks, waters, hats, sunglasses, shoes, tissues, utensils, all of it has to be in the right place. Before we left Bruges, it was time for a re-org. I somehow managed to Tetris everything into order with enough space leftover for a cozy lay-down napping area in the back.

With our whip now decked out and efficiently situated, we were ready to drive to Luxembourg to see my dearest sweetheart angel, Elinor, whom I met at the monastery in Japan. She arrived as a 19-year-old during her gap year between high school and college, and love formed between us almost immediately. She’s brilliant, grounded, kind, and downright cool as hell. Visiting her felt like visiting our daughter.

We spent the afternoon seeing her life there: her university, her routines, and her favorite cafe—which only opens when the weather is good. We caught up over piña coladas and Mexican food (I later vomited because apparently winding roads and rum do not mix well).

France and Switzerland

Our trip began to wind down as we spent the night in Colmar, France. Here, Walt Disney was inspired to create Belle’s village in Beauty and the Beast. Based on my photos, can you see why?

We arrived in a a small Swiss valley town just in time for check in at a no-frills hotel with a huge-amount-of-frills view. I mean, wow! Our room directly faced the three peaks of Eiger, Monch and Jungfrau.

What incredible beauty, but holy shit, get ready to pay for it. The same bag of lettuce that costs $1.80 in Budapest, cost $6 in Switzerland. We quickly learned that if we wanted to return home with any savings left to our name, we’d need to see this beauty quickly.

Both nights we stayed there, we made dinner in our room so we could watch the alpenglow drenched mountains transition from day to night.

Before we arrived in Switzerland, I told Shane that the only thing I cared about was seeing fuzzy sheep grazing in alpine fields. I’d seen this 12 years prior on a trip to Europe with my family, and something about the purity of these gentle animals made an impact on my heart.

As if in answer to prayer, I saw them from our balcony. They were full of fleece with black faces and knees. The rest was curly, adorable white. I tried to see the sheep throughout the day, and even went for a walk to try to get near to them, but I didn’t want to frighten them, and they were clearly living on private property.

After breakfast, but before check out on our last morning there, I heard the distinct jingle of a nearby cow bell. I darted to our balcony and witnessed two women walking the flock of sheep down the street like dogs! Before I could even get my wits about me, I ran out of our hotel room while Shane chuckled in adoration.

This was my chance! I had to talk to these women and attempt to connect with these beautiful sheep.

As I ran down the street, I lost the sound of the cowbell and got nervous. Did I lose them? I slowed down and heard two women talking. They turned around with smiles and a bit of confusion as I approached them expressing my interest in the sheep with probably too much enthusiasm.

S and her daughter, L, immediately led me to the sheep, who were grazing in a grassy backyard. Each day, they walk them to the grandmother’s house, then back home again in the evening.

I asked them questions with glee as I petted them and learned the names of each flock member. These sheep are simply… her pets. She tends to them the way someone tends to beloved dogs. My two favorites (simply because they stayed close by me) were Fernanda and Wilde.

Petting them left lanolin oil on my hands, and I gently moved back handfuls of fleece to look into their eyes. Seeing their milky rectangular pupils gaze back at me felt important. Perhaps for a moment I didn’t feel separate from them as their eyes invited me inward. To a more rooted existence.

L and S explained that the sheep were so fuzzy because they were due for their biannual shearing the following week. I said, “I wish I could see them post-shave. I bet they look so tiny and adorable.” L sweetly smiled and said, “Well, I could send you some photos if you’d like.”

We exchanged phone numbers.

I’ve now received photos of the sheep being washed in preparation for shearing, and as of this morning, they are sheared! I cannot believe these animals actually exist.

Clearly, that was one of the major highlights of my trip.

Italy

At this point in our trip, Shane really wanted out of cities and into nature. We tried to drive deep into the Alps but we kept getting turned around and lost due to winter road closures.

We pulled into a random parking lot to regroup and decided that no matter how hard we try, we can’t recreate Alaska in Europe. We needed to accept that we just aren’t going to experience that kind of wild breathing room in Europe and that’s okay.

So, instead of continuing to head for the hills, we pivoted, and drove south to… you guessed it… Italy. Verona, to be exact. The birthplace of Romeo and Juliet.

The second we crossed the border into Italy and I heard that beautiful language rolling off the tongues of gas station employees, I began smiling. I didn’t stop for the next three days.

We stayed in a small hotel where the impeccably dressed and cologned owner personally checked us in. While Shane grabbed our bags from the car, the owner popped out from behind his desk in order to give me a quick, invigorating, and intimidating Italian lesson. He then walked me through breakfast options like it was a theater performance… arms akimbo.

From my yellow hotel room window, I peered through an archway onto the Ponte Pietra Bridge, constructed in 100 BC. On the opposite side stood Castel San Pietro. Throughout the day, Italian locals, schoolchildren, and tourists crossed the bridge, each with their own style and expression.

One afternoon, Shane forgot his credit card and called up to me from the street below. I smiled as I came to the window like Juliet to throw it down, and he begged me to hold still so he could capture the scene.

I guess you could say I have a bias toward Italy because my parents met in Naples, my mom speaks Italian, and my grandparents lived there for 6-months of every year, but it really is a place that just blows all other places out of the water. The spirit is so alive and joyful and intoxicating. The food, the fashion, the coffee, and the ancient structures. It’s sexy no matter how you dice it.

On our first night, we ate beside the Verona Arena, a nearly 2,000-year-old amphitheater. I couldn’t comprehend it. It felt ridiculous to be casually wolfing down mozzarella di bufala beside something that ancient.

Shane and I walked around the Colosseum and paused in front of a dark passageway where gladiators and prisoners once walked toward the arena as crowds went wild. We became transfixed by this entrance from the back of the Colosseum to center stage, unchanged after all these years.

For a few moments, we went back in time—2,000 years ago. Our hearts raced. We could feel the magnitude of it. The blatant celebration of human annihilation.

The way they must have felt, walking that long corridor into the arena. The terror, the adrenaline, the immediacy of mortality. What a rush.

We enjoyed every moment of our time in Verona as it became obvious that our trip had come to an end. On our last morning, Shane went to get cappuccinos. I realized both of our phones were in my bag, so after packing the car, I walked around to find him.

As I turned a corner, I saw the outline of my shining, smiling, handsome husband, the love of my life, walking toward me with a cappuccino in each hand. The cobblestone street, Italian architecture, and balcony gardens framed him. Sunlight illuminated his beautiful brown eyes. Time stopped. We broke into toothy smiles and silently walked toward each other, holding tear-filled eye contact until our bodies met and melted into an embrace.

Heaven.

That’s what it feels like to love like this.

Special Shoutout

Elinor is a business student and recently gave a Tedx talk about her time at the monastery. She does an excellent job expressing why leadership starts on the inside. You can watch the best of GenZ here:

If you made it here, I’d love to hear which countries are on your must-visit list.

Thank you for encouraging me to write these each month. It fills me to the brim with love.

Ciao ciao for now.

xo

Lauren

Here is March’s love letter read aloud.

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If you’d like to hear this letter in my own voice, along with a few additional stories, the audio version is available to paid subscribers.

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The month began by moving into the most magnificent Hungarian flat I’ve ever seen. A 100-year-old European masterpiece with 15-foot ceilings, original glass windows, hardwood floors, and elaborate green tile. On move-in day, when I asked what was up the stairs in the kitchen, the owner shrugged and told me to have a look. Two more bedrooms! If I told you what we’re paying, you wouldn’t believe me.

Shane and I are in the process of attaining Hungarian visas, and it’s been a tangle. The paperwork seemed straightforward, but we were first rejected because of a time limit I wasn’t made aware of. Now we’ve been approved and are simply waiting for our physical identification cards in the mail. Because our tourist visas have expired, if we leave Hungary while the process is underway, we won’t be permitted re-entry for 90 days. So our only option this month has been to stay put.

It turns out staying put is its own kind of practice. It’s not the staying that unsettles me. It’s the fact that I don’t really have the option to go.

While living at the Japanese monastery, I met a dear friend who recently departed after 2.5 years and is now back in Europe. I invited her to stay with us for a few days and committed to throwing a housewarming party with our new zen friends.

Albeit a rare occurrence, I love to throw parties. I made cookies and salmon hors d’oeuvres, bought at least 42 pillar candles, perfected the atmospheric lighting, and picked up a few bottles of my newly discovered favorite wine, Hummerer Bikavér (aka bull’s blood). I asked Shane to make a banger of a playlist. He delivered.

My friend arrived mere hours before the festivities and our weekend took off. Guests straggled in, we ate, laughed, told stories, made a fire in the fireplace, and, of all things, did an activity.

During the party, I remembered a game I used to play with my sister when we lived in Lake Arrowhead. Everyone starts with a blank piece of paper. Art supplies scattered about. Set a timer for 30 seconds to a minute. Create whatever you want. When the timer goes off, stop immediately and pass your paper to the right. Repeat until you receive your original artwork back. The results are usually funny, terrible, and occasionally brilliant.

Aren’t those fun? You can do the same thing with writing. Start a story, pass it, build off what the last person wrote, then read it aloud at the end. When my sister and I did this, one of the stories knocked our socks off. We were convinced it could be a New York Times bestseller. I tried to find a photo of the story to share with you, but can’t locate it. Damn!

Because of our inner need for being cozy and asleep, we ended the party around midnight, quickly cleaned up, and dove into bed. Success.

The rest of the weekend was a mix of walking tours, thermal baths, old cafés, hysterical laughter and long conversations. Discovering so many new places in Budapest softened my restlessness about the visa situation.

Despite the social activity, I’ve still been sitting lots of zazen each day. I aim for six hours, though lately it’s been closer to four. The middle of my days have been escaping me due to a new discovery: an antique website here in Budapest. Yikes. I search and search until I find the perfect rugs.

Last week I found one I had to see in person. I took two subway lines, then a bus, then walked 18 minutes to a house where the nicest couple invited me in. They spoke little English and I know how to say six Hungarian words, but we gestured about life, Alaska, and antiques. They made me coffee in darling English tea ware and showed me all the carpets they had. I stuck to my original purchase, though I may return for another.

My life right now is really beautiful. But it’s not without cost.

I miss my home in Alaska. And more than that, I miss my dog. She’s living happily with my dad and step-mom, but no matter how happy I know she is, my heart aches for her. I picture us on walks together around the world. I imagine her sleeping so cuddled up with me at night. It’s tough. I talk more about this in the audio I recorded for this letter.

The weather is getting sunnier this week. Spring is coming! I don’t know what the next months will bring. For now, we’re staying put. Lighting candles. Sitting. Waiting for the mail. Letting this limbo season be exactly what it is.

What I’m Reading

I’m almost finished with Lectures on the Ten Oxherding Pictures by Yamada Mumon Roshi. I’m loving it as an aid to my zazen practice. Yamada Mumon Roshi was my teacher’s teacher, so it carries special meaning for me to read the transcript of his lectures.

I looked it up to link it, but there appears to be only one copy online and it’s listed for $500. So if you’re interested, you may have to hunt for it elsewhere.

What I’m Eating

Must love tuna.

I eat this at least once a week and don’t think I’ll ever stop: a can of tuna in olive oil, a ton of lemon, salted tiny-cut tomatoes, diced cucumber, more olive oil, salt, pepper, and dried oregano. Nothing is better.

Special Shoutout

In January, my bestie Ashlee gave birth to a real human baby.

He arrived with a huge head of golden hair and, as if he weren’t already perfect enough, they named him Enzo Leonardo Rivera. Just imagine going through life with that name!

Watching Ashlee’s heart crack wide open has been a beautiful thing to witness. I’m so proud of my friend.

Okay, signing off for February. As always, thank you for reading.

With love and appreciation,

Lauren

Here is February’s love letter read aloud.

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I’m writing to you from my favorite coffee shop in Budapest, overlooking the Opera House, on the first day of March.

Today, I have two announcements.

First, I’m introducing a paid option on my Substack.

At the beginning of each month, I’ll send a private love letter to paid subscribers. These letters will be more personal, with deeper reflections, photos, and stories from my life here and wherever I happen to be in the world. I’ll also include an audio version of each letter. The first private love letter will go out on March 3.

Your support makes it possible for me to continue writing in this way.

Subscribe now

If you choose not to upgrade, nothing changes. You’ll continue receiving my public essays, just as you have been.

Second, I’ve decided to shift away from the Shewolf Lauren moniker and write simply as myself: Lauren Hanner. Wow! It took me two years to decide on that move, but here we are.

I’m grateful for who Shewolf Lauren was in my life, but writing under my own name feels grounded and true at this stage. You may still see emails coming from info@shewolflauren.com while I transition things behind the scenes.

Many of you have been reading my work through all my evolutions, and I’m deeply thankful for your continued support.

Thank you thank you!

Lauren Hanner

It all started in Qatar.

Yes, Qatar of all places.

Shane and I spent two months in Bali after we received the news that we couldn’t return to Japan. We spent our time eating fruit, sweating, sitting zazen, and enjoying all the sensations of island life. I did a solo docusession, and Shane contracted Dengue Fever — which lasted for OVER A MONTH!

We knew our 60-day visa would quickly expire in Bali and that we’d be headed for Hungary in no time. While searching for flights, I came across the information that we could book an extended layover in Qatar and somehow receive nearly-free nights at a 5-star hotel.

My grandfather (jiddoo) on my maternal side is 100% Syrian, making me 25% Syrian. My great grandparents had 8 children, and because it was common during that time for immigrants to assimilate to American culture, they did not teach their children how to speak their native tongue. I have a very deep longing to feel more connected to Arabian cultures, and since I can’t exactly travel to Syria or Iraq or Iran right now, I thought maybe Qatar would be a great starting point.

I ran it past Shane (who happens to read and write Arabic), and he agreed to the layover adventure! I booked us three nights to explore the ever-luxurious Doha. A few weeks later, Shane’s brother, Nathan, decided he’d join us! Viva Qatar!

I’m the type of person who likes a certain kind of luxury. Not luxury for luxury’s sake, but luxury with a flavor of timeless excellence. I’ll stay in an old boutique hotel where each room is decorated with antiques. I’ll buy a vintage silk scarf or a pair of handmade leather shoes that could last 300 years. But under almost no circumstances am I drawn to modern architecture, sharp edges, or expensive newness.

Qatar stunned me. Everything felt new. Aggressively new. Row after row of pristine buildings, parks, and stadiums rising out of the desert. Many seemed vacant, like giant set peices. There were hardly any cars on the roads. It felt rendered by software, not built by humans. A luxurious, empty world dropped into the sand.

This newness isn’t Qatar’s fault, per se. Before the natural gas boom of the 1990s, Qatar was largely a land of nomadic tribes, and nomads aren’t exactly known for building monuments for tourists like me to gawk at centuries later.

Bewildered by Doha’s aggressive skyline, I became mildly obsessed with the Al Thani family and may or may not have spiraled into a jet-lagged Google frenzy. The scale of their wealth, their global land holdings, and their carefully maintained scandal-free public image are astounding. They transformed sparsely inhabited desert into a mega-modern Vegas, minus the fun.

My favorite part of Doha was the Souq Waqif—built to look old but actually fully refurbished in the early 2000s. There, I felt a semblance of cultural heritage. Saudis sat in hookah lounges sipping coffee, while the occasional Western visitor touched fabrics or leaned in to smell spices. We took photos when it closed in the middle of the day, then returned later for coffee and hookah before heading back to the hotel.

The day before our last, I decided that I simply could not give up on my hunger for Middle Eastern culture as I headed out to the Souq by myself. I was on a mission to find dates (the food), saffron, and some kind of special, old, items that would remind me of my time in the desert.

That’s when it happened. That’s when an obsession was born.

After buying an abundance of the most fragrant smelling fire red saffron, and minutes before the Souq’s afternoon closing hours (12:30-3), I stumbled into a Persian carpet shop. I told the several Persian gentlemen working, “I am looking for a magic carpet to bring home with me.” They didn’t know I had already been to a few shops and was disappointed by the polyester or synthetic materials.

They hurriedly laid out a few pieces for me and searched my face for approval. They told me, “These are all hand-knotted of wool in Iran.” They wanted me to touch the carpets and feel their authenticity. “No, no.” I said. “These are nice, but not what I’m looking for. I want something old.”

One gentleman locked eyes with another, and deep from within a stack of folded, newly woven, wool rugs, he wrestled one free. He unfolded it, flung it up into the air like a pizza, and when it fell onto the stack of carpets below it, a poof of brown desert particle dust remained suspended in the air for minutes.

When my eyes fell upon the carpet, I audibly gasped. Just then, the 5 gentlemen smiled. It was a genuine moment during which they could see I appreciated the beauty of this piece from their homeland. I sensed pride from them and it was well deserved. The carpet was gorgeous.

Impeccably hand-knotted.
From the 1960s-70s.
Isfahan, Iran.
Fine wool and silk on cotton.
Asymmetrical, detailed perfection.

In hindsight, this purchase seems like a no-brainer, but under time pressure, I sometimes do this thing where I kind of black out as my brain goes into decision making overdrive. I start internally negotiating with myself. It’s too big. I’m living out of suitcases right now. It’s too much! I don’t have time to research it. What if I don’t even like it? I’m running out of time! They’re closing and probably want you to either buy this thing or leave. Are you sure you love it? You only buy things you absolutely love! Omg! Call Shane. He’ll know exactly what to do.

I called Shane. He told me, “Lauren, a carpet!? You just donated a suitcase full of stuff to lighten your load. You know what…honey, if you love it, don’t think about it for one more second. Just get it. Do it!”

Just then, the smallest of the five gentlemen came out of the shop, and with a kind look in his eyes said, “that carpet is yours. We can do it for $150USD. It’s a really good deal. I promise you that.” And he meant it.

Naturally, with purchase encouragement from Shane, and a lower price from the shop owner, I panicked, got in a cab, and left. Never to see the magic carpet again.

For the next month, I had nightmares about that 3x5 piece of perfection! My decision plagued me! The scene would replay in my head with the gasp and the smiles and the poof of desert dust. I searched online for the store name, or for some information, but couldn’t find it.

One day, I remembered that I had taken a photo of the carpets outside the shop and when I looked closer, I could see a phone number on a sign! I reached out on WhatsApp to the number, and didn’t hear anything until one day, like a miracle, I received a reply.

For a month after that, I negotiated, got shipping estimates, and figured out how to send them money and you will not believe it, for just sLiGHtLyyyy more than I probably should have paid, I was reunited with my vintage Persian magic carpet that I found in Qatar two months later.

She now lives happily in my Budapest home along with five others that I’ve recently bargained for in various European locations.

I’m smitten by the old world. I love imagining the hands of the weavers as they tied each knot with such concentrated attention. Meditative, perhaps. Each carpet, one of a kind. Each one rich with a story to tell. Who walked across them? Where have they been? Who have they supported? They’re art and I am in love with them. I’m very familiar with the concept of non-attachment, but one day I’d like some company inside my coffin. Now I’ll have it.

Not only am I obsessed with finding these old wool carpets, I may be even more obsessed with bringing them back to life. I give them baths like little babies and tend to their needs. It’s wildly satisfying to watch the filth lift out of them and see the 100-year-old natural dyes glow again once they’re dry. So if you’re ever wondering what I’m up to, I’m probably sitting zazen or hunting for and bathing old magic carpets that somehow feel like home.

Is there something old you’re drawn to, even if you can’t explain why? I get excited to read your answers! -Lauren

First and foremost, I want to wish you a Happy New Year! 2026! Wow! I was born in 1992 and that seems like a lot of years to have lived so far.

We arrived in Budapest in mid-November and were present as the Christmas spirit spread throughout the city like wildfire. The streets lit up as far as the eye could see, romantic Advent markets popped up along popular streets, and the Nutcracker Ballet was in full swing at the Hungarian State Opera House.

I love the New Year! I think it’s so fun, and I love celebrating the fresh opportunities ahead. This year, the holidays felt very very long in the best way. Something about all the old and dramatic architecture hit differently than any other Christmas season I’ve experienced.

As soon as we arrived in Budapest, we began practicing zazen with the Hungarian sangha at the zendo in the city.

Practicing alone while we were in Bali was incredible, but it’s important to practice zazen with a sangha and a teacher in order to maintain energetic momentum and make the path less isolating. At the zendo, it’s lovely to be around others who are committed to their practices, and to have a dedicated space outside the home to sit.

On our final day in Bali, I somehow convinced my mom that she absolutely 100% no doubt about it had to come see us in Budapest for the holidays. It was a major score when she agreed and booked her tickets!

Shane and I love hosting my mom. She’s an absolute riot and she cooks for us and she’s up for anything and is grateful beyond measure for any gesture we make to make her stay enjoyable.

Our flat here has wood beams and an exposed brick wall, so decorating it with lights and spruce greenery felt natural and perfect before her arrival. I went to local thrift stores to collect holly-jolly items and thoroughly enjoyed creating a magic space in our new home.

From the moment I greeted my mom at the airport, our fun did not cease for eight days. We walked and walked and walked. We went to bath houses, played Chinese checkers, cooked, explored castles, bridges, advent markets, cathedrals, parks, and as many vintage stores as we could find.

Halfway through her trip, we hopped on a train with Shane and his brother, Nathan, and went for an adventure to Vienna. We had a perfect Airbnb and felt like little kids at a cozy slumber party that we didn’t want to end. We cooked breakfast in the morning and then adventured all day.

I’m not the kind of person that panics about missing things when I travel. I usually arrive and trust that I’ll end up where I need to be. This was certainly the case in Vienna.

On the first night, we stumbled into St. Peter’s Cathedral and a Swiss operatic choir was rehearsing for their advent performance the next night. Both my mom and I started ugly crying at the sound of their angel voices reverberating off the opulent religious scene surrounding us. We were promptly handed a brochure and told it was free admission the following night and it was sure to be a wonderful experience. We all agreed on the spot to return for the show.

Next, in search of a used book store for Shane, we came face to face with St. Stephen’s Cathedral. More specifically, we were all taken aback by the massive dark tower jutting into the foggy, gothic night sky. It was an other-worldly scene and we stopped in our tracks to gawk at the sight before snapping a few photos.

Ultimately, we found the cathedral entrance amidst a maze of Vienna’s best advent markets, and when we walked in, time stopped. I felt like part of my soul left my body as I allowed the architecture to penetrate me. I looked back at Shane and he was simply standing still with a look of childlike wonder in his eyes. I spotted Nathan in the crowd standing still with his face pasted between two wrought iron bars as he attempted to get as close as possible to what was temporarily closed to visitors. It was like nothing I had ever seen in my life. I couldn’t fathom that humans had built this place. That so many people came together to create something this magical and holy so long ago. I bought a candle for a euro and lit it with my mom.

We all walked out and felt changed in some indescribable way. It felt like a brief psychedelic glimpse into a time before our time. Before phones and plumbing and the internet and AI. It was a relief and a reminder and it was devastating too. I wanted to hold on to that moment in that church forever.

The next morning, we all sat in the living room after our individual morning routines and I Googled, “Can I see any Klimt artwork in Vienna?” I was slightly embarrassed to learn that the largest collection of Klimt works in the world was a ten-minute walk from us. How didn’t I know this!? We basically set a 15 minute timer to get out the door and marched over to The Belvedere to feast our eyes on the famous gold-leaf creations. To our delight, the museum itself was an art piece and although absolutely jam-packed with clamoring tourists, we saw what we went to see and found opportunities to be still in the chaos.

On the final evening of my mom’s Eurotrip, Shane and I surprised her with tickets to The Nutcracker Ballet. We showed up to a swarm of the best dressed people I’ve ever seen. We started laughing as we agreed that although we did our best with our limited travel wardrobes, we were sorely underdressed for this occasion.

The ballerinas were spectacular, and as big fans of theater, we again agreed that the sets and special effects were the best we’d ever seen. Snow! Ice Skating! A floating boat! Huge, deep, multi-layered sets that transported us into fairytale land. It was the perfect cherry on top of our already memorable trip.

As my mom boarded her flight, I realized that it had been quite a while since I had had THAT much fun. I stayed up later than I normally would, I drank delicious Hungarian red wine, I bought antique hand-knotted rugs that I didn’t necessarily need. I allowed myself to be babied and to be a daughter. It was sweet and wonderful and I will never forget it.

I was so sad and so exhausted when she left. I slept for nearly a week straight to get back on track. My mom is 25 years older than me but man can she run circles around me! What a whirlwind! She’s incredible.

Wow! Thank you for coming on that reminiscent journey with me. I didn’t plan to write so much about that trip with her, but it just flew out.

The rest of my holidays concluded with similar cheer and gusto, and as we brought in the new year, I was ready to take on 2026 full steam ahead. Woohoo! We’re here! It’s happening! We’re alive!

This year, I’m welcoming more freedom into my life. I’d like to “should” less, and I’d like to be kinder and more compassionate and more loving than ever before. I’d like to deepen my zazen practice and continue doing what I love to do the most in the whole world.

I am wishing you, the person reading this, so much peace and depth this year. May you grow and have the courage to keep loving. May you ask yourself what brings you joy, and may you make more space to do whatever that is.

Happy New Year!

I’d love to hear where you spent your holiday this year. Feel free to comment or e-mail me back :) I enjoy receiving mail from you so much.

With love,

Lauren

I told Shane that despite the plans we had to go to an island and swim with manta rays, I wanted a week to practice zazen like my life depended on it. Without hesitation, he celebrated this need and we immediately rented a wooden sanctuary in the center of a rice paddy for seven nights.

Coincidentally, the people we were renting our Airbnb from also owned the retreat villa! Because we were renting both of their properties, they agreed to the price of $36USD per night for my dokusesshin wonderland! Can you believe it!? It was fate!

Upon confirming my reservation, I got busy packing my few belongings, buying groceries, and telling my family I’d be off-grid for my birthday. I did not bring a laptop, art supplies, journal, or any reading material.

On October 12 (two days before my 33rd), Shane and I strapped on our helmets and mounted our tiny scooter en route to my retreat station.

Unlike most rental villas in Bali, this one was built completely of wood, and had evidence of special hand-carved art everywhere I looked. The indoor-outdoor living space and kitchen were designed with contemplation in mind as there were no sensory simulating eye sores. The wood was solid as a rock and the builders had used old wooden boats to construct the kitchen cabinetry, the dining table, and my sitting throne for the next week — a Balinese day bed.

Upon our arrival, I plopped down on said daybed while Shane unpacked my bags, made sure the property was safe, and put my food in the fridge. He worked like a man on a mission for his queen. Watching him, I was happy to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that marrying him was the best decision I ever made in my life.

Before I could get too weepy, he embraced me, kissed me with kindness and passion, and drove the scooter out of sight down an alley too small for a scooter.

I was now alone. Well, alone with the little retreat world around me.

Over the next week, I got to test what I had learned in Japan. My meditation practice took on a pace of its own, and I was able to get to know my inner world in a way I’ve never been able to know before.

By 4:30 each morning, I was already sitting in the dark by the pool as the jungle woke up around me. I watched bananas swell from limp little balloons into plump green fruit. Balinese blue-bottom bees hovered over deep purple flowers. Big hawks hung motionless in the sky, suspended over their prey. Tree frogs croaked out their mating calls, and turquoise-and-orange geckos shouted their rhythmic to-kay, to-kay.

I drank dragon-fruit, papaya smoothies every morning and ate some variation of rice noodles every night. It felt so great to nourish my body and just sit with myself day after day. I swam in the cool pool water, took long baths, and lit one frankincense incense stick after another.

At the monastery, there is a practice called kinhin — walking meditation between sitting rounds. It can take place inside the zendo, around its perimeter, or even through the forest. The hands rest clasped in front of the body, the eyes are cast downward, and the attention stays steady. A practitioner may repeat a mantra or simply feel the feet meet the Earth with each step. I fell in love with this form of practice, so during my solo retreat, I created my own little kinhin path and walked it in slow, methodical patterns for hours at a time.

Something in me untangled that week. It’s not often we get to elect to be so alone — without any contact with the outside world. I look forward to the chance to do it again…maybe in the forest next time. If I can gather the bravery.

If this piece resonated, consider subscribing. It helps me keep writing these stories. Thank you for being here. xo -Lauren

So here I am today, writing to you from a wooden perch above the jungle in Bali. Shane is sprawled out behind me practicing Arabic on Duolingo in preparation for our extended layover in Qatar. I’m awaiting a decaf cappuccino - a treat I rarely allow myself because I’m that sensitive to caffeine. My hair is back in a bun and my skin is glistening with a layer of sweat and shea butter. Through the open-air windows, I can see the jungle treetops swaying in the midday wind. As I type, I’m aware of my breath and my gratitude for all that erupts before my eyes.

The last time I wrote you, I was in Banff National Park on a road trip from Alaska to Florida (yes, we actually drove that, and yes, it was far as sh*t). I told you that Shane and I had been living at a monastery in Japan and were on a brief summer break to take care of family matters. I described the ins and outs of monastic life, how sure I was of my path, and how deeply devoted I felt to Zen training. I told you that Shane and I were the first married couple to live and train there in its 300-year history. And I was certain that, come September, we’d be headed back to Japan for the fall training season, disappearing into the monastic underworld once more.

Well… joke’s on me.

On our final day in Charleston, South Carolina, while visiting my incredible grandparents, I received a call I never imagined getting.

“Hey Lauren, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but I don’t think you and Shane will be able to return to the monastery.”

I’ll try to make this long story short…

When we left the monastery to take care of things in the US, some romantic drama unfolded among other sangha members. This isn’t unusual because people are people no matter where they live and what robes they wear. Normally these things fizzle out or evolve, and training continues.

But, in an uncommon turn of events, news of this particular romantic affair made its way all the way up to the Roshi.

As you probably know, monasteries aren’t places where relationships happen out in the open. When Roshi found out about what had been secretly going on, he made a very clear line in the sand that absolutely no couples are allowed at the monastery.

Given that Shane and I are married — undeniably a couple — we became collateral damage. We were told that the decision had nothing to do with us as individuals but that he had to make a clear decision for the cohesion of the sangha.

It was that simple.

Ouch.

It’s been over two months since we received this news and it still hurts to even type. Truly, for about 30 days, I was in disbelief and very much heartbroken. Like I had just been rejected by the thing in the world I wanted the most: my training.

A thousand questions invaded us:

How would we continue training with the intensity we wanted? Should we write Roshi and beg for an exception? Should one of us return alone for a time? Could we live outside the monastery and come only for certain periods? How would we keep our visas? What about our belongings still in Japan? And where on earth were we going to live?

Once we decided not to beg to return — and not to separate — we had to figure out how to live as monks in the world.

Our time at the monastery taught us that this work requires an enormous amount of effort to keep one-pointed concentration in a world that built to grab our attention. Without a certain sharpness and devotion to this concentration, the incoming noise and distractions in the “normal” modern world are too strong to resist. The prospect of maintaining that intensity outside the temple felt daunting. Our whole life had been set up around living monastically in Japan for the foreseeable future. Our house in Alaska is rented out to phenomenal tenants, so going back wasn’t an option.

We already had tickets booked from Florida to Japan, so I went into travel-agent-ninja-mode and rerouted everything to… Bali.

The price was right. The food looked delightful. The mood felt peaceful. And for whatever mysterious reason, it just called to us. Both of us had been to Indonesia before, but never Bali, and we’d always wanted to go. Shane’s brother Nathan was living here and assured us we’d like it for a few months.

Bada Bing, Bada Boom! We’ve now been living and training in Bali for two months.

Not for much longer, though. In two days we leave for Budapest, Hungary, to train with Roshi’s disciple.

You’re mostly caught up now. I’d like to share a deeper account our roadtrip from Alaska to Florida and of our time in Bali — with photos — in my coming letters to you.

Trust the timing of your life

I have “trust the timing of your life” tattooed on my arm in my own handwriting — a note to myself, from myself. In the summer I probably see it 200 times a day. I’ve relied heavily on this phrase recently, and I’ll be damned: it works.

When I allow myself to rest in that trust, all of this — the heartbreak, the rerouting, the unexpected openings — feels strangely natural.

At the monastery, the schedule is set and training happens whether it seems like a nice idea or not. Before the monastery, I wasn’t a person of training. I didn’t know it was possible to dedicate your life to something like enlightenment. I only knew that I’d been running full speed my entire life, and when I arrived at the monastery, I finally stopped.

In my meditation practice, I found the thing I’d been searching for.

Now, away from Japan, that knowing has deepened. I’ve found new alleys and bridges and inlets inside myself — places that lead endlessly inward.

I wake up without an alarm, far earlier than I’ll even admit, and I cannot wait to sit, or silently walk, or stand in meditation. It’s all I want to do, and all I do do, for hours a day. While I know I’ll return to the monastery for periods of training, something within me has only strengthened since being out here on my own.

I needed the strictness of Japan to show me how cleverly I was fooling myself (and of course, I still am in countless ways). I could write for the rest of my life about the lessons from those 15 months and never be done. I feel deeply indebted to Roshi, to Chisan, and to the entire Rinzai lineage.

For now, Shane and I are living the life of the traveling monk — supporting each other through it all.

Would you want to hear more about monastic life, Bali training, or Budapest next? I love hearing what you’d like to read from me. As always, thank you so much for being here — whether you’re new, or have been with me for years. xo -Lauren

Hello to my fabulous wolf-pack! This is my first Substack contribution and I’m so happy to be here writing to you. This is new internet territory for me, and I’m thrilled to dive right in. If you were already subscribed to my love-letters, this post may look familiar. New writing coming this week! xo

Catching you up to speed

In late February 2024, my husband, Shane, and I attended an O-sesshin (7-day intensive silent meditation retreat) on Whidbey Island in Washington state with zen master Shodo Harrada Roshi (aka *just* Roshi). Shane met Roshi in 2018, and had already attended an O-sesshin with him, but this was my first true taste of Rinzai Zen training, and I fell in love with it.

Training in this ancient traditional way incorporates aspects of suffering in order to break down the ego and the comforts of modern day life. During the o-sesshin on Whidbey Island, we woke up at 3:30 every morning, chanted sutras (choka), met with Roshi for 1:1 interviews (sanzen), had breakfast, did hours of physical labor (samu), attended dharma talks (teisho), and sat in meditation (zazen) for hours and hours and hours at a time. I thought my legs were going to snap off, and that I would surely go insane from having to sit in stillness and silence with my own mind incessantly taunting me. I realized during that week how little I knew about what it truly meant to be alive. I knew almost immediately that I had to have more of this training. I felt so hungry for the truth (whatever that means) and I felt like my answer wasn’t going to be in society or in books or anything conventional. I needed to understand the un-understandable. I felt called to learn from this teacher at his home monastery in Japan. 

We live in a world of concepts and ideas and shadows and stories. But what’s the greater space from which all of that emerges? What’s the silent and clear essence that forms the basis of all of our experience? Rinzai Zen training, especially at a monastery, aims to eliminate societies distractions so we can face ourselves, quiet the mind, and if only by a miracle, experience directly our true nature… the life force energy that courses through every living being. In other words, the real you.  The you that beats your heart and grows your bones.

There is a misconception about Zen in the West. Folks think that Zen means total relaxation and calm and that a person practicing Zen is attempting to achieve a state of unshakable and visible bliss. While this can be the result of sitting in meditation (zazen) for several hours a day, it’s not the full picture. In fact, Rinzai Zen training is extremely difficult—less like a day spa and more like Samurai + Jedi + Navy Seal training all wrapped into one. It’s no joke.

The training is rigorous because society’s imprint on us is very strong. Training the mind to be quiet is like turning a stampede of 10,000 horses in the opposite direction. To make even small improvements takes significant effort and at the monastery (without concern for income, food, or shelter) a practitioner can devote every moment of the day to these efforts. Albeit rigorous, the schedule, people, and environment are set up for a person to cleanse their mind and come into complete clarity and unity with the universe around and within them. 

Before the o-sesshin in Washington came to an end, Shane and I approached Roshi’s translator and dharma heir, Daichi Roshi (aka Chisan), to ask for her permission to come train in Japan. She expressed that although she would love for both of us to come, they had never accepted a married couple to live and train together at the monastery. She explained that this monastery is a dojo, not a Zen center/community and that it’s very important for the group dynamic to not get murky. Shane and I were devastated because both of us felt like this was our path. We wanted to train more than anything, and Roshi is 84 years old, so we didn’t feel there was time to waste.

We decided (with Chisan’s guidance) that I would first come to Japan alone while Shane continued working and living in Alaska. She explained to us that although a traditional Zen monastery would never even consider having a married couple there, that Zen is evolving as it moves West. She told us to keep hope alive that we could perhaps train together at some point but that it was best if I came alone for a while first.

So, in late March, only 6-months after buying our piece of paradise property in Alaska, I boarded the ferry to Juneau all by myself, and flew to Tokyo.

Monastic Life
After a week exploring Tokyo, I arrived here at the monastery with a backpack, and a little carry-on suitcase with enough essentials for five weeks. I felt like I was here to find something, but I didn’t know what I was searching for. I didn’t know a single person in Japan, or anything about monasteries, or anything about Zen, or anything about Japanese culture. But I did know I had to be here.

This particular monastery is a very unique place (the only monastery of its kind in the world) because it’s an international training temple. 40 years ago, the late Yamada Mumon Roshi (Roshi and Chisan’s teacher), expressed that “Zen is dead in Japan” and insisted that Zen had to move West or the lineage wouldn’t survive. With Chisan (a New Yorker) as his translator, Roshi is able to teach in both Japanese and English, so students from all over the world can live and train here. Currently, students from Poland, Korea, Lithuania, Germany, Austria, USA, Hungary, France, UK, Taiwan, Spain, and Japan all live at the monastery.

Students range in age from 19 to 84 years old! About 1/4 of students are ordained, and called monks if men, or nuns if women. The other 3/4 of us are called either “Zen students” or “persons of training”. Regardless of ordination, the cohort of students living at the monastery at any given time is called a “Sangha”, and there is little-to-no difference between how the ordained or lay live and train. There typically around 15-20 full-time residents, and anywhere from 10-30 former or new students pop in for each o-session and typically leave a few days afterward.

Monastic life is the antithesis of modern living. Hardly any technology is present. If you need to talk to or find someone at the temple you ask around and then go look for them. There is no wi-fi (except in the library which can be used during breaks). Cell-phones or screens of any kind are not permitted in public view. There isn’t a single TV anywhere. We cannot wear make-up, jewelry, perfume, or have exciting hair styles. The weather is just the weather… all the time. There is no escaping it. In the blistering heat of the summer, there is no air conditioning, and in the crisp cold winter, no central heat. No modern plumbing either. Although sometimes ignored, silence is always encouraged. We wear traditional monastic clothing (samue) during work-times, and a wrap-skirt (Hakama), often seen in martial arts, during meditation.

Because living and training at the monastery is free of charge, we work our tails off to repay what we’re receiving. If something breaks, we fix it. If something rips, we sew it. If food needs to be cooked, we cook it. If sutra books need to be made, we make them. The temple grounds are tended to exclusively by the sangha, and the temple grounds are pristine. There is always work to be done. Always. When we aren’t sitting in zazen, we are working. There is very little downtime, and the downtime we do get is most often used for catching up on sleep, or errands. It’s very hard to keep-in-touch with the world outside of the temple, and that’s the point. The schedule is designed to leave hardly a moment for thinking.

We wake up every day at 3:30 a.m. and we go to bed between 9:30 (if we’re lucky) and 11p.m. Depending on the time of month, we sit in some form of zazen meditation for between 5 and 18 (not an exaggeration) hours a day. On days with less seated meditation, we work more. Each day, Roshi offers 1:1 direct teaching (sanzen) with each individual student between two and four times. We chant sutras every morning, before both meals, and before bed at night (kaichin). The monastery in motion is truly a work of art.

Let the suffering commence 

My first o-sesshin at the monastery began 3-days after I arrived. For the ENTIRE 7-DAYS I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE! Never in my life had I experienced so much physical or psychological discomfort. It was like my whole life was folding in on itself and everything I thought I knew was no longer important or relevant. I hated being here so much and I thought the other students must be from another planet because they were sitting so still while I was surely on the verge of death. I’m not joking. There were moments when I thought I was actually either going to lose my mind or explode. I couldn’t escape myself and it felt like there would never be an end to my mind’s incessant chatter.

The more I sat in zazen, the more my mind seemed to torture me. Thought after thought after thought. Nowhere to hide, nobody coming to save me. Just facing myself and facing myself and facing myself and sitting in a cross-legged position from hell.

Because of all my prior self-study, therapy, education, and work with coaching clients, I thought I had a breadth and depth of knowledge about myself that was worthy of some recognition. When I came face to face with an 84-year old, fully awake, fully wide open Zen master, what I thought I knew about myself shattered completely. After many attempts at trying to prove my worthiness, I finally realized that there was no performing for this man. No theatrics to impress him with. Nothing to convince him of. I couldn’t fool him.

Learning from him is like learning from the most honest mirror you’ve ever looked into in your entire life. A mirror that reflects the true you. The you without a name. The you without a body. Being in his presence makes any suffering at the monastery worth it. You can see what’s possible on the other side of the suffering. You can see that it’s possible to bring your mind into so much clarity that you’re able to see life for what it really is. Without your “ideas” of what it is. 

If I was going to survive this training, I’d have to drop all I thought I knew, and begin the grand cleansing of my mind. I’d have to let go. And let go and let go and let go and let go and let go and let go. I’d have to let go of time and expectations and concepts and ideas. I’d have to let go of a timeframe for going home, back to the comforts of my regular life. All of it! Completely! The hardest task on the planet! The impossible!

Making the move

After my first o-sesshin, albeit discombobulating, I knew that I couldn’t leave after 5-weeks. I called Shane and he —without hesitation— encouraged me to stay as long as I could. Without approval from the temple yet, he began the process of renting out our Alaska home, getting our beautiful baby girl MoMo dog to my parents’ house, and selling our beloved van. Shane had been wanting to train at this monastery for ten years. This was his dream, and we were on the verge of doing it together. Admittedly, it was a little nuts to make such grandiose plans without official approval that we could be at the temple together, but we both felt entrusted with the universe that if this was our path, red tape wouldn’t get in the way.

Soon, I was headed into another O-sesshin, and another O-sesshin, and although my internal torture didn’t cease for over 7-months, I began to have very clear progress in my training. I began to love the Sangha. I began to love the hard work. I began to feel like I was doing something deeply meaningful with my life. The first three months were the hardest of my life by a landslide. I felt like the walking dead. I had so much anguish and emotional uprooting and body pain. It felt like my mind was revolting against my efforts but I did my best to come back to my belly breathing again and again and again. Around my three-month mark, I got my Japanese residency approval, and Shane received approval to come train with me a on a trial basis. Things were looking up!

The path toward a quiet mind
I have now been here for 15 months (minus a month back in the USA to tie up loose ends). My initial anguish has come to an end and I’m now (mostly) thrilled to give all that I am to this ancient training. I’ve learned that life is not what I thought it was. The process of forgetting myself and attempting to focus all that I am into one point of concentration is endlessly fascinating to me.

When I have glimpses of my quiet mind—when my body and the room around me fade away—I feel like the meaning of life isn’t such a mystery. This feeling of total and complete openness, propels me forward. I sit and sit and sit for this stillness. For the possibility of full unification with the universe. I’m constantly learning new ways I’m closed off to the world or to love. I’m cleansing my mind, body, and soul by learning the intricacies of my energetics and letting go, letting go, letting go of everything I clench onto to make me feel “okay”.  This is the practice.

Some days, I miss the comforts of home so much and I cry. I miss my dog and my family and my friends and my home and just being able to do what I want when I want. I miss getting in my car and singing with the windows down. Or walking hand-in-hand with Shane in the snow or on the beach. I miss being available if my sister wants to talk. I miss traveling! Oh my god do I miss traveling!

Despite the sacrifices, I now know that there is nothing I’d rather be doing with my life. This training means everything to me.

What’s next?

I have no idea what will happen after we leave the monastery and I also have no idea when. Shane and I trust the timing of our lives and I trust that we’ll know what to do when we need to do it.

If you’re still reading this, I must say that I am SO grateful for your time and your attention to my writing today. If you leave comments with questions about what I’ve written, I will try to answer them in future posts! 

If you’re interested in Rinzai Zen, I recommend reading these books: In descending order from simplest to more challenging—but perhaps more fruitful— to read.

The Rinzai Zen Way: A Guide to Practice

Hidden Zen: Practices for Sudden Awakening and Embodied Realization

The Three Pillars of Zen: Teaching, Practice, and Enlightenment

The Undying Lamp of Zen: The Testament of Zen Master Torei: Enji, Torei: 9781590307922: Amazon.com: Books

I’ll write soon, okay? xo