Yesterday was the four-hour sitting. We had maybe 9 people all together. For a little while there was no one but me. I was not feeling like sitting there. I was feeling like getting up, going to the church library and fooling around there to see what I could find. But, I thought, this is the discipline of sitting. To watch the urge and not to do it. So, I found, as I often have lately, the support of the ages.
What I mean is that I bring to mind an endless line of monks and others, including my teachers, sitting. I see their faces. I let them support me. I feel their own difficulties, their restlessness, and yet they sit there, They’re still with me. Or rather, it’s that I’m with them. I know them intimately, in a strange way. We are not separate. If they were/are ordinary people who were drawn to this practice and did it faithfully, so can I. I don’t always intellectually understand, but I am, it seems, irrevocably drawn to do it. I have complete trust in what I know of the practice.
That’s one of my techniques. I think of the unbroken line for 2500 years of those who’ve been sitting. And those who will, in the future.