Couple of months ago, I stumbled upon a book titled Eat, Sit, Sleep while wandering aimlessly around Borders bookstore. The synopsis of the book told me that it was an account of a designer who at the age of 30, left his family, his girlfriend, and his job as a Tokyo designer to undertake a year of ascetic training at Eiheiji, one of the most rigorous Zen monasteries in Japan in a quest to imbue his life with spiritual meaning. That resonated with something deep within me which led me to buying the book and I’ve spent the last couple of months reading it.
Recently, I completed my first reading of the book while seating by a reservoir near where I live in and there was a particular section of the book that I felt was so profound that I had to share it with the rest of the world. This extract can be found at the end chapters of the book where the protagonist of the book reflected on his year at the monastery; in particular, the rigorous periods of sitting that they had to do at the temple.
Sitting is neither a purpose nor a means to an end. One doesn’t sit in order to gain enlightenment; one just sits. But what does “just sitting” mean? The act of folding the legs and sitting transcends everyday acts of sitting , standing and walking. When sitting, the sitter assumes a certain form. To assume this form is to become perfectly one with it, removing all fetters and ego – to be unselfconsciously present in the moment, like air.
The question naturally arises: why, in order to remove the ego, is it necessary to sit with legs folded facing the wall? Why this form and no other? I doubt whether anyone could put the answer into words. Only in sitting for oneself, and persisting in sitting to the very end, does the answer come welling up in one’s blood and bones.
… Devoting oneself to sitting, getting used to sitting and conquering the pain of sitting are all equally pointless. The only point of sitting is to accept unconditionaly each moment as it occurs.
Sitting will never be the same again for me.
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