National Hermit Day

This Sunday, 29 October, is National Hermit Day. (I have no idea which nation declared this. The day commemorates an Irish saint, so I'd guess Ireland must at least be in. And since most of the websites about it are American, I'd guess they're in, too. Really, it seems more like International Hermit Day, unless, like Labour Day, various countries are feuding over what date it's observed.)

Anyway.

Judging by Internet sources, lots of people are writing about this, but not many are researching it.

This page, for example, manages to get just about everything wrong.

• The 29th is not St. Colman's Feast. (That would be the 27th.)

• A group of hermits is not called an "observance"; it's a skete. But at least the person who made that up knew what we are; he or she might have gone with a "grumpy" or a "Kaczynski" or some other synonym for antisocial.

• No mention of spiritual practice – the fundamental definition of a hermit.

This one does a better job, at least mentioning the religious nature of non-metaphorical hermits, but only after it says:

Hermits, by definition, are people who prefer seclusion to socialization.

Uh, no. Our actual motivation can be contemplated here.

Honourable mention to this site, which not only gets St. Colman's feast day right, but leans heavily on the religious origins of the word, going so far as to list two actual hermits (50% of the total) on their list of famous hermits.

Anyway.

I'm not sure what we should do on (Inter)National Hermit Day. A hermit parade on the high road would be pretty paltry, unless you happen to live near the Zhongnan Mountains. Pinching people not wearing sandals would involve a lot of people, and spread the most irritating of all the asinine North American St. Patrick's Day customs.

So bump that.

We might take a page from Bodhisattva Day and don some meaningful garment… if the whole thing about hermits weren't that we serve in civilian clothes, without exclusive robes or regalia.

So how about this: prepare a nice sesshin meal. While enjoying it, contemplate the worthiness of devoting your life to pursuing fundamental, extra-human truth. Recall that it's your right, neither alienable nor certifiable.

Rice and beans or a hearty ramen soup, maybe. A good cup of tea and a nice flavour plate on the side.

Eat in gratitude and appreciation for how delicious and filling it is, whether the dish earns others' praise or not.

It feeds and rehinges.

And that's a blessing worth celebrating.


(Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)

My Hermit Hut

I've been feeling a bit nostalgic about the old meditation shed I had down at the beach, and it struck me that I've never actually posted on it, though others' huts have appeared here several times. (I did upload a named exterior shot ten years ago on Wordless Wednesday, but the others that have appeared from time to time were illustrating other topics, and so not identified.)

So in the interest of completism, here it is.

This tiny shack, the very picture of a true purist's definition of "hut", started life as my grandmother's potting shed. My grandfather carved it out of the bluff below their house, where I lived for ten years during the formative period of my Zen practice. When I arrived, the house and grounds were both in dire condition; eventually I hacked my way down to this cinderblock shanty, re-opening a steep, eroded goat trail through impenetrable brush. The door, which had been kicked in by a winter storm, lay on the floor inside; only the twisted wreckage of the lower hinge was still nominally attached.

In the intervening years blackberry and honeysuckle had invaded and filled the interior, along with bracken, lady fern, and infant trees, and the roof and wooden parts had rotted in places. Its concrete floor was completely saturated, covered with standing water and mud from infiltrated silt.

I really didn't need a place to sit, as the house – high on a bluff above the grey Pacific, with few neighbours – was already the best hermit hut in history. But rehabilitating one of my grandmother's work stations was an attractive premise, and the place would provide ground-level, fundamentally outdoor meditation, which I always prefer when available.

So I set-to, and after a lot of concentrated effort and scrounging of materials, ended up with this serviceable little squat. I even once sat an all-night sesshin there, hoping to glimpse the bear that left scat in front of it. (I didn't, but I did learn, not for the last time, that spring nights on the North Pacific are bitterly winter-cold.)

So here it is, my own hermit hut. Or to be perfectly accurate, my monastic playhouse. It might not have been strictly necessary, but I learned a lot of Zen there.

WW: Sesshin lunch

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Three Meditation Timer Apps

I've used a lot of meditation timers since I started doing this. First was a CD of surf sounds. Two half-hour tracks, Atlantic first, then Pacific. "K-tel's Saltwater Super Hits."

As my zazen turned toward the orthodox I started using my refrigerator, sitting through the end of the cycle, or the beginning, then deciding if I wanted to sit through the next.

During my first sesshin I used a VCR: fast forward to the end of a cassette, rewind back 30 minutes, and reset counter. Then push "play" and the machine runs to the end of the spool, then auto-rewinds back to zero with a whirr and a "ka-klunk". Replay as necessary.

Eventually I got a pager-like timer I wear on the belt of my robe. I still use it sometimes. Also my watch, the timer on my iPod, an old-fashioned beaded mala, and, when I can, nothing at all; I just sit till I'm done.

But all of these solutions, while effective, lack a certain charm. And sometimes you just want a little atmosphere. Which is why it finally occurred to me to check out meditation timers for iOS.

Naturally I mean free ones.

Here are three that a not-very-long survey of the iTunes App library turned up. I don't know if they're available for other platforms, but if not, something else must be. Also, I've resolutely not updated the system on my iPod for five years, so I couldn't run some of the fancier apps I encountered. YMMV.

But each is effective and competitively priced.

WCCM App 2 is a gift from the World Community for Christian Meditation. It doesn't seem to have been updated in some time, but works well on my iPod. The welcome menu is a list of hotlinks to WCCM news boards, teachings, and devotionals – no doubt valuable for WCCM meditators. If you check the lower righthand corner of your screen you'll also see a stopwatch labelled "Meditation Tools". That takes you to a beautifully simple meditation timer that seekers of all traditions can use. You get your choice of one tone (a very nice singing bowl), customisable preparation interval, and session, which starts with one chime and ends with three. All in all, an elegant, effective resource.

Zenso is somewhat more complex, but intuitive and easy to use, offering in addition to a preparation interval the possibly of programming mindfulness bells during the session proper. You also get 7 traditional Zen tones, from chimes of various sizes to moktak to One Hand Clapping (aka Jack). You can select the number of reps too, from 1 to 3, though you'll have to take their word on that last one. There's also a vibrate option if your tech can do that.

And finally, Enso is a purchase-in-app alternative whose free default mode is well worthwhile. It offers the same timing options as Zenso, with a graphic interface that allows you literally to dial up the number of minutes you want. You only get one tone – a vaguely sci-fi-sounding synthesised chime that's oddly satisfying, given the Star Trek technology you're using – but you can buy any or all of 11 other bells for not much if you'd like. The app also includes some attainment-oriented functions that teach the wrong path, as far as I'm concerned, but, you know… off-switch, 'n'all.

To find these meditation aids search their titles at the iTunes app store, using your mobile device. While you're at it you might simply browse "meditation timer" as well; chances are your device is more current than mine, and your choices correspondingly broader.

And remember not to get attached to your new app. If the time or circumstance comes when you can't use it, temporarily or at all, that's got nothing to do with the quality of your sitting.

That's all on you.


(Photo courtesy of Liam Ferguson and Wikimedia Commons.)

WW: Sesshin lunch

Hermitcraft: Solitary Sesshin, Pt. 3: Food

(A sesshin schedule template is available in Part I. For general tips on sesshin planning, see Part II.)

For an activity that's all about putting sensual stimulus in context, sesshin is remarkably dependent on food. Right food equals good sesshin; the opposite can significantly compromise it.

I've had best luck when sesshin meals conform to three principles:

1. Simplicity.

When preparing dishes from scratch, this is holy writ; you just don't have time for feats of gastronomic splendour. But even with pre-cooked food, extravagance derails the mind of sesshin. Simple, straightforward meals work best.

On the other hand, spending a day looking deeply tends to lead you to taste deeply, too. You'll find that simple food becomes remarkably delicious during sesshin.

2. Diversity

But you do want a spectrum of flavours and textures. This supports the sesshin theme of discovery and gives freshly-honed senses something to chew on. (So to speak.) My favourite sesshin dishes (see "Lunch", below) fill this requirement nicely, as you can throw almost anything into them.

3. Mindful restraint

This means not eating more, or more often, than you need. In a culture that bombasts constantly about more! and choice! and luxury!, it can be easy to forget that true enjoyment comes from the opposite: mindful consumption of just-enough. So when you reach that point, stop. If it later turns out you didn't fuel up quite enough to stave off obstructive suffering, issue yourself a snack.

Better yet, if you consistently fall in a hole at a given point in the day, schedule tea meditation there next time. (This is were recordkeeping shows its stuff.) Sit comfortably in a chosen location and enjoy a good cup of tea while meditating for twenty minutes or so. This allows you to maintain the forms; gain a meditation period; and care for yourself and your practice – for a Zen grand slam.


Application of these principles looks like this:

First thing in the morning I make a pot of good green – traditional, simpler than black, compatible with meals – for use all day, reheating as necessary. Since it's astringent (makes you thirsty), I serve water at meals as well.

Breakfast is a bowl of grain; fresh fruit; tea; and water.

I like a hot main course, typically brown rice with a blork of soy sauce and a little black pepper. That's it; no butter, vegetables, or other amendments. Porridge or other hot cereal are also good.

Lunch (see photo above) can be any leftover on hand; if none, then Bassho bowl or noodles. The first is a bowlful of brown rice with a protein source (beans, nuts, cheese, seaweed, cooked egg, leftover meat) and a vegetable. The second is the same again, but with ramen instead of rice. Because the soup is less consistent, I toss in more vegetables. I also use half or less of the very salty flavour packet.

For a side dish I prepare a flavour plate, an ancient Zen tradition designed to provide a sensory work-out. Traditionally it contains five flavours: sweet, tart, salty, bitter, and savoury. (Apparently the Ancestors didn't do spicy.) I don't obsess over these categories; just lay out a variety of colours, flavours, and textures. (This is one place where a good shelf of pickles pays off.)

And of course, tea and water.

Dinner is the same as lunch, except with ramen if I had rice before or vice-versa, and fruit on the side instead of the flavour plate.

Formal tea is my last meal of the day, taken with a snack during study period.

I don't observe oryoki at-table; when eating on the ground, I use my outdoor oryoki. If you find oryoki useful at-table, or you prefer to eat on the cushion, monastery-style, work up a solitary ceremony that fills your needs. Make sure to document it in detail. Not only does that allow you to share it with others, you'll forget many of the forms between sesshins and need a refresher course yourself.

Final hint: don't overthink things. Your food doesn't have to be Japanese or vegan or "Zen" or whatever. Just enjoy it. Experience it in depth, both preparing and eating. Be aware of every step and condition that brings food to your bowl, and the debt that implies.

Done properly, the ritual of eating will join meditation and work to become the third pillar of sesshin.

Congratulations; you're working the feed to feed the work.

Hermitcraft: Solitary Sesshin, Pt. 2: Planning

(For an overview of solitary sesshin, see Part I. For meal planning tips, see Part III.)

Planning is the difference between a sustaining sesshin and wasted time. Plan well, and you'll "touch the mind". Don't plan, and you'll touch frustration.

It's a good idea to start a week in advance. Though slapping a sesshin together the night before becomes doable after you've got a few under your belt, in all cases a longer runway makes for better practice.

Take that lead week to:

• Plan your menu (specific tips here).
• Procure supplies.
• Prepare time-consuming dishes in advance.
• Print out Net-sourced study materials; multiple copies of your sesshin schedule; and your meal plan. This allows you to avoid computers and other soma-screens on show day, which is a major prop to concentration and mindfulness.

On Sesshin Eve:

• Prep your tea pot so all you have to do next morning is heat and pour water.
• Ready zafu and zabuton, and any other paraphernalia such as timer, bell, tuque, etc, in the zendo (meditation room or spot).
• Post your schedule around the house. (Zendo, bathroom, kitchen, garden, hall, work room…)
• Set up incense or scented candles*, if used.
• Straighten up and vacuum.
• Turn off your phone. (Completely. No vibrating. Lock it in a drawer.)

*Incense is useful to set up mindful, contemplative space, even if you rarely use it other times. Scented candles are a Roman Catholic approach some may prefer. As ever, spend money on the good stuff.

Preliminary thoughts:

• Prioritise sitting. There's a tendency to fudge on the meditation; to cut it down with too many work or study periods. But meditation is what sesshin is all about, and if you stiff yourself, you may not realise the benefits you seek. A half-hearted sesshin can even exacerbate unhappy states. When in doubt, err on the side of sitting.

• Morning meditation always sucks. You're sleepy, grumpy, lonely; the place is dark and cold; you have no clue why you thought this was a good idea. (This is just as true in the monastery. Aloneness is not the dependence of this co-arising.) But those morning blocks lay the foundation for the whole day. Sit them faithfully, regardless of mood.

• Work and study are also important. Have a minimum of one hour-long period for each. (Hygiene breaks and after-meal clean-ups don't count.)

• Recordkeeping is an ancient part of Zen practice, and it's important to log your own sesshins: what worked, what didn't work, any noteworthy divergences from the printed schedule, stuff to do or not to do next time. Don't forget to note significant moments, even if they're not relevant to future efforts. "Brilliant sunrise." "Fabulous sit after dinner." "Eggs have hatched in the nest by the garage."

• During sesshin, write notes on paper. If your sesshin log is on computer, transfer the comments to it next day.

• Keep old schedules and menus on file, whether hard or digital. (Ideally both.) This makes planning future sesshins a lot easier and serves as additional historical documentation.

• I find a formal nap productive. Always schedule the nap immediately after a sit. Sometime before lunch generally works best for me. You'll need a 10-minute passing period afterward to get dressed and wake up. Don't schedule a sit immediately after a nap; do something else between, even for 20 minutes.

• Work is generally best when it's simple and physical. (Cleaning up your actual desk: good. Cleaning up the desktop on your computer: bad.) Avoid work that requires communication, such as correspondence.

• Though it may appear physically undemanding, sesshin is hard on the body; by bedtime you'll be racked. You'll have better luck (and better meditation) if you schedule shorter sits than normal. My daily sits are forty to sixty minutes, but I limit them to thirty during sesshin.

• Back-to-back sits should be separated by ten minutes of mindful, low-effort movement, such as kinhin (walking meditation), yoga, tai chi, or stretching exercises. The point is to loosen up those joints without scattering your mind or stirring up your endocrine system.

• Be comfortable. Have a good cushion or chair, regulate light and temperature, deal effectively with hunger, fatigue, and thirst, so they don't disrupt the task at hand. Machismo and indiscipline are manifestations of the same delusion.

• The best study texts for sesshin are formal and classical. Commentary on the sutras or koans is perfect. Avoid stuff about Zen politics ("The Zen response to teacher misconduct") or worldly application ("Practice with pets"), unless they address challenges that prompted the sesshin. "Meditations" – lists of unanswered questions on a given theme, such as forgiveness or acceptance – are also good.

• A major difference between solitary and group sesshin is the need for sound. When you sit with others, there's a conversation going on, whether you hear it or not. Alone, the silence can become oppressive. To remedy this I listen to a podcasted teisho during work period (same rules as written study), and supportive music – chanting, singing bowls, shakuhachi, whatever works – while preparing a meal. Figure out what works best for you.

• End the sesshin on a sit, after evening hygiene and bedtime tasks. Go straight to bed afterward; if you futz around between, you may experience bad sleep or depression next day.

• Finally, don't give up. A difficult day often leads to a good evening. And a hard sesshin may lead to a good next day. You've lit a trash fire inside your skull; whatever happens next is not going to be uncomplicated.


But I've consistently found that a good sesshin, well-planned and carried off, is a rebirth. Even if you're a few days in labour.

Hermitcraft: Solitary Sesshin, Pt. 1: Schedule

(For general tips on sesshin planning, see Part II. For meal planning, see Part III.)

I sat sesshin last Friday, and as one of my work tasks I reviewed the records of all the solitary sesshins I've sat since the first one, fifteen years ago.

Because I usually open that file only to add information, I hadn't read most of those entries since they were made. It was a bittersweet experience, mostly uplifting memories of the sesshins I've sat in various places and conditions, along with reminders of the difficulties that prompted them.

The point of this was to work up a list of step-by-step instructions for sesshin planning. Sure enough, I encountered a few mistakes that I'd made (and recorded) over and over, then forgotten in the interim. And also the odd success, similarly overlooked and unreplicated .

Sesshin, or meditation retreat, is the central ritual of Zen practice. The word, from Sino-Japanese, translates variously as "uniting the mind", "receiving the mind", "touching the heart", and "seeking the essence". But at ground level it means meditating for one or more straight days.

A more thorough description is: juxtaposing seated meditation with other experiences in a controlled environment for a defined period of time.

Of course we strive for a meditative state every day, yea though we're embedded in the Red Dust World (i.e., the caterwaul of humanity). But even monastery monks don't normally spend whole days in meditation, or maintain a state of formal meditation during chores.

Thus sesshin, where we renew our vows and burn off the crap that accrues in the corners of our minds in the course of our worldly lives. It can also reset one's head after a disequilibriating experience, or perform course corrections in one's monastic practice.

When I became a hermit monk in 2002, I often read about sesshin in my studies. I had no Zen centre near, but with that "beginner mind" we Zenners go on about, I figured what the hell, I'd just do one myself.

Accordingly I Googled "sesshin" and "schedule", downloaded examples from Zen centres around the world, and used them to work up a schedule of my own. I still use this template, adapted as necessary.

A few years later, when I was able to join a Zen centre, I was gratified to see that my bespoke sesshins were substantially the same as theirs.

It occurs to me that others might benefit from my experience in this matter, and also that some readers may not even realise that you can sit sesshin alone. (A few cœnobites have actually told me straight-up that it's impossible, that sesshin is necessarily a herd activity. For the record, not only are they wrong – and entirely lacking in experience – solitary sesshins can be more effective than group ones on several levels.)

Therefore I'm posting a series of how-to's on the subject, starting with this one. When it's finished, beginners who want to start a sesshin practice of their own will be able to build on my decade and a half of trail and error.

To kick it off, I'm sharing my schedule template below. This one is for a work sesshin, wherein accomplishing a specified task is given equal importance to zazen. I also sit meditation-intensive sesshins; just re-allot some work time to sitting.

You'll also detect unaccounted minutes in some blocks. That's because most activities require a 5- (or 10-) minute passing period. Zazen-to-kinhin is a salient exception, because you don't usually have to move very far, change clothes, or wash up between.

Anyway, this week I'll just leave you here. Next time I'll elaborate on the ins and outs of scheduled activities, and offer some pointers on efficient and effective solitary practice.

My sesshin schedule template (to modify to your own ends):

Stillness Sesshin, 20 February 2017

0600–0620	dress, light rushlight, feed animals
0620–0650	zazen
0650–0710	make pot of tea; kinhin
0710–0740	zazen
0740–0820	breakfast and clean-up
0825–0925	brush teeth; first work period
0930–1000	zazen
1000–1010	kinhin
1010–1040	zazen
1050–1130	walk dog
1135–1200	prepare lunch
1200–1245	lunch and clean up
1250–1350	bathe; shave head
1355–1425	zazen
1430–1500	nap; set timer
1505–1535	zazen
1540–1640	work period
1645–1705	prep for dinner
1705–1750	dinner and clean-up
1750–1850	work
1855–1920	zazen
1920–1940	kinhin
1945–2015	zazen
2020–2115	tea and study
2120–2125	brush teeth
2130–2200	zazen

Then sleep.

Hermitcraft: Bindle Oryoki Set

Though the word translates as "just enough", oryoki has grown to mind-numbing complexity in Zen monasteries, where every second of every meal is carefully choreographed. Beginners often view this mealtime ritual as an onerous pack of made-up fuss, but in fact it's the most efficient way to get lots of people through a full-course meal and back to work. (Once everyone's mastered it, anyway.)

Centrepiece of the ceremony is the monk's dining set, which consists of three or more graduated bowls (details vary from house to house) nested and knotted in a large napkin, along with a range of utensils. Diners start and end each meal in the same position: seated before a neat, perfectly-packed oryoki set. Watching a well-trained sangha perform this bewildering kata, from opening through serving, eating, cleaning, and closing, is a memorable experience. (Participating in it is even better. As neurotic as it sounds, oryoki is curiously satisfying. I've never met a monk who doesn't consider it one of the most powerful – maybe the most powerful – liturgies in the monastic day.)

Having said that, I didn't intend to observe oryoki when I began my 100 Days on the Mountain; too much falderal for a man alone. But I quickly realised that it's even more necessary in the woods than in the artificial forest of institutional Zen. When you're sitting lotus on the ground, with only your lap for a table, you're forever reversing tea on yourself, scuffing dirt into your rice, knocking over the water bottle… those first meals without oryoki were a chaotic, wasteful fiasco. Fortunately I had the basic elements of a bowl set with me, and after some intensive assembly and invention, managed to reduce accidents to virtually none. (Absolutely none, if you subtract mishaps due to neglect of the forms.)

Out in the Red Dust World, storebought oryoki sets are often lovely works of art… and the money needed to buy some of them could keep their lacquerware Buddha bowls full for many years. By contrast, the kit you see here serves admirably for "bindle oryoki": an eremitical version of "just enough" that's, like, just enough. It includes only two bowls: a Buddha bowl for rice and beans, and a smaller one for tea; only two cloths (wrapper/wiper and lap cloth/spoon case); and – most heretical of all – a single utensil (still folded in the lap cloth in the photo at left). Fact is, forest practice doesn't require anything but a spoon. It'll put rice in your bowl, take rice out of your bowl, and scrape the bowl clean afterward. Mission accomplished.

All of this, properly (make that, obsessively) cleaned, wrapped, and knotted, fits nicely in my little tea kettle, and then both of those in my larger rice kettle.

The elements, with approximate prices new, in US dollars, are:

2 melamine bowls, $7.50
2 bandana handkerchiefs, $5.00
1 wooden mixing spoon, suitably modified and finished in trinity tar, $5.00

Total cost: less than $20.00. If that's still too much, you can buy the bowls at a dollar store or garage sale; make the cloths from old sheets or shirts; and whittle the spoon out of scrap wood. In fact, with due diligence, you could probably reduce the total investment to $0.00.

The spoon is the only component that requires careful consideration. I actually used an old stainless steel spoon on the mountain. Metal is tough and holds an edge, and so it scrapes the bowl well at meal's end. Also, a heat-proof utensil is handy; you never know what you might need to do with it. On the other hand, Japanese tradition favours the natural beauty of wood, and appreciates the fact that a wooden spoon makes less noise in the mouth. (One of the many neuroses of monastery etiquette.) This is germane to the forest as well, where a monk must keep the lowest possible profile for tactical reasons. Wooden implements also are non-reflective, and don't ring or sink if dropped.

The kettles came from an ancient camping cookset my parents bought in the early 60s with S&H Green Stamps. You can't get quality like that today – at least not at the price – but sharp eyes at the Good Value Army, or careful crafting of tin cans (for further consideration see this post), could get you into a serviceable pair for very little.

One way or the other, this set-up fed me with radiant adequacy for 100 days. I'm sure it'll do as much for you.

May each of us carry our bowls through this world with mindful resolve.

Hermitcraft: Pumpkin Pickles

October is an odd time in North America: for these thirty-one days, you can buy a pumpkin here. Any other time, you get: "What, are you crazy?" (One of us must be.)

And it only gets weirder: virtually none of the pumpkins Canucks and Yanks buy by the metric tonne this month will be eaten. Come All Saints Day, they will be thrown in the garbage. Even the thousands that were never cut.

Why are overseas readers now aghast? Because on all other continents, people know pumpkin for excellent food. One of the most versatile vegetables on earth, useful in every course of a meal, it's both delicious and nutritious. I've no idea why North Americans have demoted it to a gourd, but if it weren't for that Druid holiday we dug up and transplanted across the sea, this First Nations masterpiece (utterly unknown to the Druids) would have gone extinct here a century ago. If the irony gets any thicker, we can carve our jack o' lanterns out of that instead.

Or you can; I pickle mine. Pickles – a staple of Japanese monasteries – anchor the flavour plates I build for sesshins. (It's an ancient Zen art intended to pique mindfulness with a shotgun blast to the senses). And the pumpkin ones are my favourite: marrowy, neon orange, and sweet spicy-sour, with just a hint of musky bitterness from the lime.

The recipe:

PUMPKIN SESSHIN PICKLES

(Makes about 3 1/2 pints. Note that after step 3, you will have to wait 24 hours before continuing.)

7 cups raw pumpkin, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes
2 sticks cinnamon, shredded
2 1/3 cups cider vinegar
2 1/3 cups sugar
15 whole cloves
1/2 teaspoon whole black pepper corns
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 teaspoons whole allspice
1 tablespoon whole coriander seeds
2 inches gingerroot, sliced thin
lime slices, 1/4 inch thick, one per jar
dried cranberries ("craisins")
canning jars and lids

1. Cover the pumpkin cubes with water, bring to a boil, reduce heat, and lightly blanch, about 10 minutes. (Not longer; they'll cook another three times before you're done.) Drain immediately to avoid overcooking.

2. Put all other ingredients except lime slices and cranberries in a large pot and bring to a boil. (Warning: hot syrup boils over very quickly; stay present and alert.) Turn heat down to lowest setting, cover the pot, and simmer for 15 minutes.

3. Add the pumpkin cubes and bring back to a boil. Then cover the pot, lower heat, and simmer for 3 minutes. Afterward, remove the pot from the burner and set it aside for 24 hours.

4.Next day: Sterilise jars in a water bath canner. Heat the pumpkin and syrup mixture to boiling, then lower heat and simmer for 5 minutes.

5. Remove the jars one at a time from the hot water, drop in four to five cranberries, and ladle in hot pickles to 1/2 inch from the rim. Be sure to include spices.

6. Slide a lime slice between the pickles and the jar's side, fit a sterilised lid, screw the band down tight, and return the sealed jar to the water bath. Repeat until all the pickles are packed.

7. Turn up the heat under the canner and process (cook) the jars for an additional 5 minutes after the water has returned to a boil.

10. Remove the jars from the water and allow them to cool naturally until the lids pop. Store in a cool dark place for at least a month before opening. (Any that don't pop should be stored in the fridge and eaten first.)

Specific points on pickling jack o' lanterns:

To insure fresh pickle stock, carve your jack o' lantern on Hallowe'en and refrigerate the scraps; if you light it with a candle, line the lid with aluminium foil. Make your pickles next day, peeling off any soot or scorched flesh with a vegetable peeler. Later, when you eat them, you'll recognise bits of eye and teeth on your plate.

WW: Sesshin meal

(See this post for an exposition of the art of feeding a sesshin.)

My Hermit Hut

I've been feeling a bit nostalgic about the old meditation shed I had down at the beach, and it struck me that I've never actually posted on it, though others' huts have appeared here several times. (I did upload a named exterior shot ten years ago on Wordless Wednesday, but the others that have appeared from time to time were illustrating other topics, and so not identified.)

So in the interest of completism, here it is.

This tiny shack, the very picture of a true purist's definition of "hut", started life as my grandmother's potting shed. My grandfather carved it out of the slope below their house, where I lived for ten years during the formative period of my Zen practice. When I arrived, the house and grounds were both in dire condition; eventually I hacked my way down to this cinderblock shanty, re-opening a steep, eroded goat trail through impenetrable brush. The door, which had been kicked in by a winter storm years before, lay on floor inside; only the twisted wreckage of the lower hinge was still nominally attached.

In the intervening years blackberry and honeysuckle had invaded and filled the interior, along with bracken, lady fern, and infant trees, and the roof and wooden parts had rotted in places. Its concrete floor was completely saturated, covered with standing water and mud from infiltrated silt.

I really didn't need a place to sit, as the house – high on a bluff above the grey Pacific, with few neighbours – was already the best hermit hut in history. But rehabilitating one of my grandmother's work stations was an attractive premise, and the place would provide ground-level, fundamentally outdoor meditation, which I always prefer when available.

So I set-to, and after a lot of concentrated effort and scrounging of materials, ended up with this serviceable little squat. I even once sat an all-night sesshin there, hoping to glimpse the bear that left scat in front of it. (I didn't, but I did relearn, not for the last time, that spring nights on the North Pacific are bitterly winter-cold.)

So here it is, my own hermit hut. Or to be perfectly accurate, my monastic playhouse. It might not have been strictly necessary, but I learned a lot of Zen there.