Created 23-Aug-26
Threatened by wildfire, occasionally besieged by smoke, we rest in the stillness of Tassajara Zen Mountain Center. Take one day at a time; don’t obsess over what you can’t control, the many possibilities that may arise. External circumstances are a good metaphor for living an awakened life.
My Tassajara workshop this year was led by Lee Klinger Lesser: Sensory Awareness: How Does my Love for Life want to Express Itself? This was my third try for a Tassajara experience this summer; I’m glad I came.
Oh Tassajara! Magical refuge, tucked in a verdant valley at the end of a harrowing descent through bone-dry chaparral hillsides. The Zen tradition of Shunryu Suzuki Roshi is rooted here, flowering. Summer visitors are welcome to participate in Zazen and chanting, a taste of the monastic life practiced here throughout the year. I am grateful for the open-hearted hospitality and welcome shown me, a bumbling outsider, into their intimate ceremonies.
The first gallery here shows the environment along Tassajara Creek, beyond the Zen Center. The second, life in the core of the Zen Mountain Center, including our workshop.
Each morning I awaken in time for 6 am zazen – using no alarm, but I might subconsciously sense the bells and countdowns, even with my limited hearing. The valley is awakening as I near the dark zendo. Possessions discarded, shoes and socks off, I join other dark figures entering the still space, bowing, taking my cushion. Big smile: it’s wonderful to be Home.
After zazen, I often continue up the creek, follow the dwindling trail, cross the boulder-strewn creekbed, and enter an open meadow. A swing set stands there – what? Time for a few swings, then to open up to the morning, right here. Sensory awareness, awareness of creation. One morning I glimpse movement at the edge of the creek. I lift camera to eye and focus: shy chipmunk silently stretches from slick stone, drinking still water. Finished, it glances around, then disappears into streamside tangle. I see no sign that it notices me, watching from the dry creekbed downstream.
A swing set sits in a clearing there, incongruous, inviting. Swinging back and forth, I find my feet naturally pumping in rhythm, my body bending backwards and forwards, pumping the swing’s arc wider and higher. (The workshop teaches me, be aware of gravity holding me to Earth’s surface, aware of the solid ground supporting me. Here, I am aware that acceleration is also a sister force to gravity, adding or subtracting: at the bottom of the swing, I press more strongly into the swing; pausing at the top, I am weightless for an instant before patient gravity calls me back for another swing.) Swinging backwards, I lean back, watching upside-down trees rush toward me.
A small wood fragment, the size of my hand, rests lightly on the dry grass – amazingly light as I pick it up. It is scorched on one side, charcoal, and untouched on the other. [It reminds me of a small statue on the zendo altar, charred to charcoal on one side, original wood on the other, probably rescued from the burning zendo?] I wonder – where did this fragment come from? I see no sign of recent fire elsewhere in the clearing. Was the woodchip tossed aloft from a raging fire, whirled through the air, then transported miles before dropping here? If so, we are lucky the smoldering ember went out in the air, and didn’t light another fire right here.
Downstream from the Zen Center, the creek runs free. Butterfly, lizard, and dragonfly inhabit the green world; larvae devour the body of leaves, leaving only the veins. Wading into the calm creek, one can see reflections of surrounding cliffs behind floating leaves.
ps 8/28/2026: Tassajara is now being evacuated; this workshop was the last for this season. The Timber Fire has drawn uncomfortably near. Tassajara has survived many fires; let us hope it persists
My Tassajara workshop this year was led by Lee Klinger Lesser: Sensory Awareness: How Does my Love for Life want to Express Itself? This was my third try for a Tassajara experience this summer; I’m glad I came.
Oh Tassajara! Magical refuge, tucked in a verdant valley at the end of a harrowing descent through bone-dry chaparral hillsides. The Zen tradition of Shunryu Suzuki Roshi is rooted here, flowering. Summer visitors are welcome to participate in Zazen and chanting, a taste of the monastic life practiced here throughout the year. I am grateful for the open-hearted hospitality and welcome shown me, a bumbling outsider, into their intimate ceremonies.
The first gallery here shows the environment along Tassajara Creek, beyond the Zen Center. The second, life in the core of the Zen Mountain Center, including our workshop.
Each morning I awaken in time for 6 am zazen – using no alarm, but I might subconsciously sense the bells and countdowns, even with my limited hearing. The valley is awakening as I near the dark zendo. Possessions discarded, shoes and socks off, I join other dark figures entering the still space, bowing, taking my cushion. Big smile: it’s wonderful to be Home.
After zazen, I often continue up the creek, follow the dwindling trail, cross the boulder-strewn creekbed, and enter an open meadow. A swing set stands there – what? Time for a few swings, then to open up to the morning, right here. Sensory awareness, awareness of creation. One morning I glimpse movement at the edge of the creek. I lift camera to eye and focus: shy chipmunk silently stretches from slick stone, drinking still water. Finished, it glances around, then disappears into streamside tangle. I see no sign that it notices me, watching from the dry creekbed downstream.
A swing set sits in a clearing there, incongruous, inviting. Swinging back and forth, I find my feet naturally pumping in rhythm, my body bending backwards and forwards, pumping the swing’s arc wider and higher. (The workshop teaches me, be aware of gravity holding me to Earth’s surface, aware of the solid ground supporting me. Here, I am aware that acceleration is also a sister force to gravity, adding or subtracting: at the bottom of the swing, I press more strongly into the swing; pausing at the top, I am weightless for an instant before patient gravity calls me back for another swing.) Swinging backwards, I lean back, watching upside-down trees rush toward me.
A small wood fragment, the size of my hand, rests lightly on the dry grass – amazingly light as I pick it up. It is scorched on one side, charcoal, and untouched on the other. [It reminds me of a small statue on the zendo altar, charred to charcoal on one side, original wood on the other, probably rescued from the burning zendo?] I wonder – where did this fragment come from? I see no sign of recent fire elsewhere in the clearing. Was the woodchip tossed aloft from a raging fire, whirled through the air, then transported miles before dropping here? If so, we are lucky the smoldering ember went out in the air, and didn’t light another fire right here.
Downstream from the Zen Center, the creek runs free. Butterfly, lizard, and dragonfly inhabit the green world; larvae devour the body of leaves, leaving only the veins. Wading into the calm creek, one can see reflections of surrounding cliffs behind floating leaves.
ps 8/28/2026: Tassajara is now being evacuated; this workshop was the last for this season. The Timber Fire has drawn uncomfortably near. Tassajara has survived many fires; let us hope it persists
Beyond the Zen Center: the Natural World of Tassajara Valley
Visitors 8
35 photos
Created 28-Aug-26
Modified 28-Aug-26
Tassajara Zen Mountain Center: Workshop in Peaceful Surroundings
Visitors 9
22 photos
Created 23-Aug-26
Modified 23-Aug-26
Dan Quinn