The ZEN Weekend ~ a short story by Sara Lawlor

Have you ever been on a Zen retreat or thought it is something that you may like to try? This guest post, written by Sara Lawlor, uses the short story form to explore the thoughts and emotions, which many of us who have taken part in such a retreat, have experienced. It is a little longer than our usual offerings. We hope that you enjoy it. We would love your feedback.

Fred began his packing with a sense of trepidation. ‘This could be an awful mistake!” he thought. What would it be like at the monastery? How would he cope with three days of silence? Would he manage to sit still for the meditation sessions? And should he really be leaving the farm in the hands of his brother-n-law? He frowned, as he stuffed another pair of warm socks into his holdall. Lately things had been challenging, to say the least. The farm was struggling; Fred was working longer and longer hours just to keep afloat and make ends meet. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, the wise monks could help him find a way to cope; even give him a sense of hope. Fred had driven past the monastery many times over the years but never gone there. Now he was taking the plunge – on his daughter’s suggestion – in fact, she had booked him onto the retreat as a Christmas present. ‘It’s probably completely bonkers – someone like me going on something like this’, thought Fred. He was a sturdy man who had always been thought of as tough, practical and masculine. But since the divorce and the empty nest, he didn’t feel quite so resilient. ‘I hope I can cope with vegetarian food for three days’, he thought, with a sigh.

*

Meanwhile, in another part of the country, a woman called Freya was sitting on a train, hurtling through the windswept countryside. It was a long journey to the monastery. ‘I hope it will be worth it,’ she thought, as she munched on a felafel and salad sandwich and stared out of the window. After four hours on the train, she would have to take a bus to a small town and then a taxi from there for the final lag, out into the middle of nowhere. Freya was looking forward to three days of peace and quiet. Things had been hectic in her job working for a large charity. And as a single mum with two teenagers, as well as aging parents to support, Freya felt stretched to the limit. ‘I hope these wise monks will help me find a way to be calmer,’ she thought, as the train rumbled along. ‘I wonder what the food will be like. Hopefully they know how to cook decent vegan food.’ She had made sure to tick the special diet box on the registration form.

*

The remote zen monastery on its lonely hillside, was buzzing with action, as a group of Buddhist monks prepared for their visitors. Booked onto the three-day silent retreat for beginners were twelve people, many with busy and stressful lives, all eager to find peace and stillness. Some were travelling a long distance to get there; some were more local. It was early January, that bleak, dull period after Christmas and new year and the weather was dark, stormy and cold.

*

At six o’clock that evening, the twelve visitors found themselves seated in the rather austere monastery dining hall, around a long table. A female monk sat at the head of the table, wearing simple brown robes. She introduced herself as Reverend Oshun. She had a kind face with rosy cheeks, warm brown eyes and a gentle manner. ‘She seems to emanate a sense of peace and calm’, thought Freya. A large pot of soup was passed down the table. Each person served themselves and then silently passed the pot on to their neighbour. Bread came next, handed along in a basket. Then came a plate of sliced cheese, followed by peanut butter, for the vegans. When everyone had served themselves, Reverend Oshun recited some words about the Buddha’s life, then rang a gong – a signal to begin eating.

‘This silence is deafening’, thought Fred, wincing and trying not to slurp his soup. At home, he always ate with the TV or radio on, no matter what. ‘And this soup could use a bit more flavour’, he reflected. Further down the table, Freya was enjoying the silence. Mealtimes at home were always noisy – arguments often broke out between her moody teenagers. ‘It’s nice to be cooked for,’ she thought, ‘and not a bad soup.’ She was struck by the attention to detail she saw everywhere around her – small things such as each person’s name pinned to a spotless white napkin with a tiny golden safety pin.

*

At 7.30pm a gong sounded and everyone assembled in the temple for the first meditation session. A huge, magnificent golden Buddha sat in splendour on a pale green altar which was decorated with fruit, flowers and candles. The temple was softly lit; its light blue walls were painted with billowing white clouds; a feeling of deep peace and stillness seemed to permeate the space, along with the delicate scent of Japanese incense. Each of the retreatants had a mat with a cushion to sit on, facing the wall. A monk called Reverend Gabriel waited for everyone to settle. Fred noticed how brightly his eyes shone out from his aged, lined face. The monk explained how to sit in a relaxed but upright pose and how to watch thoughts as they came. He spoke of not attaching to the thoughts but just letting each one go, again and again.

“Don’t try to think or try not to think”, he told them, “the mind secretes thoughts, like the liver secretes bile. Just let each one go, don’t follow it. Remember – our thoughts are just thoughts. No need to believe them or attach to them.” He instructed everyone to breathe naturally, keeping their eyes half open. “We don’t shut out the world by closing our eyes”, he added. He then rang a gong three times, to signal the start of the first meditation session. 

‘Here we go,’ thought Freya, trying to sit up very straight on her cushion. Her first thought was: ‘I hope I can do this right.’ And after that, thoughts came thick and fast. Freya tried to watch them and not get involved but it was harder than it sounded. Her next thoughts were about her two teenagers. What was their dad cooking for them? Would they remember to let the cat out? Had they got the washing in?  It seemed impossible to stop these thoughts! Freya remembered the advice – just keep letting thoughts go. She was shocked to find there was barely a single moment without a thought. Most of them were trivial and boring; some provoked anxiety. ‘Oh my God,’ thought Freya, ‘My mind is like a noisy monkey, jabbering away nonstop!’ Despite trying not to, she often found she got lost in the thoughts. After fifteen minutes, her back began to ache. Then the thoughts changed to ‘My back hurts, how much longer can I sit like this? I really want to stretch.’ Then: ‘This is pointless. Why am I doing this to myself?’ Again, she tried to drop the thoughts as they arose but they seemed relentless. 

Fred, on his cushion, was experiencing a similar deluge. His mind immediately went to the farm. ‘Did I lock up the dairy? Will Mark remember to switch off all the lights in the outbuildings? God, my knees hurt! I hope this is going to get easier! What about that delivery of hay – I wonder if it arrived.’ He tried to follow the monk’s advice and let go of these persistent, tedious thoughts but he found he got caught up in them. When the gong finally sounded, Fred felt his shoulders slump with disappointment – he had managed to get himself to this beautiful and peaceful place, only to find he had brought all his stress with him! At 9pm, the twelve retreatants filed quietly out of the temple and into their dormitories. Freya found herself sharing with three other women. She longed for a friendly little chat, even in a whisper, but her roommates looked somewhat serious and didn’t make eye contact. As she settled down to sleep, Freya felt a sudden stab of home sickness. Fred found himself sharing a room with five other men. He settled on his bunk quickly and pulled the covers over his head, glad of the silence.

*

At 6am the following morning, the retreatants assembled in the temple again and took up their positions on their cushions. Freya felt bleary eyed and barely awake, as the gong sounded and the morning meditation began. ‘Here we go again,’ she thought, hoping she would do better this time. But immediately the thoughts started up. ‘Did I remember to tell the kids to do their homework? Hope my manager was happy with that report I wrote. The other people on this retreat look so serene, I wonder if their minds are as busy as mine.’ Then the thoughts tailed off and Freya found herself nodding forward, as a fog of sleepiness overcame her. Again and again, her head jerked forward as she battled to stay upright. By the time the gong went to end the first session, Freya was beginning to feel she was failing badly at this. Fred had found himself dealing with escalating anxious thoughts about the farm. ‘Am I going to go bankrupt? Should I sell off some land to developers?’

*

Breakfast was a welcome relief – a hearty porridge accompanied by nuts and seeds and fruit. Freya was pleased to find soya milk as an alternative to dairy. But Fred thought longingly of his usual full English with eggs, crispy bacon and sausages. After breakfast came ‘working meditation’. A youngish, fresh faced monk called Reverend Declan appeared and explained that working in silence together and being fully present in each task was a very important part of the day. Freya was assigned to the kitchen with several others, to help prepare lunch. Outside, the storm had passed, the winter sun looked bright and alluring and Freya felt a longing to work outdoors. The kitchen seemed dark and fusty and the monk in charge there a little severe. ‘Why couldn’t they have given us the choice?’ she wondered with a sigh. ‘I’m sick and tired of all the kitchen work I do at home.’ Fred was asked to work outdoors with a few others, helping one of the monks chop wood. ‘As if I don’t do enough physical outdoor labour,’ he complained to himself, ‘why couldn’t they have given me something gentle such as kitchen work, chopping vegetables?’

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Freya was feeling a sense of indignation. She was given the task of grating a huge block of cheese. Her mind began to rage about the dairy industry and its link to the meat industry. How could monks, who were supposedly enlightened beings, not be vegan? she wondered, her jaw tight. She noticed with some annoyance how calm and relaxed the other retreatants around her looked, as they chopped vegetables.

Out in the monastery grounds, Fred was busy swinging an axe. He observed the hills around him – with sheep and cows dotted all around – his beloved homeland. ‘This is perfect grazing land’, he thought to himself as he chopped wood. ‘Why the hell don’t the monks keep cows and sheep and eat meat? They could produce their own milk and butter. It’s so obviously the sensible thing to do. ‘Furthermore, he reasoned, ‘it’s totally hypocritical to eat diary produce and not meat. Don’t the monks realise that the dairy and meat industry are linked?’

*

After the work session, a gong sounded and everyone gathered in the common room for a silent tea break. Sipping her tea, Freya picked up a book and opened it randomly. Her eyes were drawn to the words: 

• ‘Think of neither good nor evil; consider neither wrong nor right;
• set up not your own standards; 
• with the ideal comes the actual; 
• when the opposites arise, the Buddha mind is lost.’ 

   She pondered over these words. Fred sipped his tea slowly, staring out of the windows with a blank expression and wondering what would be for lunch. After the tea break, came the second meditation of the day. By 11am the retreatants had taken their places on their cushions in the temple again. For the first half hour, Reverend Oshun gave a talk. She spoke of dropping off body and mind, just sitting naturally, like a child, letting go of thinking. Then there was a ten-minute walking meditation, moving at snail’s pace in a large circle round the temple, before sitting again for a further half an hour of silence.

  This time, Freya found her mind fixating on the kitchen, ‘Surely monks should realise the dairy industry is cruel and linked to the meat industry. The monastery should be vegan if they don’t want animals to be killed.’ Freya tried to drop these thoughts. When she did, she noticed a momentary feeling of stillness, spaciousness and sense of relief opening up. But then the same thoughts would return like a plague of mosquitos, whining round and round inside her head.

  On his cushion, Fred’s mind had gone into overdrive about the vegetarian diet at the monastery, when the land around it was, he believed, the perfect place for grazing animals. ‘They could support local farms like mine by eating meat. They shouldn’t be buying in dairy produce if they’re not willing to face up to eating meat.’ Whenever Fred paused and dropped these thoughts, he felt a fleeting sense of peace. But then the thoughts returned with a vengeance, as if he had a screeching howler monkey sitting on his shoulder.

  *

  Finally, the gong rang and the retreatants filed into the dining room for lunch. A delicious aroma filled the air. A large pan of tofu and mushroom stroganoff was passed down the table, followed by rice, and then a healthy-looking salad of cucumber, lettuce and tomato. 

  ‘Delicious vegan fare,’ thought Freya, with a smile.

  ‘Actually, not too bad for vegetarian food but a bit of meat wouldn’t go amiss,’ thought Fred.

  *

  After lunch came a welcome hour of free time. Freya went for a walk and breathed in the sharp, fresh air. She took in the wild beauty of the sweeping green hills; she listened deeply to the birdsong, as if properly hearing it for the first time in many years. She had the sense that her mind was quietening down just a little, with more pauses between the thoughts. Fred had a long hot shower. He felt some of the tension being washed away by the soothing hot water. The third meditation of the day started at 2.30pm; both Freya and Fred found it hard to stay awake.

  *

  At 4pm everyone assembled in the common room for tea and questions. Reverend Declan, the young fresh-faced monk, greeted them. He spoke about being present with each moment, accepting our experience as it is and fully entering into it. He invited questions. Freya took a deep breath, then raised her hand. 

  “To be honest, I’m finding the meditation sessions hard,” she said, ‘I just can’t believe how busy my mind is! Either that, or I keep nearly falling asleep. And my back and knees hurt after about fifteen minutes. Everyone else looks so still and serene! I find myself wriggling to get comfortable.” Reverend Declan looked around the room.

   “Can anyone else who is having a similar experience please raise their hand?” he asked. Freya was amazed to see nearly all the hands go up! Reverend Declan smiled and everyone began to laugh. He spoke of opening to our experience, whatever it is and not judging it, just allowing it to be as it is. Others asked questions. One woman shared that she felt as if she had a rebellious child inside her who was angry and resistant to the timetable. A middle-aged man confided that he felt extreme fear arising whenever he sat still. Then Fred spoke of feeling disappointed that he seemed to have brought all his stress and worries with him. By the end of the tea and questions, a feeling of shared understanding was felt in the room; it seemed everyone was in the same boat.

  At 5pm, they all gathered in the temple for evening service. The monks recited Rules for meditation. ‘Life passes as swiftly as a flash of lightning; in a moment the body passes away; do not waste time.’ Freya felt a shiver as these words penetrated her being. She experienced some exquisite moments of peace, where her thoughts dropped away and there was only the melodic sound of the monks’ voices. Dinner of tomato soup and bread followed around the long table. Fred noticed that he was getting used to eating in silence and that the soup was surprisingly tasty. At 7.30pm they were back in the temple again for the evening meditation session with vespers. Freya thought how beautiful this sounded, sung by the monks. She was getting more used to sitting still even though her mind was a tiny bit less busy. Fred noticed he was thinking less about the farm.

  *

  Next morning, after breakfast, jobs were handed out by Reverend Declan again. This time, Freya found herself being allocated to the dining room to clean and tidy it alongside Fred. The two spoke quietly, to introduce themselves and decide who would dust and who would vacuum. Their eyes met. Impulsively, Freya found herself whispering, 

  “It’s quite a programme, isn’t it?” 

  “Certainly is,” Fred whispered back, “my poor knees!” He gave a wry smile.

  “Mine too”, agreed Freya “and my busy, busy mind!”

  “Ditto,” Fred agreed. 

  “All this silence is tough too,” went on Freya, “I’m just not used to not talking!” She smiled, relieved to be able to speak to someone. Fred nodded.

  “Wished I was working outside yesterday in the sun, like you,” she continued, “I didn’t enjoy the kitchen work. To be honest…” she looked over her shoulder, then leant a little closer to Fred, “I think the monastery ought to be vegan, if they really care about all living beings.”

  Fred frowned. “Well, actually I was thinking that if they want to be truly environmental, they should have grazing animals and eat meat,” he whispered.

  Freya looked horrified. “Eat meat?” she exclaimed, her voice rising, “Oh no!  Killing animals is not OK! And as for dairy farming – it’s equally cruel!”

  “Well, I agree the dairy industry is linked to the meat industry,” Fred nodded “but being vegan isn’t the answer.” His jaw tensed. “It means importing nuts and soya beans from far off places. Air miles harm the planet far more than eating local meat…”

  “No!’ Freya burst out, her voice reaching a higher pitch, “How can you say killing poor, innocent animals is OK?” she felt her heart racing. What an idiot, she thought.

  “But think about it,” countered Fred, his voice also getting noticeably louder, “What people need to realise is that If we didn’t farm animals for food, they wouldn’t exist! All this veganism is ruining farming in our country. I’m a farmer – I should know!” I can’t believe the stupid woman doesn’t see that! He thought, the colour rising in his cheeks.

  “I’m not a fan of mansplaining, thank you!” Freya snapped, her voice now at louder than normal volume.

  “And I’m not a fan of bloody vegans!” barked Fred, turning away.

  At that moment, the dining room door opened. Reverend Declan appeared, looking unusually stern. He put a finger to his lips. “Please, remember this is a silent retreat,” he said in a quiet but firm voice. “For the benefit of yourselves and everyone else, we ask you to please keep the silence.” Freya muttered an apology and turned away to dust the windowsills. Fred rolled his eyes and stomped towards the vacuum cleaner.

  *

  That afternoon, Freya signed up for a one-to-one talk with one of the monks. As she entered the little meeting room, she was struck again by Reverend Oshun’s warm smile, upright posture and peaceful demeaner; a small statue of the Buddha sat serenely on a table in a corner of the room with a candle burning in front of it. Freya sat down. Reverend Oshun’s deep brown eyes regarded her, full of compassion. “Please feel free to talk to me about whatever you want,” the monk invited, “or ask any questions.”

  “Well,” Freya began, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I came to the monastery wanting to find peace and feel calmer. But… I’m actually feeling quite angry some of the time. The use of dairy products upsets me – I’m a strict vegan. And, to make things worse, I’ve just had a nasty little conflict with a very ignorant man called Fred who says monks should eat meat! He even went as far as to say that we vegans are ruining farming!” She felt her face growing hot and her voice trembling. Reverend Oshun sat very still and said nothing for a few moments. Suddenly, Freya felt ashamed.

  “I’m sorry, er… I don’t mean to be so negative…” she said, breaking the silence.

  Reverend Oshun smiled. “Can you allow yourself to feel where the anger is in your body and breathe right into it? she asked, “just let the feeling be there and connect with it?” 

  Freya tried. “It’s right here in my chest,” she said, “like a tight, throbbing ball.” 

  “Yes, see if you can let the feeling be just as it is and stay right there with it,” the monk went on, “but drop the thoughts about dairy produce, veganism and the conflict you just had with Fred. Let each thought go. It’s important you don’t fuel the anger with storylines. Thoughts are just thoughts; we don’t have to believe them.” Freya tried this. Each time a thought popped up, she tried to let it go and just breathe into the raw emotion she was feeling. The anger in her chest seemed to grow stronger, like a raging fire ball. She sat very still and after a while, it began to soften. Then, to her surprise, she found tears coming; Freya rarely cried. Reverend Oshun handed her a box of tissues.

  “And now, allow the tears,” the monk guided her, “breathe right into the pain you’re feeling.” Freya did this. She felt as if she was touching a deep well of sadness, underneath the anger. She breathed into it, trying to let go of self-judgement and shame. For a while, the tears continued to flow. Then she began to feel calmer, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  “Everyone is seeing the world from their own particular view point.” Reverend Oshun told her, “We are each looking out of our own little rabbit hole, as it were, all from a different angle, so we all see a different view from everyone else’s. Each of us believe our view is the right one. We say in the Buddhist scriptures, ‘With the ideal comes the actual; when the opposites arise, the Buddha mind is lost.’ “

  “I read that this morning in the common room!” Freya exclaimed.  Reverend Oshun suggested that Freya miss the next meditation session and go and take a rest instead. She gave her a story to read. 

  *

  Freya was grateful to lie down and relax on her bunk. She read the story:

  “Once there were three blind men, who came upon an elephant. The first man grasped the tail. ‘An elephant is like a rope,” he declared. The second man reached out and touched one of the elephant’s legs. “No! An elephant is nothing like a rope. It’s like a pillar,” he argued. The third man touched the elephant’s trunk. “You are both wrong!” he bellowed, “An elephant is not like a rope or a pillar. An elephant is like a branch.” The three men began to argue and fight. They shouted louder and louder at each other until the poor elephant ran away…”  As she reached the end of the story, Freya smiled, then fell into a deep and peaceful doze.

  *

  Meanwhile, Fed had asked to see one of the monks too and was ushered into a small office. Reverend Gabriel greeted him with a warm smile and once again Fred noticed his beautifully weathered face and startling green eyes. 

  “How can I help?” he asked, motioning for Fred to sit down.

  “I’m sorry, to say this,” began Fred uneasily, “but I think I’ve made a mistake coming here. I’m not finding much peace, only stressful thoughts which go round and round. And just now, I had a nasty little episode in the common room with a woman called Freya. She really annoyed me, banging on about veganism. I feel I should probably leave now and go home.” Reverend Gabriel’s face was open and kind. 

  “Can you allow yourself to be with your stress, just as it is?” asked the old monk, “What if you were to accept it and not try to change it?” 

  “Well, I thought the whole point of coming here was to try and get rid of it,” said Fred a little gruffly.

  “That’s what many people think,” smiled Reverend Gabriel, “they want a magic wand! In our practice, we don’t try to change our experience; we just try to be present with it, allow it to be as it is, get to know it. Can you sense where the stress is in your body?”

  Fred said he felt a rock of tension in his stomach. “Try breathing into it,” advised the monk, “say hello to it. Don’t fight it. Drop any thoughts that arise. Our scriptures say “Think of neither good nor evil, right nor wrong.” The monk smiled. “As for wrong or right about meat or veganism or the dairy industry, nothing in life is ideal, there’s always a compromise. We all just do the best we can in our particular circumstances. We try to cause as little harm as we can but it’s never perfect.” Fred felt his tension lessening. Just talking about his experience and breathing into it, in the monk’s presence, seemed to be helping. He decided he wouldn’t go home just yet.

  *

  That evening, in the temple, Reverend Gabriel invited each person to come up in turn to the altar and make an offering. He instructed them to take a pinch of incense and drop it onto the burning charcoal, then bow and silently ask to let go of something. Gongs were rung and the monks began to chant, processing around the temple in a line. The twelve retreatants began moving slowly behind the monks. When Freya reached the altar, she looked up at the peaceful, serene face of the huge golden Buddha and made a bow. Picking up a pinch of incense to offer, she wished to let go of her self-righteousness. When it was Fred’s turn, he found himself wishing to let go of his anger. Afterwards the retreatants sat in silent meditation for half an hour. Freya noticed that she was beginning to experience moments where thoughts dropped away, leaving her with a deep well of stillness. Fred found his knees hurt less and his mind felt clearer than it had for a very long time.

  *

  The next morning – the last day of the retreat – at 6am, the retreatants filed into the temple for their final meditation. The monks sang the morning scriptures, bowing, ringing bells and lighting incense. As Fred sat listening, he was amazed to find himself wishing that the retreat was longer.  As Freya listened to the beautiful chanting, she felt a sudden unexpected sadness that this was the last day of the retreat, just when she was beginning to feel settled and more peaceful. After the meditation session, instead of breakfast, the monks asked all the retreatants to strip their beds, clean their dormitories and to pack up their belongings, ready for departure. Then, they should assemble in the dining room.

  *

  At 11am, the group entered the dining room. Reverend Oshun explained that there would now be a farewell brunch and the silence could be broken – everyone was invited to talk. The long table had been replaced by four small tables. Little, handwritten place names had been laid on each table, indicating where each person should sit. Freya found her name and sat down. When she saw the place name opposite hers, her whole body tensed: Fred! She was about to jump up and move when Fred plonked himself down opposite her. Their eyes met. Then the dining room exploded with the deafening sound of voices, breaking the three-day silence. 

  “Look,” said Fred loudly, leaning towards Freya to be heard, “I’m er… sorry about our little disagreement yesterday. I felt really bad about it.” He smiled and Freya felt her shoulders relax. 

  “I’m sorry too,” she found herself saying, “I think I’ve learned a lot about myself on this retreat. I can be very opinionated.”

  “Me too,” admitted Fred, having to almost shout to be heard above the din, “ All that meditating! You really do begin to see the traps of your own mind.” Freya nodded. On each table was a big pan of sizzling vegetarian sausages, with grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, accompanied by a dish of baked beans and a basket of corn bread for everyone to help themselves. 

  “Are you glad you came?” Freya asked.

  “Definitely am,” Fred replied, tucking in. “I can’t say it’s been easy for me but I actually think it’s done me good. What about you?”

  “Same,” Freya answered. “I found it very challenging but I feel calmer and clearer than I did.” By the end of the meal, Freya and Fred were chatting away like old friends and had exchanged phone numbers. 

  *

  A gong sounded and the room fell silent. Reverend Oshun stood up. After she had thanked them all for coming and commended them for persevering until the end, she finished by reading out some words, spoken by the Buddha:

  “Thus shall you think of all this fleeting world, a star at dawn, a bubble in a stream, a flash of lightning in a summer cloud, a flickering lamp, a phantom and a dream.” Over the next hour, the twelve retreatants said their goodbyes to each other and to the monks; gradually everyone drifted off. 

  *

  Fred had offered to drive Freya to the train station to save her getting a taxi and a bus. As she stepped into his big gas guzzling Range Rover, she was amazed to find she did not feel her usual negative judgement of this kind of vehicle. Instead, she was experiencing a feeling of acceptance and lightness. Fred was noticing he felt a new sense of peace and a glimmer of enthusiasm for the farm’s way forward.

  “Do you think you’ll ever go back to the monastery again?” he asked Freya, as the Range Rover swung along narrow winding country lanes.

  “Actually, I think I very well might,” she replied, “maybe later this year. What about you?”

  “Me too,” he smiled, “somehow, it’s given me a new perspective. I’m not going to take life so seriously!” They shook hands warmly as they parted at the train station.

  *

  Back at the monastery, a gong was sounding. The monks were filing into the temple to sit together in silence.