In Part 1 of this episode, I shared questions from a couple listeners who have physical disabilities or chronic illnesses. They asked about the feasibility and appropriateness of asking for accommodations for people with physical challenges in Zen practice – particularly when it comes to the most physically demanding of our practices, sesshin (5–7-day silent residential retreats). I started my response by discussing the value of physically rigorous practice. I then talked about how our egalitarian ideals are a fairly modern development – including the expectation that everyone should be able to participate in Zen practice to whatever extent they desire, regardless of their circumstances. The fact that this is a modern development doesn’t mean we shouldn’t strive to make practice accessible, but it can be helpful to remember our traditions are still evolving.
In this episode I make the case for accommodations for people with physical challenges, even in sesshin, and then describe a number of tried and tested ways Sanghas can do this. I finish by talking about how to negotiate with a Sangha if you are someone with physical challenges and hope to be accommodated, particularly in the practice of intensive retreat.
Quicklinks to Article Content:
The Case for Making Accommodations for People with Physical Challenges
Ten Retreat Adaptations and Accommodations that Can Work
Negotiating within Sangha about Accommodations for Physical Needs
If You Can’t Physically Do Meditation Retreats with Others
The Case for Making Accommodations for People with Physical Challenges
Of course, the first motivation for accommodating people with physical challenges is basic compassion. Care, one of our questioners, mentioned a Pali Canon Sutta about the Buddha admonishing some of his monks for failing to care for one of their fellow monks when he had fallen ill. The Kucchivikara-vatthu sutta describes how a monk was sick with dysentery and was lying on the floor, fouled with his own urine and excrement. The Buddha and Ananda wander by and notice this. They wash the monk and put him on a clean bed. Then the Buddha asks the monks living nearby why they hadn’t attended to the sick man, and they replied that it was because the he had never done anything for them. The Buddha replies, “Monks, you have no mother, you have no father, who might tend to you. If you don’t tend to one another, who then will tend to you? Whoever would tend to me, should tend to the sick.” He then gives them a long lecture on how monks should care for one another no matter what.[i]
Although most of us aspire to be generous and compassionate, it’s easy to get caught up in our own practice. If we’re able-bodied, we may feel resistance to being inconvenienced with the extra effort, care, and time that’s required when someone is ill or has physical challenges. It may seem like our practice is being compromised. But what are we practicing for? Surely, even if we meditate and maintain strict forms while ignoring the struggles of a fellow practitioner, our practice is tainted with selfishness. And later, when we ourselves are no longer as physically able as we once were, don’t we hope our Sangha members will have compassion and make it possible for us to continue practicing with them?
There’s even more compelling story from the Buddhist scriptures about accommodating practitioners with somewhat weaker constitutions. (I think of this as “the story of the three robes.”) The Vinaya, the section of the canon on monastic discipline, discusses how many robes a monk is allowed to have. According to the story, the Buddha was traveling and encountered several monks:
smothered up in robes, having put a mattress of robes on their heads and a mattress of robes on their backs and a mattress of robes on their hips, and seeing (them) it occurred to the Lord: “These foolish men are turned too quickly to abundance of robes; suppose I were to set a limit, were to establish bounds as to robes for the monks?”[ii]
The Buddha then stayed up meditating all night. Over the course of the night, it got colder and colder. He put on a second robe but eventually got cold. He put on a third, then finally a fourth. In the morning, he said:
“Even those who in this dhamma and discipline are sons of respectable families, susceptible to cold, afraid of cold, even these are able to keep themselves going with three robes. Suppose I were to set a limit, were to establish bounds as to robes for monks and were to allow three robes?”[iii]
While the Buddha set the monastic discipline against “turning too quickly to an abundance of robes,” he tried to set the limit at a place that wouldn’t cause too much hardship even for those monastics who – like the Buddha himself – came from relatively wealthy families and would have grown up used to comfort. This seems like a kind and realistic standard meant to challenge everyone a little bit (after all, even the Buddha reached for a fourth robe during that cold night).
One of the most important things we should remember when we consider whether to adapt physically rigorous practice forms is that many of them were designed for young, healthy people practicing intensively for relatively short periods of time – a week in the case of sesshin, or a few months in the case of a monastic ango. Most monastics (and a few stalwart lay people) would do this physically rigorous practice for only a few years – maybe 5 or 10 if they were super dedicated. (There were always Zen masters who stuck with it for life, but that’s part of why they were remarkable.) Most – though not all – practitioners started young and, frankly, life expectancy was shorter. When people had the opportunity for rigorous practice, it was natural that they would sprint rather than pace themselves for a marathon.
In the meditation traditions of Buddhism today, serious lay practitioners far outnumber monastics. Intensive practice, including silent retreats, is often something people do for decades, with no intention of quitting just because they get old or become ill or disabled. Therefore, some emphasis inevitably needs to be placed on making practice sustainable as well as intensive. After a while, the benefits of “sprinting” in practice get outweighed by the costs. Less able-bodied practitioners learn to pace themselves – not just for a marathon, but for jogging for the rest of their lives. In actuality, I suspect that the “standard” forms we have received in our traditions don’t tell the whole story of complex Sanghas of the past, where undoubtedly senior practitioners gained some leeway after proving their dedication.
The most important argument for accommodating people with physical challenges in even our most rigorous Zen practices, though, is that such people don’t need as many artificial challenges as able-bodied folks to bring them up against the Great Matter of Life and Death. In the first part of this episode, I talked about how physical rigor in practice can remind you of impermanence and mortality in a visceral way, and how the lack of choices brings you up against your self-concern. For those of us who are able-bodied and comfortable in our everyday lives, the demands of sesshin are effective tools.
Those dealing with physical disabilities, chronic illness, ongoing pain, or other major health problems, on the other hand, don’t need the same degree of rigor imposed from the outside. Even with fewer hours of meditation, a little less austerity, or a looser adherence to the forms, people with physical challenges find sesshin as intensive as anyone else participating, perhaps even more so. Most people I know who live with disability, illness, or pain are well aware of impermanence and mortality, and their physical issues bring them up against their self-concern with great regularity. In addition, able-bodied folks can engage a physical challenge fairly confidently, just keeping an eye out for the slim possibility that something will injure them. Those with physical issues have to constantly negotiate the line between what kind of exertion will merely challenge them, and what kind will debilitate them in a lasting way. It takes courage to walk that line and doing so brings an intensity to retreat even if someone is receiving accommodations.
As we consider how and whether to adapt the practice to accommodate people with physical challenges, we should acknowledge that the adaptations will change the practice somewhat. Sometimes we resist this, but it’s important to remember that in modern meditation centers throughout the world, Buddhist practice has already been adapted to the point that traditional monastics from Asia would barely recognize it. Men and women, monastic and lay, all practice together, largely without distinctions made between them. Lay people expect to meditate, study the Dharma, and eventually to lead and teach. Almost all centers let people meditate in chairs if they want, instead of sitting on the floor. In a traditional Chan or Zen monastery, you might get struck with an “encouragement stick” on the meaty part of your shoulder if you are dozing, but you’d be hard-pressed to find such a stick in most western practice centers. So, from the start, we should acknowledge that we’re talking about further adaptations to traditional practice.
Ten Retreat Adaptations and Accommodations that Can Work
Can Sanghas adapt Zen forms for practitioners who have physical challenges without compromising the efficacy of practice? Yes! Keep in mind, however, that each practice community is different. Whether forms are determined by a teacher, maintained over decades by the Sangha culture, or a mix of both, the decision-makers in any given community may or may not be open to the suggestions I make here. Please see my later discussion about how to negotiate within a Sangha if you are asking for accommodations.
Before I get into suggestions for adaptations to retreat forms, I should say that it would be ideal if all retreat facilities were wheelchair accessible. Sometimes this is impossible, but hopefully it will be a priority for Sanghas to make this happen sooner than later. There is no reason whatsoever that someone in a wheelchair can’t do sesshin. A space can be made for a wheelchair in any Zendo or at any dining table. Adaptations in work assignments, participation in formal meals, and sleeping arrangements may take extra effort on the part of retreat planners but it’s a wonderful opportunity for the Sangha to take care of one another. The same goes for anyone with physical disabilities that require other kinds of assistive equipment.
I’m now going to describe ten ways to adapt retreat forms to accommodate people with physical challenges. These are things I do in my own Sangha and have seen done successfully in sesshin where I was a participant. By “successfully” I mean that the accommodations were made without compromising the “container” of the sesshin – that is, the overall discipline and focus that helps us all settle deeply into silence and devote ourselves wholeheartedly to practice.
1. Create a set of retreat forms that reasonably challenge all who will be participating and then offer an a la carte “menu” of accommodations available upon request for those who need them. This approach sticks with the “three robes” model, which asks all practitioners to endure a judicious dose of discomfort. A limited and predetermined set of accommodations that can be requested preserves the aspect of retreat that asks us to give up the burden of making personal choices. In other words, instead of retreatants with special needs envisioning a retreat of their own design, taking place within the supportive context of other people’s adherence to the forms, they are offered options like the ones I will describe next. Those asking for accommodations have conversations with retreat leaders about their needs ahead of time, so the leadership is aware of what someone plans to do and why. The retreatant asking for accommodations ends up with a do-able plan they can commit to. (And many people end up following more of the standard retreat schedule and forms than they anticipate being able to do.)
2. Allow people over a certain age, or those with health problems, to arrive an hour later in the morning or to go to bed an hour early in the evening. My Sangha borrowed a term from Great Vow Zen Monastery and call those 60 years of age or older “silver dragons,” and this accommodation is the “silver dragon option.” We also make it available to people with serious health issues. My Sangha added a “golden dragon option” for those 70 and over where they can both arrive later and retire early. Our silver and golden dragons express great gratitude for this accommodation, which makes it possible for them take part in the sesshin. With their extra time, silver and golden dragons either sleep or engage in physical exercises in the privacy of their sleeping quarters.
3. Allow people to stand up at their meditation seat if sitting becomes too painful. People are asked to remain still and do standing meditation. To avoid too much motion in the meditation hall, people can be asked to remain standing for the rest of a given meditation period (until the next bell rings). This is accommodation which can be offered to everyone without prearrangement.
4. Make a plan with those with special needs to spend a period of meditation doing slow walking or reclining meditation just outside the meditation hall, when they feel the need. If someone remains close to the shared meditation space and continues to follow the retreat schedule and discipline, this need not be disruptive. Again, this would be an accommodation available upon request, not an in-the-moment matter of choice for all retreatants to decide whether or not they feel like going back into the meditation hall.
5. Invite those with particularly serious health issues to communicate with a retreat leader if they need to spend extra time resting. The tricky thing about health issues is that sometimes people can’t predict how they are going to feel. Sesshin can be exhausting, and being away from one’s normal routine can trigger physical reactions. Allowing someone to take a few hours to rest can help them renew their energy and join back in the retreat. I have never experienced anyone abusing this option. People attend retreats because they want to participate. Retreat leaders can speak to those with health issues about this possibility before retreat so they feel comfortable asking.
6. Allow part-time participation in retreat, with a minimum requirement for attendance. The option to join a retreat for a few days accommodates practitioners with demanding work and family responsibilities as well as those with physical challenges. To keep a retreat container, however, teachers and leaders often put some limitations on how much coming and going is allowed. It depends on the retreat facility and community. I require people who attend our sesshin to come for at least two nights, which means at least one full day of practice. I also require anyone who has never done sesshin with us before to arrive on the first evening, when we have our orientation. Then they may arrange to leave before the full sesshin is over. People used to doing retreat with us can arrive partway through. Departures are rarely disruptive, and although mid-week arrivals can mean a little extra work for retreat leaders, the addition of people to the retreat only serves to increase its energy.
7. Amplify any Dharma Talks and have participants face the teacher. That is, if you want people to hear what’s being said. A surprising number of people in any given Sangha are hard of hearing, and while many speakers believe they project well and can be heard by a bunch of people in large room, this is almost never the case.
8. Do your best to accommodate people with special dietary needs. Most practice centers seem to be doing this, which means those with food sensitivities can participate in retreat. You might be surprised how often the prospect of having to eat communally prevents people from attending sesshin. There seem to be a growing number of people with serious gastrointestinal issues related to the consumption of things like dairy, gluten, soy, garlic, onions, and peppers. It can be tricky, and a lot of work, to design a menu that minimizes the need for special dishes to be made, and then to make alternatives when necessary. However, this is another gesture of great compassion, because severe gastrointestinal distress can make a retreat more or less impossible.
9. Be up front about the possibility of constipation and have remedies available. I don’t know if this recommendation belongs in this list, but I also don’t know where else I might bring it up and I think it’s important to mention. Serious constipation – including a complete cessation of bowel movements – is not uncommon during prolonged meditation retreats. This not only gets very uncomfortable, it can be a serious health risk for certain people. It’s easy to mention this in a retreat welcome letter, and to have natural laxatives like senna or milk of magnesia available at the retreat for those who need it.
10. Make retreat activities accessible online as much as possible. Not every Sangha is set up to do this, or wants to, but this is a wonderful way to include people who live too far away to come to retreat, and those with physical challenges who aren’t up to attending in person. Despite my Sangha’s vibrant online component (half of our members don’t live locally), our online sesshin participation has become quite small. Delightfully, this is because so many of our members at a distance travel to do sesshin with us in “three dimensions.” Still, there are always a few people for whom the option to participate in sesshin with the Sangha by Zoom, even part time, is profoundly meaningful. The coming and going of online participants isn’t disruptive to those present in person, and in fact it is sweet if there is a monitor in the Zendo allowing people to see those online; it adds a sense of being supported by the wider Sangha.
Negotiating within Sangha about Accommodations for Physical Needs
Part of me hestitates to offer this list of suggested ways to adapt meditation retreats to accommodate people with physical challenges. I hope no one will take this list to another teacher or Sangha with an expectation they will take my recommendations. Each Sangha decides how much to accommodate special needs without, to once again use Jo’s words, reaching the “tipping point where forms become so stretched that they may become ineffective or, in fact, something other than Zen.”
When asking for – or granting – accommodations, we must also wrestle with the tricky matter of discerning needs from preferences. Frankly, even young and able-bodied people usually feel considerable trepidation about participating in an intensive meditation retreat for the first time (or the second, third, or hundredth time!). Even without anything that might qualify as a physical disability or chronic illness, the demands of sesshin look daunting and we wonder if we’re up for it. If anyone is listening to us, many of us would be tempted to argue for fewer hours of meditation, more hours dedicated to breaks or sleep, and more flexibility in following the schedule. But then we follow the retreat form anyway, and find that it doesn’t kill us, and in fact we’re capable of much more than we might think.
Still, if you live with serious physical challenges, part of what you learn to do is recognize and accept that you have real needs. Sure, you’ll always have some preferences mixed in there, but you will have learned that if you ignore your needs you will pay a high price. This might mean a relapse of a condition, exacerbation of an injury, or a degenerating physical state that will mean you have to leave retreat before you intended to, and may even have repercussions that last well after retreat.
Be aware that when you ask a Sangha to make accommodations for you to practice with them, decision-makers in the community are likely to first wonder whether your request is based on preference or a real need. This may not seem fair, but it is realistic. It may be necessary for you explain your need, and what situations cause problems for you. Try to be patient, calm, and confident. I’m not saying you have to pretend to be satisfied with a situation you perceive as unnecessarily exclusive, but the reality is that there are more and less skillful ways of seeking what you want.
It can help a great deal if you establish a relationship with a Sangha before asking for accommodations they aren’t used to giving. If you can demonstrate your dedication to practice and your willingness to follow what forms you can, it can transform an accommodation into an act of compassion for a beloved Sangha member instead of a compromise of cherished principles. This is why it’s typical to see a Sangha incorporate more accommodations into their practice over time as their teacher ages and encounters more physical difficulties.
When you ask for accommodations, see if you can explain your need and then collaborate with retreat leaders to come up with ways to meet them. They may be able to think of ways to adapt the forms to accommodate you that haven’t occurred to you. Their suggestions may not meet your preferences, but then that’s part of the practice! You can at least give them a try and see if they make things workable for you.
Be aware that accommodations you receive may make you feel like you are sticking out or disrupting Sangha harmony. For example, Care mentioned she might need special implements for eating during communal meals, and that it may not be possible for her to pass food and other implements down the table the way others do. Fortunately, seating at formal meals is usually consistent, so those sitting near her could be instructed ahead of time about how to serve Care and pass food around her. It could be done silently and without fuss, and after a couple of meals no one would think anything of it.
Accommodations that make you stick out or that require others to adapt their behaviors or assist you may trigger unpleasant feelings in you. However, I encourage you to suck it up and let others help you. Try to practice with the Buddhist teaching of the “emptiness of the three wheels of giver, receiver, and gift.” In some situations, because of your physical needs, you will seem to be in the position of receiver. The patience, assistance, and acceptance of others is the gift, and other practitioners are the givers.
In reality – as you have undoubtedly experienced in other situations – there is no distinction to be found between giver, receiver, and gift. We are all just participating in a flow of generosity and kindness. For example, I once had the honor of assisting a quadriplegic man who was attending the same sesshin I was. Certain times of the day, certain of us would go into his room, which was right off the Zendo, to help him with physical tasks like emptying his catheter bag. I was profoundly affected by this man’s calm dignity and centeredness as he quietly explained to us what to do. I perceived no trace of apology or embarrassment in him, just a matter-of-fact presence that made each moment seem very vivid and precious. I pray that when I am someday in a similar situation of need, I will remember the gift I can give to those who assist me by accepting their offering with dignity and gratitude.
If You Can’t Physically Do Meditation Retreats with Others
Of course, however you approach a Sangha about accommodating your special needs in retreat, you may still get a “no” answer. I’m sorry for this. As I said before, it makes my heart ache to think of people who long to do retreat practice being excluded for any reason. However, wherever the line gets drawn when it comes to practice forms, without exception there will be someone excluded from the opportunity of sesshin. What then? There is immense value in meditation retreats, so I encourage you to try to make them a part of your life however you can manage to do so. If one Sangha doesn’t offer accommodations that make it possible for you to attend, look around for other communities that do.
If you can’t attend retreat in physically, consider participating in one online. Not all practice centers offer this option, but many do – and the great thing is, it doesn’t matter how far you are from the physical aspect of the retreat. The only limiting factor is whether the retreat is in – or close to – your time zone, but you should be able to find something. If you live with others, especially children, you may be able to arrange to have a room or part of your house dedicated to your retreat space. If not, you might be able to negotiate a few silent and private hours each day. Or you may be able to go stay somewhere else for the duration of the retreat. Then you can create a container of simplicity and silence and join the retreat schedule whenever people in the physical retreat location are in the meditation hall.
If you have physical challenges, the wonderful thing about participating in a live retreat online is that you have the time and space to take care of yourself. If you need more rest, you can get it. If you need to do reclining or walking meditation, go ahead. If you need to go for a walk or do your exercise routine, you can do that when people at the physical retreat are working, eating, or on a break. I did a retreat like this once, during the COVID lockdown, and it was very sweet. The live retreat offers a supportive schedule that helps most of us meditate much more than we would on our own.
If you have the self-discipline to do a retreat entirely on your own, that can also be beneficial. You may not sit as many hours as you would at an in-person retreat with others, but there are many ways to cultivate deep inner stillness. It can be profound experience just to set aside any activities that aren’t absolutely necessary for a day, or a few days, and to go offline. You can do your shopping and errands ahead of time so you don’t have to buy anything or go anywhere. Instead, you can fill your days with meditation, study, silent physical work, and rest. You can try to maintain mindfulness during walks, exercise, and meals.
Living with physical disabilities, significant pain, or chronic illness changes the character of your practice, but it does not in any way limit your ability to deeply awaken. If you are determined, you will find a way to explore the Dharma in your life just as it is. In his essay “Gyoji,” or “Continuous Practice,” Zen master Dogen says:
It is extremely foolish of people nowadays to put aside the endeavor of the way when they become fifty or sixty years old, even seventy or eighty. If we are concerned about how many months and years we have lived, this is merely a limited human view, which has nothing to do with the study of the way. Do not consider whether you are in your prime or old and frail. Single-mindedly aspire to study and master the way… Do not look back or cling to a heap of dust in the graveyard.[iv]
In the book The Three Pillars of Zen, Philip Kapleau includes a series of letters from a Japanese woman, Yaeko Iwasaki, to her teacher, Daiun Sogaku Harada. Yaeko practiced intensively for five years while largely confined to her home and even to bed. Although she was young, she suffered from tuberculosis and very fragile health. Despite this, she experienced a dramatic awakening which was acknowledged by Harada Roshi. In an epilogue to the collection of Yaeko’s letters, which described her experience, Harada Roshi wrote:
…the virtue of [Yaeko’s] life lies in its sterling example of how it is entirely feasible to practice Zen properly, and even experience perfect enlightenment, right in one’s own home and partly from a sickbed. If there be strong determination, one can always practice zazen even with a frail constitution and without being able to attend sesshin.[v]
Still, I hope we will do our best to include all people in the precious experience of retreat whenever possible. Doing so changes the flavor of the experience sometimes, compared to an austere practice container populated only by able-bodied people, but that change almost always seems to end up being a positive one. One last example to illustrate: I once attended a sesshin at a monastery where a long-time lay Sangha member with a terminal illness had decided to come live out his final days. When he was up to sitting in the Zendo with us, he had to bring along a device that helped him breathe. Sometimes it was quiet, but sometimes it made rhythmic clicking sound that was clearly audible throughout the silent meditation hall. When it started up, I would find myself resisting the way it broke the precious silence. But then I would remember the significance of this man’s presence and only feel inspired and grateful.
Endnotes
[i] “Kucchivikara-vatthu: The Monk with Dysentery” (Mv 8.26.1-8), by Thanissaro Bhikkhu. Access to Insight (BCBS Edition), 30 November 2013, http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/vin/mv/mv.08.26.01-08.than.html .
[ii] Vinaya Pitaka (3): Khandhaka. by I. B. Horner | 2014 | 386,194 words | ISBN-13: 9781921842160. https://www.wisdomlib.org/buddhism/book/vinaya-pitaka-3-khandhaka/d/doc228005.html
[iii] Ibid
[iv] Tanahashi, Kazuaki. Treasury of the True Dharma Eye: Zen Master Dogen’s Shobo Genzo (p. 533). Shambhala. Kindle Edition.
[v] Kapleau, Philip. The Three Pillars of Zen: Teaching, Practice, and Enlightenment. New York, NY: Anchor Books, 1965, 1989.
