In June, I attended a veterans’ retreat at Zen Center at Green Gulch Farm in Marin County. It answered a desire I have to somehow get involved in helping veterans integrate into civilian life after service in Afghanistan or Iraq. Veterans who don’t integrate well may end up homeless. I am a veteran and I studied at Zen Center, so the retreat seemed a perfect vehicle for me.
I served in the Marines from 1972 until 1978, stationed mostly in the American South before becoming a Marine Guard at the American Embassy in Athens, Greece. I studied and practiced at Zen Center regularly from about 1981 until 1983, sitting meditation in the morning before going to work and taking classes in the evening. I hadn’t been to Zen Center since then.
The two workshop leaders, Chris and Lee, have been practicing at Zen Center for thirty years. Chris is a Marriage Family Therapist and a Zen priest. Lee conducts sensory awareness workshops. They scheduled four workshops. I attended one in May at City Center in San Francisco and the one in June.
There were about 15 participants, including three women, in the group. Most of the veterans had been in either Afghanistan or Iraq except a man who had been a medic in Vietnam and me. We met in a yurt, a circular tent-like structure used by Mongolian nomads. This particular structure had been in place for many years and was built to be permanent with wood supports and a skylight in the center like a celestial eye. The floor was carpeted and there were meditation cushions and mats and chairs to sit on. The group fell naturally into a large circle, most sitting on the carpet.
We introduced ourselves and told something about our experiences. Just as we finished a young man joined us late, because he went to the wrong location and ended up listening to the regular Sunday talk with Zen priests and students, laypeople and the general public. What he said, even though tongue-in-cheek, struck me. He said he knew he was in the wrong place because the people didn’t look like veterans, “they looked too happy.”
With introductions done, we packed up our lunch to carry to the beach about a mile away. We walked through the farm, which included hedge-enclosed gardens with blooming flowers, hothouses and fields of vegetables, organically grown. In one garden, we pressed our faces to a lawn full of fragrant chamomile. We saw horses and a deer on our journey. As we walked we broke into smaller groups to talk and further share our experiences. One thing I realized about myself was that I had never talked much about my own time in the military. It felt good to share.
The beach was full of people. The weather was sunny and mild, the sand soft and warm to the touch. It was a great place to eat our lunch and watch and listen to the sun-crested surf.
On the way back to the yurt, a Great Blue Heron landed on a grassy patch. She was sleek and stood as if posing on yellow spindly legs. She stood between three and four feet tall and had blue-gray feathers and a S-shaped neck. She appeared to be another countryside treat for us city folk.
Then she struck, quick as lightning, pulling a furry brown ball out of the earth. Her long thin beak skewered it once then twice. She gulped it down and then resumed her graceful pose as though nothing had happened.
As the others walked ahead, I lagged behind and watched her, not more than twenty feet away. In profile, her neck was strong and thick. She turned and I was in her line of sight. I saw the sleek aerodynamic taper of her neck. She was magnificent. But in a Jurassic Park moment, I worried about how far she could leap.
Slowly she leaned forward, unfolding her neck; her head far beyond her planted feet and close to the ground. Her dagger beak struck and pulled back with another mole, dangling in the air. The act was strangely silent, not even a whimper from the prey. A moment later, she spread her wings and took off, the fur ball still in her beak. Sleek, thick and deadly.
Sleek. Recently I found my Marine dress blue uniform in my closet. I stretched the waist of the deep blue trousers with the red NCO stripe down either leg. I laughed as I asked, “What man fit in that narrow waist?”
Thick. Back then I was thick with muscles and also thick enough to ignore the danger in my occupation.
Deadly. I was trained to be deadly to the enemy.
Some contrasts jumped out at me:
I served in the Marines from 1972 until 1978, stationed mostly in the American South before becoming a Marine Guard at the American Embassy in Athens, Greece. I studied and practiced at Zen Center regularly from about 1981 until 1983, sitting meditation in the morning before going to work and taking classes in the evening. I hadn’t been to Zen Center since then.
The two workshop leaders, Chris and Lee, have been practicing at Zen Center for thirty years. Chris is a Marriage Family Therapist and a Zen priest. Lee conducts sensory awareness workshops. They scheduled four workshops. I attended one in May at City Center in San Francisco and the one in June.
There were about 15 participants, including three women, in the group. Most of the veterans had been in either Afghanistan or Iraq except a man who had been a medic in Vietnam and me. We met in a yurt, a circular tent-like structure used by Mongolian nomads. This particular structure had been in place for many years and was built to be permanent with wood supports and a skylight in the center like a celestial eye. The floor was carpeted and there were meditation cushions and mats and chairs to sit on. The group fell naturally into a large circle, most sitting on the carpet.
We introduced ourselves and told something about our experiences. Just as we finished a young man joined us late, because he went to the wrong location and ended up listening to the regular Sunday talk with Zen priests and students, laypeople and the general public. What he said, even though tongue-in-cheek, struck me. He said he knew he was in the wrong place because the people didn’t look like veterans, “they looked too happy.”
With introductions done, we packed up our lunch to carry to the beach about a mile away. We walked through the farm, which included hedge-enclosed gardens with blooming flowers, hothouses and fields of vegetables, organically grown. In one garden, we pressed our faces to a lawn full of fragrant chamomile. We saw horses and a deer on our journey. As we walked we broke into smaller groups to talk and further share our experiences. One thing I realized about myself was that I had never talked much about my own time in the military. It felt good to share.
The beach was full of people. The weather was sunny and mild, the sand soft and warm to the touch. It was a great place to eat our lunch and watch and listen to the sun-crested surf.
On the way back to the yurt, a Great Blue Heron landed on a grassy patch. She was sleek and stood as if posing on yellow spindly legs. She stood between three and four feet tall and had blue-gray feathers and a S-shaped neck. She appeared to be another countryside treat for us city folk.
Then she struck, quick as lightning, pulling a furry brown ball out of the earth. Her long thin beak skewered it once then twice. She gulped it down and then resumed her graceful pose as though nothing had happened.
As the others walked ahead, I lagged behind and watched her, not more than twenty feet away. In profile, her neck was strong and thick. She turned and I was in her line of sight. I saw the sleek aerodynamic taper of her neck. She was magnificent. But in a Jurassic Park moment, I worried about how far she could leap.
Slowly she leaned forward, unfolding her neck; her head far beyond her planted feet and close to the ground. Her dagger beak struck and pulled back with another mole, dangling in the air. The act was strangely silent, not even a whimper from the prey. A moment later, she spread her wings and took off, the fur ball still in her beak. Sleek, thick and deadly.
Sleek. Recently I found my Marine dress blue uniform in my closet. I stretched the waist of the deep blue trousers with the red NCO stripe down either leg. I laughed as I asked, “What man fit in that narrow waist?”
Thick. Back then I was thick with muscles and also thick enough to ignore the danger in my occupation.
Deadly. I was trained to be deadly to the enemy.
Some contrasts jumped out at me:
lost traveler - happy people
city people - the country
beautiful heron - deadly heron
veterans - the civilian world
Each is part of the other. Each functions according to the logic of nature, experience or training.
Veterans, trained to work together and to sacrifice, encounter a civilian world where both seem optional. Some veterans carry the trauma of injury or memories of injury or death to comrades. Shouldering these experiences, they must learn to thrive back home. Some stumble. Talking about one’s experience is one step in the journey back home.
Chris and Lee plan to organize other workshops addressing the needs of the families of veterans.
Veterans and the families of veterans who are researching or applying for benefits may visit the the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs and VetCenter, an arm of the Department. The Swords to Plowshares website is a good resource for understanding the system and getting assistance.
Semper Fi.
