Now I understood that compassion was not an extra thing that one should cultivate besides meditation; it was indispensable to the success of the meditation itself. It could not work or have any significance without it. At supper the food had no flavor; its texture was almost like water. Shih-fu had reminded us that day that the evening meal was called "medicine." It came to me that Shih-fu and Jih-Ch'ang Fa-shih were doctors and Bodhi House was like a sanatorium where we were all recuperating from an illness that we had never been aware of. Sometimes during our daily walk outside I was struck with a poignant sadness. The anguish and self-deprivation of the retreat, caused by our misery, made the grounds seem almost painfully beautiful in contrast. All the more so since we were not participating fully in the bliss of all the living creatures there-the caterpillars, butterflies, trees, hares, and especially the surprising multitude of birds whose unusual calls comforted me during the day.

The next day I was more relaxed and joy was replacing sadness. Just doing ordinary things made me so happy. I remember I was in the kitchen slicing carrots. I became aware that Shih-fu was standing there watching me. I experienced an unspoken flow of warm affection between us. Then I helped him boil some water for tea. I felt so buoyantly happy that we could share these simple things together. I feel that all the people on the retreat became very close, like a family. When the retreat was over I could not believe it. It had been only a week long, but it seemed as if I had lived a whole lifetime in another realm not located in ordinary time and space. Now it was time to test my new life in the outside world.