Practicing in the mountains means living in isolation and without material and emotional attachments. While in the mountains, a practitioner does not stay in a hut; rather, he sleeps in a cave or underneath pine branches growing close to the ground. Han Shan (Cold Mountain), the great Ch'an poet, lived like this. A practitioner might go as far as to build a primitive shelter with a thatched roof to prevent rain from leaking through; but shelters are usually kept simple, because practitioners only live in them for a day or so, and then move on. They do this because they understand how easy it is to grow attached to a home, even if one lives there for only a couple of days. Home and daily life generate attachments and responsibilities. Without a home, one is relieved of the anxiety arising from one's desire for comfort and security.

The territorial instinct is as strong in humans as it is in birds or dogs. When a bird builds a nest, it will drive off intruders. Dogs are protective of their territories, and will attack strangers who trespass. We are like birds and dogs, protecting our little homes. A practitioner in the mountains must be careful not to let his straw lean-to become a home.

If, however, you are not attached to a home and possessions, then you do not have to live in the mountains. There is an old monk in Taiwan named Kuang-chin. He lives in a huge temple. Someone once asked him, "Master Kuang-chin, why do you have such a big place? Don't you worry about who will take care of it?" Master Kuang-chin replied, "This is not my place. It belongs to whoever comes and lives here. I never worry about it."

To whom does the Ch'an Center belong? Everyone says it is my place, but I do not perceive it as such. This Center is not mine, this robe is not mine, even this body is not mine. Right now my body is your body, not mine.