Appamada

2026-05-25 | Depth In Practice | The Sutra of Hui-neng Grand Master of Zen by Appamada

How comfortable have you gotten? Is the room the perfect temperature? Does Alexa/Siri/Gemini answer all of your questions instantly? Is that difficult conversation still scheduled for someday later?

Dogen’s teacher, Tendō Nyojō, carried his cushion in his sleeve. He sat until he ached. At sixty-five he still didn't claim to understand zazen, yet still hadn't missed a day in decades.

Nate offers a dharma talk on what comfort costs us. Dōgen called the alternative gyoji. We explore it together.

2026-05-19 I Inquiry I A Blessing - A Birthday I Flint Sparks by Appamada

2026-05-18 | Depth In Practice | The Sutra of Hui-neng Grand Master of Zen by Appamada

Program

Welcome

Incense Offering & Three Bows

Heart Sutra

Head Student Reads the Case

Head Student Raises the Staff

Head Student Statement

Questions for the Head Student

Head Student Comment

Final Statement

Head Student Returns the Staff

Congratulatory Statements

Dedication of Merit

Bodhisattva vows

Three Bows

Exit Procession

Appamada

Senior Teachers

Nathan Smalley, Flint Sparks and Peg Syverson

Entrusted Teachers

Todd Bankler, Joel Barna, Kim Mosley, Laurie Winnette

2026-05-11 | Depth In Practice | The Sutra of Hui-neng Grand Master of Zen by Appamada

Reflection question: How have you been shaped or formed by your primary or first relationships?

2026-05-05 I Inquiry I A hidden ally I Joel Barna by Appamada

2026-05-04 | Depth In Practice | The Sutra of Hui-neng Grand Master of Zen by Appamada

The fear of missing out (FOMO) is the engine of missing out. The reaching is the leaving.

Building on the intensive teachings of Peg, Joel, and Flint, Nate offers a dharma talk on encounter — what it is, why we keep missing it, and what the craving mind is actually building while it's busy looking elsewhere.

There is a poem by Mary Oliver (below). There is a koan or two. There is a story about a youth soccer game that went poorly for a vocal subset of parents, the dharma teacher in attendance, and every available adult on the sideline— though notably not for the seven-year-olds.

Except from Mary Oliver's poem, "At the River Clarion":

1.

I don’t know who God is exactly.

But I’ll tell you this.

I was sitting in the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stone

and all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking.

Whenever the water struck a stone it had something to say,

and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water.

And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying.

Said the river I am part of holiness.

And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.

I’d been to the river before, a few times.

Don’t blame the river that nothing happened quickly.

You don’t hear such voices in an hour or a day.

You don’t hear them at all if selfhood has stuffed your ears.

And it’s difficult to hear anything anyway, through all the traffic, the ambition.