Tesshin Roshi began by mentioning that according to the Jewish calendar, we are in a special month of successive holidays, with the previous Saturday having been Rosh Hashanah, the beginning of the new year. Following that is a ten-day period culminating on Sunday night called Yom Kippur, often translated as the Day of Atonement. These ten days are known as the Ten Days of Awe. Roshi clarified with a laugh that the awe being spoken of here is not a puppy “aww,” but rather an eye-opening “aahhh!” He noted that he would return to why this is so relevant to our practice.

He often receives notices from the various interfaith councils he sits on regarding a number of social or political issues that people want engagement on. While we do get involved to a degree, people have historically wondered why Buddhists and Zen practitioners don’t run around with their hair on fire, screaming and shouting about political or social issues. It is not that we aren’t involved; rather, why don’t we get completely enraged like everyone else does? Tesshin explained that this largely has to do with our practice.

He offered the example of climate change, something people have been talking about for a long time. In the 1970s and ’80s, many scientists were perplexed because what they understood in their studies of climate change and how—

At that moment, a loud chirping sound was heard in the zendo. Roshi paused, realizing it was a little cricket, warmly welcoming it to join us: “How sweet. Join us. You’re loud! Come on, Jiminy.”

Returning to his point, he explained that the scientific predictions back then were not materializing in America as expected. Based on the models, certain warming should have been occurring, but it wasn’t happening quite that way. This gave politicians an excuse to claim the science wasn’t clear—which was partially true, as something was unaccounted for. At the same time, people were working on other environmental issues. For instance, back in the “big hair” days of the 1980s, aerosol sprays were widely used. People suspected they were harmful to the environment, but it took further study and proof before society recognized the damage and began phasing them out. (Tesshin wondered aloud if aerosols are entirely banned now in the states or still around, noting he hadn’t seen them in so long.) By the late ’80s, there was a concerted movement to remove them from the marketplace.

Then an interesting phenomenon occurred: once aerosols began disappearing, the earlier scientific predictions started coming true. What scientists had not understood at the time was that the aerosols were actually masking part of the problem in the environment. Once the aerosols cleared, the data converged. Roshi pointed out that this illustrates an inherent challenge with scientific thinking: when tackling difficult problems, we are trained to focus narrowly on a specific issue to solve it. However, we can rarely account for all the interconnected factors. Thus, we almost never possess a completely 100% accurate answer right away; during the analysis, previously unseen factors emerge that influence the outcome. This is the natural progress of scientific exploration—we get close, we solve pieces of the puzzle, and our eyes open to things we didn’t realize before.

Tesshin noted that people often come to him saying they are dissatisfied with their lives. They feel their existence is purely secular and express a desire for a more holy, spiritual, sacred life. They complain that their job, their routine, or their relationships prevent them from living sacredly, and suggest that perhaps getting ordained would give them that holy life. Tesshin explained that this always leads to a long conversation, because ordination in itself does not bestow a sacred life. That is not the issue. The real issue is the same narrowly focused mindset: we become so fixated on specific details that we fail to see the bigger picture. In our personal lives, when we look at our work or our relationships, our focus is so narrow and particular that they feel secular and mundane, leading to annoyance and dissatisfaction. Moving toward a sacred, holy life is simply about shifting from that hyper-specific fixation to something much larger and all-encompassing.

That is why it is so fascinating when top physicists search for a Grand Unified Theory—attempting to reconcile quantum physics and general relativity into a single theorem that encompasses everything. Tesshin observed that the moment scientists step into that realm, they cross from the secular into the sacred. They are no longer looking at an isolated problem; they want to see how everything connects. While humanity has not achieved this yet—perhaps future AI will help, but the human brain hasn’t bridged it alone—it stems from the exact same motivation as those seeking a sacred life: the desire to break free from narrow minutiae and embrace the all-encompassing whole. When physicists like Einstein speak about these profound realities, it sounds remarkably like the Dharma—expansive, beautiful, and comprehensive.

Bringing this back to Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, Roshi noted that people often misunderstand its true essence. They assume atonement simply means asking for forgiveness and making amends. While that is partially true, the deeper meaning lies within the word itself: “at-one-ment.” The ultimate goal is to become at one again. That oneness is the sacred. In our daily lives, we get trapped in petty minutiae that pull us away from the bigger picture, keeping us perpetually annoyed, fearful, or upset. The entire purpose of the Ten Days of Awe is to ask ourselves: do we have the courage and strength to look at everything separating us from oneness with the universe, and actively address it? Very often, what creates this rift is an interpersonal conflict, a transgression, or an old emotional scar.

When someone wakes up at two in the morning with a racing mind, unable to fall back asleep, it is rarely because of the delicious slice of carrot cake eaten the night before. What keeps us awake and agitated is almost always an unresolved interaction—a difficult conversation, an upsetting incident at work, or an old wound. Even when insomnia feels existential, such as fretting over the end of the universe, a therapist will often point out that this fear traces back to a very personal childhood experience. Ultimately, it reduces back down to these small interpersonal equations that we struggle to resolve.

Thus, the Days of Awe challenge us to recognize what is rendering our lives secular and small. Do we have the courage to approach that person, to resolve and heal the breach, and finally let it go so we can perceive the vastness of life and the universe? When someone is constantly consumed with anger over a neighbor putting the trash out on the wrong day, that narrow frustration obscures the larger picture, cutting them off from wonder and at-one-ment. Reaching out and making amends is demanding work—much like in twelve-step recovery, where it is often the hardest step. It is never formulaic; each person and situation requires something unique, whether it is listening, speaking, or taking action. Yet unless we do that work, we remain divided, carrying the burden ourselves. Yom Kippur is dedicated entirely to this question: how do we become at one? What are we holding onto in our hearts that prevents us from experiencing authentic joy and love?

Tesshin shared that what he finds especially fascinating about Yom Kippur is that it is simultaneously a deeply solitary inventory of the heart and a collective practice held in community. We are simply not strong enough to do this heavy lifting entirely alone; we need each other. We experience this directly in our sangha, especially during sesshin. We sit for hours doing rigorous inner work, but we do it together, holding one another up. Great wisdom traditions have always recognized that profound personal transformation must be supported by community. Tesshin reminded us that when people say they only study and meditate alone at home, they are missing an essential pillar of Buddhism. Without the Sangha, one only has two of the Three Treasures, missing the full power of practice.

While Yom Kippur marks this return to oneness once a year, the beauty of Zen practice is that we engage in it continuously. When people are first introduced to zazen, they often make excuses: they don’t have time, they can’t concentrate, or they find it boring. They offer mundane, secular reasons for avoiding the cushion, thinking about laundry, errands, or bills. But Tesshin challenged us to consider if there is anything more vital than sitting down and actively shifting from the secular to the sacred. With every breath on the cushion, we step out of narrow filters and open up to the entirety of life, letting go of the petty fixations that constrict us. In Zen, every moment on the cushion is an act of at-one-ment.

In honor of those observing Yom Kippur, Roshi shared a prayer written by the Kabbalic Rabbi Nachman of Breslov. Rabbi Nachman had composed this prayer specifically for himself. Tesshin emphasized that when it comes to resolving the issues keeping our lives small and stepping into the larger picture, the responsibility rests with us. Teachers can share practices, but ultimately each practitioner must discover their own personal prayer and practice, knowing their own heart best. He invited us to ask ourselves directly what is keeping us from this larger life, and what we are going to do about it. He then shared Rabbi Nachman’s prayer:

“Grant me the ability to be alone. May it be my custom to go outdoors each day among the trees and grass, among all growing things, and there may I be alone and enter into prayer to talk with the One to whom I belong. May I express there everything in my heart, and may all the foliage of the field, all grasses, trees, and plants awake at my coming to send the powers of their life into the words of my prayer so that my prayer and speech are made whole through the life and spirit of all growing things which are made as one by their transcendent source. May I then pour out the words of my heart before your presence like water. Lift up my hands to you in worship on my behalf and that of my children.”

Tesshin encouraged us all this week to create our own prayer or personal meditation, reflecting on what we truly want our lives to be. He noted that in Rabbi Nachman’s tradition, practitioners would go outdoors knowing the universe is constantly in dialogue with us—just like our little cricket friend in the corner of the zendo. Their practice was to speak back openly, pouring their hearts out and allowing the world to respond. With the autumn transition bringing changing light, weather, and temperatures, Roshi urged us to step outside and begin that conversation. And whenever we need it, the cushion is always waiting for us to return to oneness.