I have been practicing Zen daily for about twenty-five years and I am ordained as a monk. At first glance, sitting meditation may seem antithetical to the Feldenkrais Method. While Feldenkrais is grounded in movement, Zen emphasizes sitting motionless in a fixed posture, or zazen. However, the two share a profound perspective beyond this surface difference: the unity of body and mind. In both practices, the physical organization of the body creates the foundation for deeper changes in the mind. The static posture of Zen meditation often brings pain and discomfort, compelling practitioners to refine the organization of their skeleton and muscles. Though it involves no movement in space, maintaining this posture requires continuous effort. One must learn to reduce unnecessary effort, rely on the skeleton for support, and find ease within strict physical constraints. Sitting within a community, especially one following monastic norms, provides the necessary support and protection for profound transformation.

In addition, Zen teachers do not teach in the conventional sense of giving the student the right answer. Instead, they create conditions that guide students toward self-discovery.

Zen emphasizes introspection, both during meditation and in everyday life. Whether in action or stillness, the focus shifts to the process itself rather than the outcome. This unfolding occurs only when the intention to achieve is abandoned, allowing attention to rest on the process. The absence of a specific goal is central to zazen. Sitting with no aim, known usually as “Just Sitting” or what one of my lineage’s great teachers described as “a complete waste of time,”—echoes Moshe Feldenkrais’s approach to Awareness Through Movement (ATM). By not striving to achieve, one makes space for a felt sense of being, narrowing the gap between the doer and the deed.

Zazen cultivates a distinctive kind of attention—peripheral rather than object-oriented. Unlike the usual focus on specific outcomes, this attention is non-directive and unattached. As the intention to act diminishes, so does the automatic link between stimulus and response. The nervous system becomes calmer, enabling attention to move more spontaneously and precisely. In this clarity, the effort to direct attention fades, and one becomes simply aware of what is happening. This fosters a profound realization: much more is known and, in many ways, than consciously recognized.

The qualities cultivated through zazen significantly influence my work with others. Instead of immediately focusing on my client’s problem, I allow my attention to wander and wait. While listening to their story or observing their movements, I avoid rushing. I trust that much of the interaction operates beyond conscious awareness, so by waiting, I create space for sensations or intuitions to present themselves spontaneously. This intuitive listening enables a more spontaneous, empathetic dialogue, free from emotional entanglement in a client’s drama. It nurtures genuine curiosity, often leading to surprising insights. I feel it creates a very rich bidirectional learning process.

Developing a nonjudgmental perspective on myself and others has been challenging. However, this struggle has deepened my understanding of the critical voice many of us carry—the inner dissatisfaction with how we are versus how we think we should be. Encouraging a compassionate perspective toward oneself by focusing on the process rather than the outcome is a cornerstone of embodied learning, as I understand it nowadays. Patience, as I’ve mentioned before, involves enduring the discomfort of not knowing. Uncertainty is one of the greatest sources of anxiety in human life—and it is intrinsic to learning, which requires stepping from the known into the unknown. While we can minimize uncertainty to support learners, some degree of it is unavoidable. Through Zen practice, particularly during long retreats, I’ve learned to embrace uncertainty, especially in teaching. (I can’t claim the same for all aspects of life!) It’s essential for trainees to experience a manageable degree of uncertainty to prepare them for their careers, where they must discern their students’ needs and determine how to help them.

There are subtle ways to encourage this, such as not answering questions too quickly or thoroughly, prompting students to explore answers themselves, or redirecting them to their sensations with variations of, “How does it feel to you?” By encountering and embracing uncertainty, students develop the resilience and insight needed to navigate the complexities of working with others.