I have come to get a glimpse of Zen—the ineffable spiritual tradition that has exerted an immeasurable influence on Japanese culture over the centuries—in Kyoto, the ideal venue. Only after I arrive, I am told that Myoshin-ji is the strictest "popular Zen" course open to the public. But this only enhances my expectations. Donning the obligatory samue outfit, I make for the orientation meeting. Here, the lead instructor for the weekend, Ishida Shingyo, teaches a dozen of us, all beginners, with his warm Kansai twang. He shows us the basics of sitting, posture and breathing. He says matter-of-factly, "Tonight, we are going to meditate all night long," and then cracks a mischievous smile. Thankfully, this turns out to be just a dash of monk humor.

Soon we head to the meditation hall. Beginners and veterans sit in silent meditation. Eyes half closed, I struggle to rid my mind of superfluous thoughts, but they continue to accost me. In a few minutes, my legs are numb. Somehow I manage three or four roughly 30-minute bouts of meditation.

During the meditation, a monk makes the rounds, strolling purposefully around the hall with a thin plank in hand. "Whack!" The sound of the plank meeting shoulder echoes through the hall. This plank is a keisaku, a stick used to help practitioners overcome fatigue or adjust their errant posture. Sometimes the slap is requested voluntarily, sometimes not. For a real Zen experience, I figure a slap is de rigueur, so I ask for a whack. Ouch! But far from purging me of abstract thoughts, the strike sends me into another flurry of thought.