I just got back from a week-long retreat. Life wasted no opportunity to remind me of my
self-delusion, and my expectations of people and the world around me. Within the first few days it hit me: I was not just retreating from the world, I
had been retreating from the changes happening in me and my life.
Retreats provide dedicated time and space to intensively
explore our inner world and our attitude to the outside world. In this case,
the day began at 4:30 AM with the first sitting meditation at 5:00 AM. Interspersed throughout the day were one hour
sitting and walking meditations broken up by breakfast and lunch (eaten in
meditative silence). According to
monastic tradition, after 12PM eating isn’t allowed. The day ended at 10PM. Even though other people were around, the
practice is usually to observe noble silence except for functional speech. The grueling schedule is offset by moments of tender
kindness and delight in a peaceful setting. Throughout the time, you have access to
support staff and monks or teachers who can guide you through the experiences
you are encountering on your inner journey.
From the get go, I ran headlong into my expectations. At the first meditation session I heard a
woman burping loudly. It was clear she did
so with an open mouth and wasn’t trying to quieten it. A lightning bolt of disgust and irritation flashed
through me. Several years ago on a 10 day retreat I had succeeded in not
getting annoyed at a man who had burped through every sitting session. My pique this time was surprising to me. The heat of anger built up in me as she
continued her staccato little burps.
The struggle to keep
my mind on the meditation object was as strong as the urge to stomp – mindfully,
mind you – over to her and tell her to just stop it. Then my body began shaking with suppressed
laughter at the absurdity of the situation because I knew full well that my
disgust resulted from my own reactivity, and had nothing to do with her.
At breakfast, I looked up to find the same woman sitting a
mere foot across the table from me. Life,
the cosmic jokester, evidently thought I needed more exposure to this charming
woman who burped through the meal, chewed with an open mouth, spat chewed food
onto her plate, and slurped her soup (served at every meal). Whenever my idea of good manners, decorum,
civility, and consideration were challenged, I’d remind myself, with eyes
averted, that the burping and slurping were merely sound waves hitting my
eardrums. Everything else was my
interpretation of an essentially neutral occurrence. Adopting such a view
restored calm. When we see or hear something, we can’t halt the mental processes that cause us to label it ‘good’ or ‘bad’.
The only choice point is whether we will act on our inclination or not.
As with most things, awareness is the first step to prioritizing
where to place our attention, which eventually leads to change.
A discovery that broadsided me was that I am not as strong,
disciplined, or resilient as I used to be or think I am. Seven hours of sitting meditation a day takes
a toll on the human body, and as much as my mind protested being tamed, my body
shrieked its disapproval at being kept in one position for so many hours. I had to consciously work on discerning and
then accepting when I needed to give my body a rest, and when to remain seated until
the aches and restlessness had played themselves out. This physical strain was a huge lesson for
me.
In the past, I would have been able to sit through the
discomfort and hunger but this time I really struggled. Spending hours on end observing one’s own
mind brings up emotions and reveals one’s obsessive thoughts. My thoughts lingered in the past, and on my ability
to meditate for long hours and to be without food. I was yearning for that younger resilient
body and resisting who I now was. This
resistance and rigidity was exacerbating my physical and mental distress. When I began to soften, my situation eased.
I undertook the retreat to develop my
spiritual practice. Intellectually I
knew, of course, that spiritual growth happens in tandem with emotional and
physical releases, and mental shifts of consciousness, but this time I was so
much more mindful of all the levels of my being that were transforming throughout
this retreat. I returned home exhausted, but tranquil and deeply present to the
changes unfolding within me and outside of me.
Retreats are not spa holidays. In
spite of the grueling schedule and temporary discomfort, retreats reveal the
layers of ourselves usually buried beneath our busyness and distractedness, they
help us encounter ourselves, and to develop spiritually. May you find time to be with yourself in silence.
