Photo - the Buddha holding reign during our seven day silent meditation retreat. Above him was a bell that was rung by retreat participants to signal each meditation sitting and walking.
The decision to go on a
seven day Buddhist silent meditation retreat doesn't really come out of
nowhere. It's the culmination of many years of experiences and circumstances,
harking back as far as childhood, that leads to one's participation in such
events.
Like a virus that lays
dormant, it's a seed waiting to sprout, holding with it the likelihood of one
day resurfacing, like the time I got Shingles at 35. I was putting myself
through a great deal of emotional stress after a breakup, and all of a sudden I
ended up with this rash running down my lower back.
I had planned a visit to
the doctor for another matter - and while there, I asked him about the rash.
"What is it?" I asked. He inspected, "that's Shingles.” So of
course off I went to our good friend Google and discovered that Shingles is
actually the same virus as Chickenpox, and you can only break out in Shingles
if you have had the Chickenpox. I do not remember having the Chickenpox and yet
that stubborn virus had lain dormant all those years waiting for its trigger.
My parents took me and my brother to Bangkok, Thailand, when I was six years old. It was here where I saw the great gold statues of Buddha in the Thai Temples and the monks praying and meditating at their feet. Throughout my life I've also taken part in other spiritually related activities such as going to church, learning martial arts, practicing yoga, and embarking on solo travel to places such as Europe, Africa, and India.
I came to Buddhist
Meditation about seven years ago – something I knew I would benefit from after
the sadness of saying goodbye to my pet dog (17.5 years!). I was literally led
to a place of practice from picking up a brochure about it in the local dry
cleaner. From that time on, I have come to know the value of meditation
and listening to dharma talks (Buddhist teaching).
Observations about the
retreat, its participants and me
I discovered from the week
and its 100 or so (about equivalent mix male/female) attendees, that I appear
to have a head start on matters of self-reliance and resilience. I am an
independent soul who is used to doing things on her own. A self-declared
warrior woman. Throughout the week there was lots of crying (not mine –
others) and I noticed a number of people walking around with forlorn
expressions on their faces. While everyone has their own story and ways of
dealing, mine does not include breaking down in front of strangers in a mess of
tears.
In terms of silence – many
people said during our group meetings that they had struggled with the concept
of walking into a situation that demanded a full week’s silence. I welcomed it
- tired by the noise! yak yak yak - and I’m used to the quiet. No husband,
children, pets, and I live alone. Night after night, I go to bed alone. Morning
after morning, I leave an empty flat and return to an empty flat.
Silence does not bother
me. I rarely speak when I’m on my own but occasionally I'll talk to myself,
those one-off comments or reminders that one makes out loud. There was a bit of
this during the retreat – usually something done without thinking about it too
much - so oops, I did break the ‘noble silence’ in that respect.
I've also been to two,
four day long, yoga festivals at the same site. I decided to camp, so I
wouldn't have to share with another person and could exert a greater level of
independence. But at times camping can test one's constitution.
Night time prowlers
For instance, around
midnight is when the coyotes come out. We don't have coyotes in Australia, so I
had some catching up to do…we did have the Road Runner cartoon though
- an early, albeit comical, introduction to the coyote. As well coyotes remind
me of the Australian Dingo and Australians are pretty up to speed with dingoes.
On about the second night
of my camping, as midnight rolled around, a sudden cry was released - a howl.
Not like a wolf’s howl, but shorter. Is it a dog? I wondered. And then before
much more thinking could be done - a pack of animals answered the call. A
cacophony of cries heard across the desert, and there I was - in the four walls
of my canvas tent, freaking out.
My peeing pattern - or so
it seems now, appeared to follow the coyote cry, or their cry would wake me to
my pattern. The coyotes started up again the next night about midnight, and
again the next - in synchronicity with my bladder alert: "Time to dump
some water."
I summoned the courage to
leave my tent, beating down my fear, and zealously opened the tent zipper.
Bumbling my way out into the open air, I took my release within a few feet’s
distance of the tent. I was nervous to scan my iPhone flashlight across the
desert expanse, but I did – just a bit - to ensure the coyotes weren't within
range.
I broke the noble silence
again (in addition to talking to myself) the day after hearing the coyotes for
the first time. I’d come across three men who were not part of the retreat but
looked like they worked on the property.
"Can I ask you a
question?" I asked. "Yes..." they replied. "That
noise," I explained, "the one that sounds like dogs howling, and
happens around midnight, is that the coyote?"
"Yes," each
agreed.
I discovered these men
were locals and for the next few minutes we were engrossed talking about
coyotes.
"Nothing to worry
about," the wisest looking of the three said. I made that assertion
- him being the wisest - because he had been very present to my
inquiry - and had taken it all very seriously that here in front of him stood a
damsel in distress. This man had lovey blue eyes and a tanned, wrinkled face,
handsome in that older Robert Redford kind of way.
That night, around
midnight like clockwork, the coyotes started up again, I was in that
half-asleep, half-awake state, and as I heard the cry - my mind started playing
tricks on me visualising a coyote jabbing its nose through my tent zipper and
pawing, like a bear, to get in. Its face finally broke through the zipper and
its mouth grabbed at my pajama pants while it backed its body up to drag me
out. My mind finally caught up with itself and I realised it had been some kind
of dazzling hallucination.
Human fear
If coyotes weren't enough,
by night four, I had worked myself into a state of frenzy fearing the
possibility of a male intruder breaking into my tent and raping me! (or
murder...)
One of the precincts
(rules) of the retreat was to refrain from any sexual conduct, which included
the actual physical act of ‘self-love’. I started to become concerned that the
men’s sexual urges would be building as the days progressed - and that they
would seek their release on me!
There was also a
considerable number of male workman operating around the retreat center and
many of these men had driven past my tent several times a day - they could
easily see I was camping alone.
Any rustle of wind that
stirred my tent in the middle of the night would send me on edge and my heart
pounded. It wasn't until many hours later when I was finally able to doze off
from sheer exhaustion.
Group meeting with our
teachers
Twice during the week, the
schedule included two small group meetings with one of the Buddhist teachers to
check in on how things were going with an opportunity to express our concerns.
The day I was scheduled for group landed the day after my 'night of terrors'
worrying about being attacked.
The teacher, typical to how
one would expect a Buddhist yogi to respond, 'held space for me' while I
relayed my fears, and provided reassurance that in the ten years she had
participated in such retreats, all had gone without incident. The teacher
suggested I “meditate on the fear” and so I did. And it worked. The next three
nights I rested in the reframe of my thinking: I'm on private land,
attending a retreat with a bunch of Buddhists - nothing has happened of that
nature before – and the maintenance workers of course would lose their job for
any such behaviour. You should be ok.
The only demons I wrestled
with around camping for the rest of the trip included the cold nights and as a
consequence, insomnia. When I did clock in some welcomed REM, my dreams were
close to real life scenarios - included people I knew, and more vivid than
usual. That was interesting to me.
The meditation schedule
The schedule followed the
same structure from Monday to Friday. It included a 6.30am meditation sitting
(I never went to this because I don’t like being up that early!); 7am
breakfast; a 9am mandatory meeting that included a morning dharma talk by one
of the teachers; 10am walking meditation; 10.30am sitting mediation; 11.15am
walking; 11.45am sitting - followed by lunch at 12.30pm.
The afternoon would keep
to that kind of rhythm with dinner at 5.30pm and another mandatory meeting at
7.30pm for more dharma talk. At 9pm, there was led chanting - but I never went
to this either. By that stage, I was ready for bed and as a Christian, did feel
a bit uneasy with the idea of devotional chanting to a deity other than God or
Jesus.
We were only required to
take part in the 9am and 7.30pm activities and I confess I missed a lot of the
sittings and walking meditations, instead opting to do my own thing. It seemed
to me though that the majority of attendees followed the full schedule. I would
go off back to my car and tent and sit on my foldout chair to bake like a
lizard in the sun, and read (something we weren’t meant to do – me breaking
‘noble silence’ again) and I managed to do some yoga as well went for a little
jog one day too. Other times I’d go off to the kitchen and make myself a cup of
tea and eat snacks.
We were also given a daily
30 minute “work meditation” and mine was to dry dishes “pot washing” although
there were more than just pots to wash, rinse and dry. All was going well until
I cut my right index finger on a steel ridge on the tap and had to band-aid it
up to stop the bleeding. The cut was pretty deep and it’s still healing today.
What happens while you’re
silent?
The main teacher had
cautioned us on the first night about some of the things that were likely to
happen during our ‘silence’. He said it was not uncommon to form a ‘vipassana
romance’ where we’d settle on a favourite retreat participant (or more than
one) and start to formulate stories or fantasies about them. Of course, no one
was talking during the retreat so these ‘romances’ were purely fictional and
one-sided in our own heads – the teacher said it was not uncommon to court,
marry and divorce our chosen person, all within the one week. Amusingly this
did happen and to many of us – some revealed details about their having
‘vipassana romances’ on the final night when we were able to talk again. And of
course, when people spilled the beans on having experienced a vipassana
romance, everyone thought they had been the subject of the romance!
As for me – there were a
few people who I probably could have pursued an interest and I did fancy a
couple – but nothing that turned to heart stopping lust. Which to be honest, I
was thankful for. Lusting after someone in silence sounds pretty painful to me
(but of course we’ve all done it). Incidentally, I came across a New York Times
Modern Love article about exactly that (forming vipassana romance). Read here.
Breaking the silence
On Saturday, we eased back
into the 'real world' in that we broke our silence among the group. During the
morning we were encouraged to make eye contact again - and by the afternoon we
were speaking to each-other in the outdoor areas. That night, we came together
around a campfire and a night of haiku (a short, descriptive form of
poetry), limericks and general sharing of retreat
experiences (including divulsions of the vipassana romances...).
The final day - Sunday -
involved a sentimental parting in the morning of bowing to each-other in
gratitude and acknowledgement of the togetherness of the week that had
transpired. It was emotional, touching, and tears were shed.
Not long after, we were
all on our way. Me a quick fall back into consumerism - off to the designer
outlets just down the way to grab some autumn wear...(and I did get some lovely
buys - thank-you Prada and Marni).
By Saturday, the second
final day, I was ready for the retreat to be over. And isn't
that the best way for things to end? When you're ready?
Photo - Joshua Tree desert - 6.45am Sunday October 29, 2017.
Photo - my camp spot during the week long retreat. Loading up Fred the Ford Explorer in preparation to leave, 6.45am Sunday October 29, 2017. You can vaguely see my tent to the left of the car hidden by bush scrub.
Photo - the retreat precepts - we were requested to adhere to these during our seven days participation.
