The purpose of this post is to recount my experience at a 10-day silent meditation retreat for those that may be interested and to log memories that I may forget. You can skip the preface if you want to just read about my experience and conclusions.
The path that takes most people to a meditation retreat is probably not straightforward. The reactions garnered when talking about it range anywhere from horror to amusement to cautioned curiosity. On rare occasion, a person dives right in. But anyone with a bit of sanity takes heed in the decision to be silent for 10 days and 10+ hours of meditating each day. We are social beings, after all, and self-imposed isolation seems anything but fun.
While there were a few factors that lead to my decision, the seed grew from childhood. Brought up Hindu, I was exposed to the concept of meditation at a young age. I had immediate interest, but unfortunately, the interest of a child doesn’t usually last. Asking a child to close his eyes and focus his mind? Forget it. The years passed with surface-level exposure to spirituality and by high school, any remnants of spirituality or introspection had fallen by the wayside, replaced by a narrow and focused interest in success, achievement and capital-accumulation. It was only until my last year in college, when my childhood friend gave me a copy of the pivotal book, Be Here Now, that my interest was revitalized.
Be Here Now detailed the spiritual path of Dr. Richard Alpert, now known as Ram Dass. A Harvard professor of psychology in the 1960s, Alpert was exposed to the vast amount of research being done on psychedelics, primarily psilocybin (magic mushrooms) and LSD. With the likes of Timothy Leary and others, Alpert dove head-first, to come out the other side with a completely altered view of consciousness and ego. In his journey, he finds himself in India in the presence of a highly respected guru, who is completely unperturbed by the LSD Alpert gives him. He eventually falls into the discovery of meditation and the conclusion that perhaps psychedelics give a shortcut glimpse into a reality unknown or lost to our rational consciousness.
The story fascinated me. Like many curious-minded 20-somethings, I experimented. The experience was often the same — moments of confusion, elation and profound insight, usually followed by weeks or months of gradual forgetting. But (at least) one thing always remained: a nagging knowledge of the vast universe sitting inside.
Over the years, I struggled in my meditation practice in hopes of catching a glimpse of some new knowledge or getting in touch with a vague notion of “who I really am”. But with work, social life, etc. there was never real focus. On top of this, I had become severely addicted to technology and distractions. My life had become a constant indulgence to e-mail, Gchat, Facebook, blogs, articles, videos and alcohol. In rare moments of stillness, I would notice how noisy my life had become.
With distractions on one hand, there was over-analysis on the other. I often take pride in my ability to analyze and problem-solve, but it often comes at a cost, the inability of my mind to shut up and be present. The only times of solace from the constant chatter have, sometimes, been live music, moments with friends, playing guitar, sex or intense physical activity. To those familiar to the concept of flow, these were the moments of truly feeling alive.
As I came to find out about these sorts of retreats, I had a sense that 10 days of technology deprivation, habit breaking and being left in my own head would bring about some much-needed rewiring. Having done a transformational learning course a year earlier, I realized the only way to really know was through direct experience. And so I jumped in.
Started by S.N. Goenka, a Burmese-born Indian man, these retreats are meant to be a time for deep work and start or acceleration of one’s practice. The schedule was, therefore, intense. The course would be more aptly named a meditation bootcamp, with almost 11 hours of meditation scheduled in each day.
4am Morning Bell
4:30-6:30am Meditate in your room or hall
6:30-8:00am Breakfast/Break
8:00-9:00am Group meditation in hall
9:00-11:00am Meditate in your room or hall
11:00-1:00pm Lunch/Break
1:00-2:30pm Meditate in your room or hall
2:30-3:30pm Group meditation in hall
3:30-5:00pm Meditate in your room or hall
5:00-6:00pm Tea break (with fruit)
6:00-7:00pm Group meditation in hall
7:00-8:15pm Discourse Lecture
8:15-9:00pm Group meditation in hall
9:30pm Lights out
The group meditations in the hall were “mandatory”. The other meditation times were on your own, which meant you could take a walking meditation break and try your best to keep meditating.
The precepts to be observed for the 10 days were as follows:
1. to abstain from killing any being
2. to abstain from stealing
3. to abstain from all sexual activity
4. to abstain from telling lies
5. to abstain from all intoxicants
While the precepts seemed manageable enough, the other rules did not. We were to follow the Noble Silence — no talking, gestures, sign language, written notes, etc. No physical contact with complete separation of men and women. No reading, no writing and no music. No physical activity besides walking in the grounds during break or when resting from meditation. While I initially had an aversion to some of these rules, I soon came to realize most were there to assist our focus.
I arrive at the center at 4pm, on the outskirts of Yosemite National Park. After registering, I make my way to the lodging. I soon find myself amongst 20-somethings in a cabin-like trailer, all newbies discussing how we ended up here. A lot of our stories were surprisingly similar and we shared a nervous yet excited anticipation. After dinner that night, the Noble Silence was enacted and we had our first one-hour sit. The longest I’d ever tried to meditate up until then was 30 minutes. They didn’t mess around here.
We were instructed to start with Ānāpāna or mindfulness of breathing. With this technique, we simply observed the natural breath going in and out of the edge of the nostrils. We weren’t supposed to control the breath in any way, but only to observe reality, as it is, a concept that was relentlessly reiterated. I struggled through, with my mind going this way and that. After the sit, it was lights out at 9:30. It had begun.
At 4 a.m. sharp, the morning bell rang. Someone opened our door and turned the lights on. My roommate chuckled quietly to himself, almost with a sense of disbelief. 10 days of ignoring my roommate and not making eye contact with him. That was going to be awkward. I set up my tower of blankets and pillows to sit on next to my bed and by 4:30, I was practicing anapana. After the longest 2 hours of my life, not knowing whether I was sleeping or meditating, it was breakfast time.
The dining hall was quite a scene. With the rules enacted, everyone always kept their heads down, avoiding eye contact. I would smile to myself at times, thinking about how funny it probably looked to an observer.
Throughout the day, we continued our practice of anapana. The technique was soon expanded to focus on the “sensations” that were in the triangular region containing everything above the upper lip to the top of the nose. We learned that these sensations occurred everywhere throughout the body, since everything in the universe, including our bodies, are in constant flux. The appearance of solidity or constancy was an illusion, based on our inability to perceive it. We simply observed the sensations without judgment. If we didn’t feel the sensations, be it perspiration, heat, cold, tingling, pain, etc. we stayed patient and let it be. The purpose was to build equanimity and sharpness of the mind, a state of non-attachment and observation to the manifestation of each moment.
For the first couple days, the physical pains of sitting for that long could only be described as self-inflicted torture. At the end of the sits in the hall, I couldn’t help but run back to my room, as the pain seared in my knees, neck and back. But the pain was one of the teachers. As we were reminded, it was all impermanent. We were to remain tranquil through the pain, bringing out attention back to our breath and the sensations above the upper lip. Surprisingly, the pain in certain areas did start going away and shifted to other spots. The main struggle became the absolutely insane amount of thoughts that my mind created and latched onto.
My mind often went to memories of the last 4-5 years since college. The array of thoughts and feelings were endless: my fuck-ups and fond memories of a past relationship, good times with friends, anxieties of the future, anger towards those I felt had wronged me, judgment towards others (friends included). Another weird neurosis was my mind narrating my retreat experience in a journalistic fashion. As I would experience things, it would start narrating as if I was writing a post on it. At times, I would wander or narrate for 20-30 minutes at a time before I caught myself and began meditating again. The point was to stay in non-judgment, to let the thoughts come and go and get back to the present. By the end of day 3, I embraced how crazy my mind really was. I was taming a wild beast, and fighting it wasn’t going to help.
Day 4 brought it all together, both conceptually and practically. We were taught the technique of vipasanna, an ancient technique taught by Siddharta Guatama (the Buddha) in India about 2500 years ago. After spending 3 days sharpening our mind to detect sensations, we were now to scan every part of our body, from head to feet and back up again. With this, we were taught the theory as well, which brought context to the complete inability of my mind to focus for more than a minute.
The premise of the technique is that the mind is always developing saṃskāra, the Sanskrit term for reactions or formations. At any given moment, the mind is most likely in one of two places, the past or the future — worrying, anticipating, planning, regretting, remembering, etc. Try this — close your eyes and simply focus on your breath going in and out of your nostrils for 2 minutes. Not that easy, is it? That’s the mind building more saṃskāra at every moment, going between craving and aversion. Constantly wanting something it doesn’t have or worrying/running from something it doesn’t want. These cravings and aversions are connected intimately with sensations in our body. When we feel angry, for example, we have a bodily sensation that is linked to it (I feel heaviness in my heart and throat areas, for example). When we crave a piece of chocolate, there is a bodily sensation that is linked to it. By observing these bodily sensations with non-judgment, we stop building “new” saṃskāra and are staying within reality as it is — the present moment. We stop deepening the grooves of our cravings and aversions. When we don’t allow the mind to indulge in these thoughts, old saṃskāra starts bubbling up, hence memories of the past. And once again, we stay detached, bringing ourselves back to our sensations. This was also the reason for the rules and precepts. Any conversation, reading, music, etc. would be great for the mind to latch onto and distract itself. We were here to do serious work.
The emphasized points were equanimity and awareness. Equanimity was built in detachment to our bodily sensations — no cravings towards pleasurable feelings (tingling, subtle vibration) and no aversion towards any pain or thoughts. We were to simply observe the phenomena that were, in this case, our sensations. For me, another aversion had built as well. I was increasingly frustrated by my inability to feel the entire right side of my back and upper leg. It was a dead zone, and my only guess was that my mind had shut off awareness to that part of my body from the constant pain I had from an injury a year prior. I soon realized it was a great tool, as it was a chance for me to remain unperturbed, stay persistent and continue scanning. The intense pain in other parts of the body was a tool as well, as it allowed me to focus on it as an impersonal sensation, learning that part of the pain was psychosomatic, or simply put, part of the pain was really the physical manifestation of my aversion to it. When I didn’t dread it, it fazed me a lot less. The body was thus a vehicle for observing reality. The point was that the equanimity and awareness we were building would translate to the vicissitudes of everyday life — maintaining presence and tranquility through anything.
To add to the technique, they introduced Adhiṭṭhāna, or strong will, to the one hour group sits. We were to stay completely still, not moving an inch to change posture, scratch an itch, etc. Of course, the point was not to inflict torture, so if we really had to move we could, but to do it slowly and as infrequently as possible. The intensity of the retreat definitely went up a notch and by the end of the day I was utterly exhausted.
Over the remainder of the retreat, I slowly shifted into epic zen mode. We continued to expand on the technique, keeping in mind the concept of anicca, or impermanence. The pain we felt, the thoughts we had, the sensations we noticed — everything was impermanent and would pass. And pass it did. The pain in my legs and neck slowly faded and by day 6 or 7 I was sitting for the one hour sits without pain for 45 minutes or so. The last 15 were the true test, detaching myself from the craving to move and observing the pain, with every minute feeling like an hour. I had heightened control of my mind — when it wandered it was 5 minutes or less and I was often completely focused for minutes at a time. By day 8, I started feeling sensations on the right side of my back and was starting to get a free flow of vibration throughout my body.
Of course, there were roadblocks and the roller-coaster continued. Some days I would be obsessed with sexual thoughts. Some days I would have constant fantasies of being a rock star. Some days I would be angry about viewpoints and values other people had. And through it all, rather than asking why, rather than analyzing, one simply goes back to the technique and lets it go. It will pass, as it should.
The routine became sacred to me. The beautiful walk on the path to the dining hall, the appreciation of every meal, the peace in the meditation hall at 4:30am. I was absorbed in the practice. The memories, feelings and thoughts bubbled up and passed. Over the coming days, my mind continued to go further back in the past in an eerily sequential manner — college, high school and finally childhood. I felt lighter and lighter. I looked forward to Goenka’s stories and recaps at the end of the night and looked forward to the sits in solitude in my pagoda cell, a small room we were given the option to use, submerged in total darkness and silence. By day 10, I didn’t really want to leave.
By 9am that morning (Day 10), the Noble Silence was no longer in effect. We were allowed to talk the rest of the day, as a way of easing us back. The feeling of sharing experiences, connecting with our eyes and simply acknowledging each other is something I will never forget. I felt utterly euphoric and had the most focused meditations of the entire retreat that day. I believe the outlet of talking gave my mind some release, leading to better focus.
We were now ending our one-hour sits with metta-bhavana meditation, or loving-kindness. The purpose was to cultivate the feeling of pure love for ourselves and all beings, wishing them happiness, peace and harmony. The feeling was extremely powerful and I left the sessions with an emanating, positive glow.
On the morning of day 11, we concluded the retreat with a final discourse. Goenka recapped what we learned and politely reminded us that the work had just begun. Keeping up the practice within the humdrum of our daily lives would be the real test of persistence and patience. We were all up for the challenge. After cleaning the rooms and exchanging contact information with some of my dormmates, we parted ways, with everyone agreeing it was the most challenging thing they had ever done. We had established a silent bond, having an intimate understanding of what we had all endured and learned.
Meditation is difficult, hard work. I learned how uncontrolled and crazy my mind really is. But being in control of my mind and not having my mind control me is something worth striving for, to escape the automatic reactions that have built up through conditioning and wired through genetics.
Meditation is a term that’s thrown around a lot these days, conjuring up images of bald monks under trees or Indian men with long, white beards in loincloth. While there are hundreds of techniques and interpretations, the intention is clear — to cultivate the art of truly living, that is, to be in the present moment. I realized that I sometimes live life to fill up the sentences in my biography — for the end results, for the memories and the satisfaction of having stuffed so much in. And while those things are valuable, life is actually experienced in the white space between those lines, from moment to moment. With things like Facebook, it’s easy to get caught up in the culture of life-exhibition. I’ve had my fair share of experiences that looked and sounded awesome to others, but at the time my mood sucked or I had spent the time thinking about something else. Meditation gives us a way to rise above the “wanting mind” and understand what it means to just be here, wherever that is.
Another important lesson was patience, specifically patience with failure and the learning curve. I technically “failed” every couple minutes at something for days at a time. There were points where I wanted to give up and just sleep, but I pressed on. And something magical happened. By the end, I was having minutes of complete absorption and presence in the practice, which seemed unfathomable just a few days prior. It was empowering to remember how quickly we are capable of learning anything, when are willing to go through the initial pain. The pain might be physical. It might be frustration from sucking at something. It might be anxiety from not understanding or being helpless. But those periods are just there to test whether you are truly committed, and you can bet those periods will come again further down the line.
Perhaps the most emotionally fulfilling lesson was the understanding of love vs. attachment. I’m not exactly sure how, but the more we cultivated the feeling of detachment from our sensations, the more I came to understand how much of our culture idolizes attachment and disfigures what true, unconditional love really is. Many of the relationships I see around me, mine included, are full of attached, conditional love. Love that is based on an implied contract of fulfilling needs and often weighted in one direction rather than both. The more I meditate, the more I sincerely believe that beneath our layers of personality and conditioning is what the saints and Gods of old (Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, etc.) always talked about: unconditional love. The feeling of truly wanting happiness for someone, adoring and wanting to imbibe their qualities, forgiving and even respecting their imperfections. With this love, self-interest goes by the wayside. It may sound cheesy, but we are one.
I can’t say I’m some radically different person. I’m not. But what has changed are some habits, both automatic and voluntary, that will eventually help me discover the person that I actually am. To name a few: I now practice meditation 2 hours a day, keep my phone on silent most of the time, stopped multitasking and catch myself when I allow fear to dictate my actions. The more we allow outside agents to control our conscious and unconscious habits, the deeper the grooves get. The hope is that we live a life of genuine action, not reaction.
This last point about action addresses a misconception I’ve heard and still struggle with myself. I’ve always thought that meditation/Eastern spirituality takes us away from striving and encourages contentment of current reality. And it does. But I also thought that it meant less action, less goals and retreating from the world. This is the misconception. It is simply that our striving doesn’t have to define our self-worth, our self-esteem and the emotional contents of our day-to-day experience. We can be detached from our striving and yet still accomplish so much in our lives. If anything, I’ve been more decisive and taken more action in the last couple weeks than I have in a long time. In the end, contentment is not the same as complacency, and I hope to really understand that someday.
I hope my post inspired new thoughts and piqued some interest. Either way, I’ve said enough, I’ve got some Facebooking to do. The struggle continues.
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