What monastic life feels like at a silent meditation retreat
What a 10-day silent Vipassana meditation retreat taught me — Part Two: a taste of wisdom?
This is part two of a series of articles about my experience at a Goenka Vipassana 10-day meditation silent retreat. To read part one, please click below:
Being on the Vipassana retreat was the closest I have ever been to monastic life.
Monastic life is “a religious way of life in which one renounces worldly pursuits to devote oneself fully to spiritual work”. And the Goenka retreat was definitely focused on precisely that.
Genders were completely segregated: one side of the facilities was for men, the other for women. As soon as we arrived, we were separated.
Living quarters were simple but clean and quite adequate, although not large. I was lucky enough to be allocated to an individual room, some people shared their quarters with a fellow practitioner.
Every activity was scheduled: a time for sleeping, a time for waking up, a time for meditating, a time for eating, more time for meditating, a time for resting, and yet more time for meditating, and so it goes. A gong signals each and every one of those routines.
The first thing most people ask me about, however, is noble silence. I didn’t mind it. I genuinely am quite introspective, although most people that know me would disagree with that. But I have to say that not having any communication whatsoever (not even eye contact) added to a growing sense of isolation. This got worse as days went by, and the active avoidance of looks among practitioners contributed more and more to introspection.
Food was one of the biggest challenges. We were allowed two vegetarian meals, breakfast and lunch. Dinner was only tea and a piece of fruit for us, new-timers. For those who have finished at least one other Vipassana retreat, not even fruit was allowed — only tea. Breakfast was not bad and, although it was basically the same every day, it was the meal I looked forward every day. Lunch, on the other hand, was very, very bland. So bland I basically only ate to nourish myself, nothing else.
And I am the kind of person who considers meals to be much more enjoyable when you can share them with someone else. Although the dining room was always full, the lack of communication or interaction meant that was when I felt the most alone throughout the whole retreat.
Exercise was limited. A place in the woods allowed for some walking at the allotted times, which was absolutely needed throughout my days at the retreat, as I soon found out. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t enough.
Goenka himself has stated (on the book by William Hart) that it is not that exercise would negatively affect the progression of the student. He even admits that yoga is not only beneficial but may be combined with Vipassana. However, exercising is generally forbidden for more practical reasons: it will disturb others by drawing their attention.
My first meal
On the very first day, when the gong signaled eating and resting time, as I noticed a long queue of practitioners waiting for their lunch time, I rushed to the woods to walk around and enjoy some outside time. I figured the canteen woud be much calmer fifteen minutes later, right?
I took a walk (more about it and my reflections during that walk are on the next section below), as I felt like I needed to move after about 4 hours of meditation. When I got back to the canteen, I was surprised to find that little was left on the big pans from which practitioners served themselves.
And then I learned that even as (most) practitioners are completely focused on meditation, nourishing their bodies at the allotted time still takes maximum priority.
There was always a queue before the canteen actually opened. And as I did not want to experience a prolonged fasting once again, I was always in it.
A taste of Wisdom?
There is some guidance available, in addition to the recorded discourses by Goenka himself. An assistant teacher is available for men and another for women. During the afternoon of the first day, I was invited to have an individual introductory meeting with my assistant teacher.
It did not go very well.
During my first walk in the woods after lunch, I suddenly got emotional. It was a beautiful day, birds were singing, and I sat down on a bench close to some lovely trees. As the sun shone through the foliage, I noticed hair from my dog back home stuck to my fleece sweater (pet hair loves fleece, immediately clinging to it!). In normal circumstances, that would annoy me.
In that moment, however, the retreat suddenly got real after so many months of preparation. I was overcome with a mixture of emotions, as I realised the impermanence of things, and I deeply missed my family, all of a sudden. A few tears went through my face, until I recomposed myself and restrengthen my resolve.
Anyway, I decided that this episode was worth mentioning to my assistant teacher. I expected some compassion, some encouragement — and, perhaps, some wisdom.
“Are you sure you are not hallucinating?”, asked me the assistant teacher when I mentioned that I saw my dog’s hair on my fleece sweater and suddenly realised the impermanence of things.
So much for compassion and understanding, right?
I immediately felt angry and got defensive. I tried to find some hair to show the teacher, but naturally, at that point, I couldn’t. After I explained to him the whole thing, the only thing he said was that this was no psychotherapy and that I should just keep on meditating according to the instructions.
And so I did.
Part Three has been published, you can read it here:
Stay tuned and if you want to know when the following parts on this series are published, please follow me.
