I agreed to abstain from ALL creative expression for 10 days. Here’s how it made me a writer.
Last week I attended a 10 day Vipassana meditation course in Nepal. In addition to Noble Silence (all communication with fellow students, whether by gestures, sign language, written notes) for the duration of the course, other prohibited activities included writing and reading, (“…to emphasize the strictly practical nature of this meditation.”), music, singing, exercise (walking is permitted), sunbathing, distracting clothing or partial nudity.
My journal is my best friend, particularly while I’ve been travelling for over a year. I scribble in fine biro, two rows of writing per line to double up the capacity of the books. I love the way my thoughts untangle as they appear on the page, and I expected this would be the hardest part for me. Its only 10 days, I can manage.
Partaking in some kind of creativity amnesty, I handed over my prohibited items at 1pm on the day of arrival.
A mere 72 hours later, mid-meditative daze, I remembered I’d had TWO pens in my bag. I’d surrendered only one.
I had a moral dilemma. The whole point of this course was to purify the mind, master self-discipline and be the creator of my own happiness from within. Not to mention one of the ‘five precepts’ we had to adhere to is don’t tell lies.
What should I do?! What would YOU do? Hand it over and continue the writing embargo? Leave it at the bottom of the bag and forget all about it?
Could I really do that?
Only a couple of days in, I was already flooded with experiences that I didn’t want to forget by the time I was reunited with my precious notepad.
I wracked my brain trying to recall anything I could write on. I was sure there were some bits of paper stuffed in an inner pocket of my rucksack, the reverse of an old visa application or some such like.
Teamed with steadily increasing back pain from 10+ hours a day sitting on the floor, and personal disagreement with the deliverance of some of the philosophy of Vipassana, I feared my commitment to the whole thing was on a slippery slope anyway. Stick with it, I told myself. Plus, I was curious, and if nothing else it would give me plenty to write about.
Returning to our dorm after a measly breakfast, I rooted through the bag. There it was, glistening at my fingertips: a blue pen. The most beautiful item I’d clapped eyes on for days. It shone like the key to my shackles of captivity, full of promise and opportunity.
Did I dare use it?
Of course I did. My supplements come in paper resealable pouches. With a quick glance to check my fellow cellmates weren’t looking, I scribbled down some brief notes to jog my memory upon release.
I’m a creative, at heart. I always have been. During my time at the course (pre-second pen recollection) I did ask myself if it is necessary to write as much as I do. Much of it is personal reflections that are VERY rarely shared. Maybe, per the previous few days, if I removed distractions from my life (doom-scrolling, idle chit-chat, or generally interacting with the world at large), my mind would be spacious enough for me to regulate my thoughts and ideas without the need to put them down on paper.
I left on day 4. 💃🏼
I’d had enough. My back was agony and no number of hard cushions would ease it.
I’ve been inspired by my time there, and reminded of my inner strength, my passions and talents. Perhaps more importantly, I’ve been reminded of the value of routine, discipline, and commitment (but only to endeavours that are worth it, personally). A relentless daily timetable starting at 4am and finishing at 9.30pm, with only 4.5hrs break (including meals), reminded me that when I need to, I can use my time and available resources efficiently.
I’m still travelling, with varying daily routines and no definitive plan for my future, but I feel more focussed and confident in my abilities. Creative expression has been the one constant throughout my life. I am determined to give it the time it deserves. I am doing myself, and my abilities, a disservice if I don’t.
I’m being more mindful of how I speak to — and about — myself. I’m no longer going to ‘do a bit of journaling later’; I’m going to find a space that suits my creative style of thinking, and set aside time to ‘work’.
I’ve written 4 books in the past 15 months.
They are my personal journals, and I intend to use them to share my experience of giving up life as I knew it and setting off with no plan. When I’m furiously writing like my life depends on it (side note: maybe it does), and people ask “Are you a writer? Are you writing a book?”, I will no longer brush it off as a nonsense. I will say yes. I am a writer.
I have always made art. Now, when I am painting murals for people around the world, or delivering commissions, and I’m asked “are you an artist? Is this what you do for work?”, I no longer reply with “Ohh not really, I just do it as a hobby”. I am an artist.
I am a writer. I am an artist. It’s in my soul to do this; who am I to resist?
Have you ever challenged yourself to completely abstain from your passions? What were the circumstances and what was the result? Let me know in the comments, and (in true Vipassana style), may all beings be happy!
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