The Aftermath of My First Retreat

Despite the fact that I had never meditated in my life, I went on a 10-day Vipassana Meditation Retreat. For 10 days, I accepted a vow of complete silence: No talking with others, nor any silent communication by gesture or eye contact. Further, no cell phones, computers, TV, radios, music, no alcohol, no reading or writing. NOTHING. No input, no output. Except 100 hours of meditation.

Here follows the story of my experience: Part 7, as published in The Noise.  Previous entries are posted at tendaysofhell.blogspot.com. 

The most glorious and enjoyable part of my Vipassana meditation experience was not the retreat itself, but instead, everything that happened after those grueling ten days of silence.  Once I left the retreat center and entered the “real world,” something beautiful began to unveil itself slowly over hours, then days, and finally weeks and months.  If you recall, my first column back in July described how I almost had a head-on car collision driving away from the retreat center.  I return to that moment now.

After what should have been a terrifying and shock-inducing near-death moment, I am smiling peacefully and living only in the moment.  I drive into Fresno and stop at a restaurant called The Breakfast House.  But the “real world” is nothing like I remember it:  it is peaceful and surreal.   I walk slowly and feel as if my feet do not touch the ground.  A silly grin of serene satisfaction is upon my face.  The Breakfast House happens to be a Jesus-themed restaurant wonderland, complete with Jesus murals and quotes from the bible painted on the walls and in little frames next to each table.  Harp music fills the very clean space, which is colored by glowy orange pastel and gaudy in its love of Christianity.  I feel like I am in the classic fantasy of heaven you see in the movies: the ground is made of soft clouds, and everyone is speaking in whispers and wearing glowing white robes, smiling.  I expect Morgan Freeman to be my server.

During the last few days of the retreat, among the many comfort items I fantasized about, an omelet was at the top of the list.  Oh, how glorious it would be!  How it would be a scrumptious return to all that I loved and missed in my life.  But no.  The eggs were indeed delicious, however, this breakfast did not fill some burning desire in me.  I had shed that desperation.  I ate half the omelet and moved on.  My sense of peace and happiness did not rise or fall.

After the nine-hour drive home, I arrive back to Flagstaff in the evening and should be tired.  After vacations and trips, I always return home, throw everything down on the living room floor and collapse before I begin unpacking.  Sometimes I don’t unpack for days, and continue living out of my luggage.  This time, though, I am full of energy.  I take the kids to the grocery store, unpack completely, put everything away in its rightful place, do some laundry, clean the house and get my things back in order in a few short hours. 

For the next few months, I am in a new world.  Conversations with friends are revelations.  I tell my story with excitement and passion.  I listen to my children – carefully.  I slow down and quit running full speed like a crazed animal.  Instead, I glide.  Life is here and now, I choose to enjoy it.  My mind is changed about the once-difficult burdens of single fatherhood, work and responsibility.  Absent of this weight, I begin to have some real fun.  Within a month, I have a girlfriend (a minor miracle in my world) and travel to L.A. to see two concerts in two nights (plans that would, in the past, have been derailed by my worries about money, family and work).  At the concerts, I dance with abandon like no one’s watching. 

The most stunning part of my new attitude is my response to struggle.  Upon my return, my financial situation unraveled.  Within two short weeks, I faced insurmountable bills for unforeseen car repair, dentistry and medical.  But none of this shook me.  I remained calm, happy and acutely aware that my attitude and perspective color the world in which I live.  And of course, I survived these problems.  The difference between the old me and new me was that, instead of suffering through it, I survived happily.

Next month: what happens when I go back.

~~~~~

Follow up notes to this entry:

1. As usual, there is not enough space in a 750-word column to truly describe my experiences upon coming home from my first ten day retreat.  What did I exclude?
1. Sleep.  I didn't need sleep like I used to.  When the mind is calm and unfettered with stress, worry and day-to-day madness, there isn't the same need to rest.  I could sleep a few hours and feel energized the next day, all day.  
2. Work.  I'm the boss at my job.  So I set my own schedule, and I determine my own workload for the most part.  Upon my return, I began to cut back and find ways to make work a lesser part of my life.  This was necessary to make more room in my life for family and for my health.  In turn, I found that I was more productive when I was at work.
3. Confidence.  I had a new level of appreciation for myself and my ability to be happy and successful.  This confidence led to many other gifts.  It's highly probable that my newfound self-confidence directly impacted my ability to attract a girlfriend.
4. Letting Things Roll.  I've always been the kind of person who isn't easily offended and rolls with the punches.  But, after this retreat, this trait was raised to another level.  Whereas before I *could* get offended or take something personally, it simply was not possible anymore.
2. This was not forever.  These changes in me did not last.  If I had meditated daily after the retreat (I did not - I tried, but didn't meditate for more than a couple of days afterward), perhaps things could have been different.  After four months, the effects of the retreat had mostly buzzed down and my emotions began to take hold of me again.  My son landed in the hospital over New Year's Eve (2010 became 2011), and I was again overcome with stress and struggle.  Even going back on retreat in March 2011 didn't help (which is the next story in this blog).  I can say honestly that 2011 was a pretty awful year for me.  Thankfully, I ended the year with third retreat that helped me find a new level of calm.

 

Artwork

Artwork from The Noise, where Ten Days of Hell is published monthly.

Part Six: Solitary No More

Ten Days of Hell

Entry Number Six.  As usual, first the column as published in The Noise, with follow-up notes.

Being alone is hard for many people, but not for me.  Despite having a very social and public job, I’ve always been an introvert at heart.  I relish the rare chance to spend a quiet Sunday – kids gone, house to myself – alone in my pajamas all day.  The hermit lifestyle seems to me an ideal retirement.  Now, though, on the final day of a 10-day retreat where I could not talk, listen or share anything with anyone, I discover that the other side of me is stronger than I thought.

The morning of Day Ten comes, and all I can think about is leaving.  The rules are fairly clear when you arrive: no one is allowed to leave on Day Ten.  At about 9:30 A.M., silence is broken and we are allowed to talk freely once again.  Our teacher tells us that our serious work is done now.  Day Ten is about relaxing into the transition into the “real world.”  But I don’t care.  My first words upon the lifting of silence, after nine and a half days of my inner roller coaster of emotion, are to Yogi, the Course Manager: “I want to leave.  Now.”

This is a ruse, of course.  I can leave if I want.  I don’t need permission, and Yogi does not give it to me.  He says that he’ll ask the teacher but is pretty sure the answer will be no.  I’m happy to wait.  While I do, of course, all the other meditators are engaging in conversation.  One meditator approaches me – the one who I had called Shaggy in my head for ten days because he looked just like the character from the Scooby-Doo cartoon – and asks me how my retreat went.  We talk and it turns out he has a real name: Sam. Other meditators join our conversation. 

Two things stand out to me now that talking is back in my world.  First, people are smiling with light and expression in their faces.  It’s truly a joy to see.  Remember Eddie Murphy in ‘Raw’ talking about how if you’re starving then a plain cracker becomes the most glorious delicacy you’ve ever tasted in your life?  Well, after ten days of eyes pointed downward without expression, I feel that way about seeing smiles on people’s faces.  Suddenly, my world is full of joy again.  A smile from a male meditator, who had seemed creepy for ten days, makes me feel like there really is a chance for world peace and the end of hunger.

The other thing is that everyone talks about the pain and torment of these ten days.  As odd as it may sound, I had assumed that everyone else was working calmly and diligently like experienced meditators, throughout the retreat.  Of course, I had never meditated before coming here, and I assumed no one else was crazy enough to come here without some experience.  But that didn’t matter.  Even the experienced meditators struggled through this. 

This realization has a huge impact on me.  I had felt so alone, so dreadfully solitary for so long, that to have smiling faces tell stories about challenges similar to my own gives me hope about my struggle.  I begin to feel as if my deficiencies and shortcomings are not a result of my ineptitude, but rather a result of being human.  This is revelatory like the parting of the Red Sea.  Suddenly, the world has opened up again.  I feel free, alive, and bountifully happy. 

All of my fellow meditators now feel like life-long friends.  This is a shared experience, not a solitary one.  The connection I feel, not just to these other meditators, but also to the people in my life and to all human beings, is strong.  I discover that my desire for solitude is more about my desire for peace than it is about wanting to get away from people.  After all, without others who provide their mirrors, how will I ever I learn anything about myself?

~~~~~

1.  Shaggy (or "Sam" if I must) also asked me this: "Would you ever come back for another retreat?"  My response:  "Never. I would never again willingly put myself through this kind of torture.  Ever."  So my initial response to the "Ten Days of Hell" was indeed that: it was hell.  It wasn't until I was out in the world again, and re-experiencing my life with a renewed perspective and attitude, that I began to realize the benefits I had gained.  After time, I realized that eventually, I must go back.  It was too valuable an experience to not repeat, in hopes of keeping that new perspective alive in me.

2.  Day Ten is really a lot of fun.  Making new friends is one part.  You also get to have your things back.  I grabbed my phone and even got to text a few people.  I had been so badly craving these little "normal" things, it made Day Ten enjoyable to the point that I was actually a little sad to leave.  A little.

3. Best line of the retreat, this one by a guy I nick named "Mohawk"... which I have to set up first.  You see, after ten days of only being around men in all areas except the meditation hall, it's a little hard not to look over to the women's side of the hall during meditations.  Of course, no one can wear anything revealing while there, so all clothing was very modest.  Which meant that the only skin you'd see is a little bit of the neck and the ankles, maybe a forearm or two.  Boring, right?  Not after 6 or 7 days in the midst of hellish solitude!  That skin was all we had.  As Mohawk said on Day Ten, seeing those ankles was like Amish Porn.

Part Five: Gift of the Scorpion

Ten Days of Hell

Yet another entry in the ongoing saga.  As usual, here's the column as published, then followed by additional notes:

On Day Six, I’ve reached a great pinnacle in my meditation practice.  I experienced ‘dissolution’ whereby my entire body was buzzing with vibration and energy.  I’m proud of myself for coming so far in so little time, and I’m eager to learn the next steps of the practice.  Surely, there are more twists and turns in the slowly unraveling practice that is Vipassana.

Except that it doesn’t work that way.  The practice does not change.  Throughout Days Seven, Eight and Nine, the practice is exactly the same as it’s been: remain aware of sensations on the body and do not react to those sensations.  It’s pretty stark to see how quickly my sad little monkey mind goes from eager pride to boredom and disappointment.  In less than a day, my so-called “accomplishments” are gone and I am left, once again, with nothing but my unhappy self.  I’ve fallen into the trap of thinking that Vipassana is about accomplishment, about reaching the next step, about prideful progress.  And this leads me into a painful trap of disappointment and dreadful boredom.

The first three days of this retreat were about pain.  The next three were about discovery and excitement. These three days are by far the longest of the Retreat, and are excruciatingly boring.  I’m so eager to go home that I can’t focus to meditate.  Instead, I daydream about the morning of Day Eleven, when I leave this place.  I dream about having an egg omelet (all the meals are vegetarian here), listening to music again, and hugging my kids.  I fantasize about sleeping in my own bed, and even about going back to work. 

By Day Nine, I am so wrapped up in my fantasies that I don’t really pay attention to what is around me.  I stumble into the Meditation Hall for the first group session of the day after yet again sleeping through the early morning “on your own” meditation session.  I expect to sit there for a full hour without doing Vipassana at all.  As I plop down on my pile of cushions, a small scorpion scurries out from underneath.

I remain relatively calm, but know something must be done. Smaller scorpions are the most poisonous, and I can’t let it sting me or any of the closed-eyed meditators nearby.  But I can’t kill the scorpion (which is what I want to do), because upon arrival at the Retreat we promised to abide by a Code of Conduct – one of the codes is not to kill any living thing.  For what feels like twenty minutes but is only a short time, the Course Manager and I try to lure this scorpion into a cup for removal from the hall.  We get close, then the scorpion jumps away from the cup, and we both leap backwards with fear.  I’m sure we look silly, and I assume everyone thinks we are only battling a harmless cockroach.  I want to call out to all 125 of them, “This is a dangerous deadly scorpion! We are trying to save you from doom!”

Once the scorpion is taken to greener pastures, the session begins.  It takes thirty minutes for the adrenaline rush to wear off, and when it does, I am able to meditate with strong focus.  The daydreams are gone.  I move my attention throughout my body and again find myself experiencing dissolution. 

As the retreat comes to a close, I am thankful for my little scorpion friend.  He was a fairly ordinary scorpion as far as I can tell.  But I know this: Day Nine is the final full day of silence.  By midday on Day Ten, we’ll be able to begin speaking again, and I will leave on the morning of Day Eleven.  It was the scorpion that shook me out of my boredom, frustration and haze, and brought me squarely back into focus so that I could benefit from the last moments of these truly powerful ten days. 

~~~~~

Some follow up notes to this post:

1. This is one of the pitfalls of being around 125 people while in Noble Silence.  You can't tell them about the scorpion you're hunting.  You also can't apologize.  One time I sat down at a table in the dining hall with four other meditators already there, and I bumped into the table, spilling the soup of two of them.  "Oops! I'm sorry" is not the way to handle this.  You can't even make gestures to apologize.  All I could do was grab a bunch of napkins and help clean it up.  

2. The dissolution thing is a topic of much discussion.  After my third retreat, I befriend a man named Mike.  In a conversation after the retreat, he reveals that he didn't experience dissolution at all during the retreat.  But then he got home and two days later, experienced it after a meditation session (not during).  He said that he spoke to another meditator at the retreat who had attended 12 ten-day retreats but had never experienced dissolution.  Clearly, everyone has different experiences in the practice.

3. The Course Manager's name was Yogi.  Seriously.  I never had to think up a nick name for him. 

4. His response when I whispered to him that I had a scorpion under my cushions was the quietest-loudest exclamation "WHAT?!?" ever.  He went and got a cup and tried to hand it to me.  "Will this work to catch him?" he asked.  I nodded yes, but did not take the cup from him.  Sorry, dude, titles like "Manager" have their privileges.

  

Part Four: Going Deeper

Despite the fact that I had never meditated in my life, I went on a 10-day Vipassana Meditation Retreat. For 10 days, I accepted a vow of complete silence: No talking with others, nor any silent communication by gesture or eye contact. Further, no cell phones, computers, TV, radios, music, no alcohol, no reading or writing. NOTHING. No input, no output. Except 100 hours of meditation.

Here follows the story of my experience: Part 4.  Previous entries are posted here. 

~~~~~

After six days of meditation, I wonder what is happening to me.  I’ve gone from the lowest of lows to the highest of highs in a few short days.  At the end of the course, I tell a fellow meditator: “This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.” His response: “Really? Ten days of sitting is the hardest thing you’ve ever done?”  Short answer: absolutely.  The long answer requires some philosophy.

The Vipassana meditation practice – and the ten-day retreat – works on a variety of different levels.  The teacher instructs us to simply remain aware of sensation, exploring every inch of the body to observe what sensations arise.  Some sensations are pleasant, like the full body buzz I wrote about last month.  Some are painful, like dull and sharp back aches, and some are unpleasant, like intense itches or a foot falling asleep.  The teacher instructs us to not react to any of these sensations.  So I do not move to scratch an itch on my nose even as it goes from mildly annoying to a tiny volcanic hot explosion of electricity.

Every emotion has a place that it manifests in the body.  When I’m angry, if I pay attention closely, I’m able to feel the physical sensation of that anger in my body.  Maybe it’s in the pit of my stomach, like a ball of acid.  The subconscious or “unconscious” mind is always aware of this and every sensation on the body (and therefore, every emotion).  I sit watching a movie, engaged in the story unfolding, and I have an itch on my arm that I scratch.  I may not even be aware, consciously, that I did so.  It’s my subconscious mind that did it.  It is always awake, even during sleep, and aware of the sensations everywhere on the body.  During meditation, I feel sensations and my subconscious mind wants to react.  By not reacting, it’s like I’m pulling on the reins on a wild horse.

That’s how Vipassana meditation is meant to work.  I pull the reins on my animal (subconscious mind) to teach it to no longer react unthinkingly to every sensation or emotion.  I am training my subconscious mind to observe and accept.

And as I remain totally silent over the course of a ten day retreat, I have no output to express my emotions.  Without a phone, computer, radio or TV, there is almost no distraction; there is no input.  Without input or output for ten solid days, I begin to release some of the things that have been buried deep inside my body.

Little emotions… like the hurried stress and twitch of shame I feel when I arrive late to a meeting, or the quick jolt of anger when a driver does something stupid on the road.  These emotions, which seem minor, find a place in my body and remain there.  They build up as more and more emotion piles up and isn’t addressed.  And that’s just the little hits.  There are also a lot of deeper, powerful feelings that get buried in the body.  This happens to all of us.

All these things shake loose during ten days of no input and no output.  There is nothing to distract me from myself.  Once the “noise” from the hubbub of daily life begins to die down in my head, I am left only with who I am and what I carry.  Emotions come out after they have lingered and built up for so long, after they have become much bigger than the original emotion because they are stored in my body and, over time, cause me more pain than the original transaction.  During the retreat, I wasn’t the only one to break down and cry.  It was a regular occurrence.  The emotion pours out in surprisingly powerful ways.  So, attending one of these 10-day retreats isn’t an escape from the real world into some haven of silence and peace; rather, it’s a painful and difficult journey. Fortunately, it’s worth it (more on that next month).


~~~~~
Follow up notes to this month's column:

1. The "tiny volcanic hot explosion of electricity" cannot be stated dramatically enough to match the experience.  It was summertime hot, 100 degrees every day, so I'd naturally have a little sweat on me.  Sitting down to meditate, the sweat settles and dries as I cool.  And the itches that would come up, especially on my face, were unbelievably irritating.  There were times I wanted to scream as I fought off the urge to itch.  Other times, I'd successfully watch and wait and the itch would die down, only to come back stronger and more fierce than ever before.  I could swear that there was a tiny person on my face stabbing me with a red hot pitchfork, twisting and laughing as I struggled.  I wanted to kill that person.


2. I've learned so much by going back.  After my first retreat, which seemed to knock me off a lot of bad games I was playing, was too emotionally powerful for me to fully understand.  I understood some of what happened to me, and some of how the retreat works.


But it wasn't until I went back for another 10-day retreat seven months later, and then again on a 3-day retreat just last month, that I began to understand what this thing is all about.  That's how this month's column came together... while it's "about" my first ten day retreat, it's really fueled by understanding that came in later retreats.  

3. I find the "chemistry" of how this experience works fascinating.  How, after ten days of shutting down the noise of the world, so much naturally comes out of your mind and body.  How the experience is meant to be painful, because it's a purging of emotions stored in the body.  How it's like a cleansing in that way, and how I felt so much lighter when it was over.  Like the baggage I was carrying with me was gone.  The point of going is not to relax and enjoy, but to go through pain in order to come out on the other side freer.


4. Going to these retreats has not removed my reactions to little things in life.  I still get angry, frustrated, sad, in response to some of the stupid little drama things in life, in addition to bigger, more challenging issues.  But I am much more aware of how that works, and I can step back and watch myself.  It doesn't make it go away all that easily, but it does make it easier to cope with it.


I will cover, in future columns, how I did successfully live without emotional reactions to things, for a solid four months after my first retreat.  It was a wonderful time.  Unfortunately, it didn't last.  But I'm still far better off than I was before all this.

Part Three: Buzz

Here's my column as published in The Noise in September 2011.  See below the column for my additional blog notes about this one.

Also, I definitely recommend picking up a copy of The Noise.  The artwork for this column alone is worth it, but there's also a lot of other great articles, stories and writing. 


:::::


TEN DAYS OF HELL
 
Despite the fact that I had never meditated in my life, I went on a 10-day Vipassana Meditation Retreat. For 10 days, I accepted a vow of complete silence: No talking with others, nor any silent communication by gesture or eye contact. Further, no cell phones, computers, TV, radios, music, no alcohol, no reading or writing. NOTHING. No input, no output. Except 100 hours of meditation.

Here follows the story of my experience: Part 3.  Previous entries are posted here.
 
After three and a half days of absolute silence, inward focus, and nothing but me, myself and I, I’m at the brink of madness.  I have no confidence in myself to continue. I am miserable and I do not want to be here. I want the comfort of my home and the peace of domestic distractions. Nonetheless, I enter the meditation hall for the afternoon group session on Day Four.  We are told, by way of a sign outside the meditation hall, that we’ll learn the Vipassana meditation technique in this session.  Until now, all we have done for ten hours a day is Anapana meditation, paying attention to the sensation of breath on our nostrils.  It’s very focused, very simple, and very boring.  Most of all, it’s hard to do.  So this new technique – it’s my last hope.
 
A sign outside the hall informs us that we’ll sit for two hours.  It instructs us not to leave the meditation hall, and not to move during this two-hour session. That’s not happening.  I’m overweight, uncomfortable in my body, and probably have undiagnosed ADHD.  So, they can dream all they want, but I will move.
 
The teacher begins the session by instructing us to begin Anapana meditation.  I focus my attention on the movement of breath at my nostrils, where oddly, it feels a little raw. Then, we are told to move our attention from our nostrils to a “quarter-sized circle” at the very top of our heads.  At this point, something truly amazing happens.  A small section – the size of a quarter – on the very top of my head “lights up” with a tingling sensation.  It’s unbelievably vivid.  It’s like I can feel the molecules of that particular patch of skin bouncing around wildly, so strong it even hurts a little.  The teacher further instructs us to move that quarter-sized patch of awareness, slowly, over our entire bodies.  I move the attention around my whole head, over my face by individual part: left ear, temple, cheek, nose, lips, etc.  Everywhere I turn my attention, that area of my body “lights up” with high vibration and tingling sensation.
 
I am fascinated by this and continue with intense focus, moving over my entire body. At the end of the session, I’m shocked to realize that I did not move at all for the last 30 minutes.

The breakthroughs continue on Day Six. I begin morning meditation by moving my attention, part by part, over my body. But something really cool starts to happen. As I move my attention from my left shoulder down, suddenly, my entire arm lights up with energy and vibration in one fell swoop. I approach my upper leg and then the whole leg lights up in one smooth motion. Now I'm sweeping the vibration over larger parts of my body. By the final few minutes of the session, I don't need to move my attention; my entire body is simultaneously buzzing with delightful sensation (I’m told later this is called “dissolution”). I’m glowing with energy, and I’ve sat for the entire hour without moving an inch.  Having spent a good part of my more youthful hippie years experimenting with various substances, I can say confidently that this natural meditation “high” is the way to go.
 
I’ve decided to stay.  I’m finally feeling good here, and I’m eager for each session, craving the warm buzz feeling that will come.  In a private interview, the teacher has told me that the dissolution I have experienced isn’t discussed in the course until Day Nine. So, I’m ahead of the class!
 
I didn’t know it at the time – I was so happy just to feel like I was getting something right in the midst of my own personal hell – but this combination of craving and pride was a perfect set up for further suffering.
 

:::::

Follow up notes to this column:

1. The buzz was very real. As I'd move my attention, I'd be seriously perplexed at how powerful the vibration sensation would be on each new part of my body.  So much so that I worked hard a couple of times to see if it was my mind "creating" the sensations rather than my attention sharpening to a level that could feel more than I do at any other time.  

I did this by jumping my attention quickly.  I'd "jump" from feeling my toes up to my elbows.  If there was a significant lag, I convinced myself that that meant I couldn't be creating the vibration, just watching it.  I'm not sure that works logically, but I was convinced at the time.

2. It's not been said yet (and I'm sure it will be in later versions of the column), but this stuff comes across as intellectual game-playing to some degree.  I don't mean to demean my own writing, but Vipassana is an experience.  What I went through may make for a good story, but the actual experience is at a whole other level.  The teacher also kept stressing this: he would say that we are re-learning how to control our own minds experientially... if we were to only talk about it and understand it intellectually, it would lead us nowhere.

3. I've recently returned from a three day retreat.  Three day retreats are only open to those who have completed a ten day course.  The Vipassana folks are very strict about this... there's no 'beginner level' indoctrination.  The ten day retreat IS the beginner level.  And the intermediate level.  Advanced level involves further exploration and longer retreats... 20 or 30 days.  I shudder at the thought.  But I'm also a little curious.

The three day was nice.  Relaxing is the word I would use.  It'll probably be the topic of a column later, so I won't spoil it all now.  But I will say that without the specter of ten full days of absolute silence and isolation lingering over my head, it's easy to simply relax and get into the spirit of a calming retreat.

4. I also just signed up for a third ten day retreat this winter.  Yes, I'm going yet again.  I go in December 21 and come out January 1.  This timeframe, and the thought of being 'off the grid' completely over the holidays, has completely lit me up. What a great time to disappear, eh?


5. There are some things you must promise in a ten day retreat at Vipassana.  They are

• to abstain from killing any being;
• to abstain from stealing;
• to abstain from all sexual activity;
• to abstain from telling lies;
• to abstain from all intoxicants;
• to abstain from eating after midday; (although we are allowed fruit at 5pm)
• to abstain from sensual entertainment and bodily decorations
• to abstain from using high or luxurious beds. 

6. Also, here's the daily schedule during the ten day retreat:

4:00 am Morning wake-up bell

4:30-6:30 am Meditate in the hall or in your room

6:30-8:00 am Breakfast break

8:00-9:00 am Group meditation in the hall

9:00-11:00 am Meditate in the hall or in your room according to the teacher's instructions

11:00-12:00 noon Lunch break

12noon-1:00 pm Rest and interviews with the teacher

1:00-2:30 pm Meditate in the hall or in your room

2:30-3:30 pm Group meditation in the hall

3:30-5:00 pm Meditate in the hall or in your own room according to the teacher's instructions

5:00-6:00 pm Tea break (and we could have fruit)

6:00-7:00 pm Group meditation in the hall

7:00-8:15 pm Teacher's Discourse in the hall

8:15-9:00 pm Group meditation in the hall

9:00-9:30 pm Question time in the hall

9:30 pm Retire to your own room--Lights out

Part Two: No Comfort (August)

For those of you who read my posts on Facebook last summer about my Vipassana experience, you'll find that this entry is somewhat familiar.  In fact, the first three entries (July, August and September) will be that way.  However, I do insert a bit or two that is new - for instance, this one features a nickname (my favorite one) that I forgot to include in my original Facebook posts. 

However, beyond September, I will begin to explore some of the philosophy and nuts/bolts of the Vipassana meditation process.  I will explain, as best I can, how it's meant to work.  How did it work for some newbie like me who had never meditated before?  How did I spend four months after my first retreat on Cloud Nine, after nearly spending a year on the border of Cloud Eight (Nervous Breakdown)?  I'll get into all that in the October, November and December issues of this column, as published in The Noise.

Plus, I will be writing about my experience taking a second journey to Hell.  I took a second ten-day Vipassana Retreat in March of 2011.  Also, I'm taking a three-day retreat this September, and planning yet another ten-day trip to Hell in December.  For that one, I'll be going into retreat on December 21, and not emerging from my cave of silence until January 1.  So, there will be a lot of ground to cover in coming issues.

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Here's the August column as printed in The Noise:

Despite the fact that I had never meditated in my life, I went on a 10-day Vipassana Meditation Retreat. For 10 days, I accepted a vow of complete silence: No talking with others, nor any silent communication by gesture or eye contact. Further, no cell phones, computers, TV, radios, music, no alcohol, no drugs. NOTHING. No input, no output. Except 100 hours of meditation.

Here follows the story of my experience: Part 2.  Previous entries are posted online.

There is no comfort here.  It is the morning of Day Four of my 10-day Vipassana Meditation Retreat.  It is too hot.  My quarters are in a doublewide trailer with 17 other men who snore and slam doors.  I can’t sleep.  And the meditation practice is absurd and pointless.  I had such high hopes when I came here, but now, I just want to go home.

My first three days at the Retreat Center in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains have been hell.  I arrived with an open mind, hoping for instruction and guidance.  Instead, I feel disoriented and lost.  The opening “orientation” session featured an older man whose voice cracked with uncertainty as he read from a sheet of paper.  He gave us the same information I had already read on the website.  Just what had I gotten myself into?

During the first meditation session, I sat in the hall with 125 other participants without any initial instruction.  After what seemed like an eternity, the teacher, whose voice beckoned to us via audiotape, instructed us to focus our attention on the sensation of our breath touching the edges of our nostrils.  That’s it, nothing else.  We did this for hours and hours on end, interrupted only by short breaks.  There is no visualization, no thinking about Chakras, no chanting “OM”, and no imagining the Buddha, some goddess, or light around my body.

This practice – Anapana meditation – is unnervingly difficult.  After just a few breaths, my mind wanders to all kinds of fleeting thoughts.  After two long days, I begin to question my sanity.  I drift into waking dreams, where I am visited by strange creatures.  On Day Three, I meet one that’s half-man, half-rat.  The creature’s face is covered in dirty fur, and he talks like Pendleton from Charlotte’s Web.  But I don’t remember what he says to me, because the teacher has instructed me that anytime I become aware of my mind wandering, to simply re-direct my attention back onto the touch of breath on my nostrils.  No matter how weird the vision, just come back to my breath.  I am bewildered by the places my mind is going, but I am trying to follow the instructions.

I keep myself from going crazy in between sessions by thinking up names and stories for the other people at the Retreat.  I can’t talk to anyone, so I know nothing about them.  There’s a guy who looks like Shaggy – he must have come here after solving another mystery with Scooby Doo.  And there’s a guy with an obnoxiously thick beard that grows way too far down his neck.  He carries around a giant soft meditation chair that outsizes any other meditation pillow in the room by a factor of four.  I name him Neckbeard the Great, captain of the famous pirate ship, Neckhair.

Despite these distractions of oddity and humor, I am miserable.  I’ve decided to leave without completing the course.  Realizing the failure this represents, I curl up in my bed and begin to sob uncontrollably.  My emotional reaction is large and unwieldy – a much stronger reaction than I typically have when I face failure.  Clearly, three and a half days of no input and no output has removed all distraction from my mind, which makes me feel things much more deeply.  I am failing this course, and the shame and fear associated with that pours out of me like a waterfall.

Two things, however, are keeping me from leaving: I am more fearful of admitting defeat than I am eager to get out of there.  And, Day Four is “Vipassana Day”.  We have been told that we will learn Vipassana meditation this afternoon.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the change in meditation would change everything for me.  It would be the kind of break-through that not only gave me the strength to stay through ten full days of this hell, but also would change my life.

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Follow up notes to this column:

1. I was far more miserable and angry than I could really fully express in my word limit (the column is 750 words or less for publication).  In my original free-flowing posts on Facebook about all this, I wrote about a fantasy sequence in which I jumped the Course Manager and repeatedly punched him in the face.  I had many similar fantasy sequences in my mind, in which I hurt or attacked others.  Yet, I am not a violent person; in fact, I've never been in a fight in my life.  I'm a pacifist, mostly.  So, to have this level of intense anger coursing through me was unusual and uncharacteristic.  That's part of what the "Hell" is all about: when you shut down all input for ten full days, and cannot express yourself (no output), all the crud and emotions stored in your body start to come loose and find their way out.  It's not pretty, but it is liberating... at least once you come out on the other side of it.

2. Neckbeard the Great, who I met on the final day of the course, turned out to be named Sean.  Oddly, Sean took a bunch of us to a hidden look-out spot just outside the Course Boundary to show us a place he would go to sit during breaks.  There, he found several clumps of human hair.  It looked like someone chopped their hair off during a retreat a few moons back.  I find it more than appropriate that Neckbeard is the person who showed us this great offering of human hair.

3.  More nicknames:

-Steven Seagal (the ass-kicking movie star - spitting image)
-Mr. I'm Too Sexy (by the end of the Course, I would be singing this horrible song in my head each time he walked in the hall. Sometimes it was hard to keep from laughing out loud.)
-Frog Man (thus named for the frog-hop-way he would adjust his position in the meditation hall)
-Doc (wore smocks throughout the course)
-RunDMC
-Bubble Butt
-Bad Guy (looks like a random bad guy in a Jackie Chan movie. Hope he doesn't run into Steven)
-Mohawk (who I also called "NIN" because he wore a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt, very peaceful)
-Thunder Girl