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.