My daughter bounced onto the porch after returning from her one night meditation retreat. “How was it?” I inquired. “Mom! It was the most boring…”she began. My heart dropped, for that is what I’d feared—that once she was away from home and doing the hard work of sitting on a meditation cushion, the romance of an out-of-state overnight would evaporate. “…most wonderful time I’ve ever had!”
It turns out that it wasn’t the meditation experience that so thrilled her, but rather the excitement of trying to create a code of gestures to evade the rule of Noble Silence, the novelty of being completely separated from the boys, the surprise of being chided for exposing her midriff in the heat of the day, and the challenge of the simple vegetarian cuisine. She mimed sitting in full lotus as she spoofed the heavily accented voice of the ashram’s guru telling them to “put water on the fires of inner agitation through the breath.” “You have to do it, mom. You’d love it. And once you do, you can come with me next time.”
Her enthusiasm pulled me along and I went to investigate on line. However, as I read, I felt my initial interest give way to fear.
I learned that rather than a breezy twenty-four hours or even a long weekend, the adult retreats last for ten days. That would be wonderful if it were ten days at a spa, but these ten days demand that I leave behind all of my usual palliatives. While there are a number of directives, four in particular sped up my heartbeat.
The first was that I bring no books or writing materials. This prohibition brought to mind a story about Allen Ginsberg, who had been delightedly scribbling away during a silent retreat when a teacher tapped him on the shoulder and demanded his notebook. “But I’m not talking!” he protested. “Writing is talking,” was the reply. It certainly is. As we write, our ego talks to itself, and our inner voices dialog. We speak on paper to control our thoughts and enjoy the mastery of creation. I can imagine Mr. Ginsberg after this crutch was taken away suddenly realizing that the hard work of meditation had finally begun. Even for her overnight, my daughter had to leave books and paper behind, and I thought she might not want to go as a result. “Mom, I didn’t miss them,” she reported with satisfaction. “The time was so full.” But that was only 24 hours and not 240.
The second requirement was the observation of Noble Silence. I think I could hold my tongue for a weekend. It would challenge me, but I could do it. However, ten days of meditation without books and writing materials promised a great quantity of bottled up thoughts. The prohibition against finding a listening ear for them meant a titanic inner clamor indeed.
Next, the site informed me that we would take no solid food apart from fruit after noon. Food, for me, is another source of comfort and pleasure. Although I have fasted, I have never done so calmly or cheerfully. Usually I obsess about food a good deal beforehand and am sorely tempted to engage in a pre-fast gorge, which doesn’t seem the point of the discipline. I imagined ten long evenings listening to my growling belly.
Finally, intense exercise was circumscribed. No yoga and no jogging—only walking along predetermined paths. Again, I understood why. For many, exercise is a way of managing stress and frustration. It’s an easy way to generate endorphins and avoid potentially painful introspection. Apparently, the creators of this course had thought of everything and left us no place to hide.
Frankly, I am terrified of being left so defenseless against myself, which is the whole point of the ten day program, I am sure. We are meant to confront ourselves without all of our strategies for quieting our inner clamor. The intent is to show us how to replace these strategies with the focused breathing techniques of vipassana meditation.
In fact, so aware are the organizers of the fear that these requirements provoke, that they warn: “A student will have to stay for the entire period of the course. The other rules should also be carefully read and considered. Only those who feel that they can honestly and scrupulously follow the discipline should apply for admission. Those not prepared to make a determined effort will waste their time and, moreover, will disturb others who wish to work seriously. A prospective student should also understand that it would be both disadvantageous and inadvisable to leave without finishing the course upon finding the discipline too difficult. Likewise, it would be most unfortunate if, in spite of repeated reminders, a student does not follow the rules and has to be asked to leave.” People don’t even read such admonitory words before they marry! They must come out of a history of people wigging out once they’ve lost their hedges against themselves.
A final thing that intrigued me about the vipassana practice was its focus on the individual. The site told us that we were to concentrate on our own inner work and to act throughout the ten days as though no one else were around. This is very different than Christianity where one’s spiritual maturity develops in a corporate setting. Of course one might pray or engage in spiritual disciplines alone, but one hears again and again that we encounter and serve God through other people—through struggling to love, aid, and live beside them. It was strange to consider a spiritual practice that seemed so self-centered.
I have heard people say that one meditates alone so that one is healthier emotionally and better able to interact with others from a place of calm. I know the idea is to begin within and move outward. However, I also know, from personal experience that my own inner work is never done, and wonder, then, that I might never “feel ready” to move my attention outward to the world.
Since my daughter’s return, I have come back to the website again and again, both fascinated and repelled. Part of me wants challenge myself in such a way, while the rest of me quakes with fear. What would it be like to spend so much uninterrupted time with my own thoughts? Would I break down? After the disintegration, what would remain and who might I become? Rejecting the experience isn’t neutral either, for what does it say about me if I am terrified of being left alone with myself with all my protections stripped away.
