Vipassana 2.0.
By Emma Suttie, D.Ac, AP
I am constantly reminded that the moment I think I might know something about something, I really don't know it at all. Sometimes this is a kind and gentle reminder, and sometimes it is like being hit by a train. Vipassana is the ultimate truth teller.
I have just returned from another foray into the bewildering/fantastical/frightening world that is my subconscious. That trip manifested itself as a 10 day Vipassana meditation in Georgia. It was my second, and so very different from the first. My reference above to the "thinking I know something" and the "not really knowing it at all" were at play during my time there. The reminders came gently, but relentlessly, with the cold, the hunger pangs, the bad taste in my mouth and my walks in the woods.
I tried to go having no expectations. I had only been once, and, intellectually at least, I thought, every time will be different. You are a different human being each time, arriving with different baggage that needs unpacking. But, even though I understood it with my mind, I didn't really believe it, because I was surprised and to be honest, a little disappointed each time something was different. Immediately I am reminded of the Sanscrit word for impermanence - annicca which we heard over and over again. Let things arise and then pass away. Don't have expectations. Just observe without craving or aversion. Lovely words, such lovely words...
The two experiences were wildly different. I was surprised by how different they were, but I now have to consider that it was a different human being that attended a year and a half ago than the one that arrived on that cold Georgia morning a couple of weeks ago. I was wildly different. Both times.
One of the first observations I had about the difference was that this was a very yin experience. Very contracted. Serious, and a little dark. This was partially the weather I am sure, it was cold as @#*! (in Georgia, really?) and it felt like we were all struggling with our psyches as well as the cold in our bones for ten days straight. Waking up at 4am to haul yourself out of a moderately warm bed to plunge yourself into the middle of the night where you could see your breath and there was ice on things was simply more than I could bear on some mornings. I slept in my hat and sometimes my scarf, and I wore the one pair of long underwear I had day and night for ten days. (I lost my dignity long ago...). Another reason for the yin nature of this experience was also I think that the average age of most of the ladies participating was over 50 which was really interesting. I felt young. (whee!)
My first experience was in late June/July and it was hot as the devil. It was lush and green and everything felt very alive, including all of us. The experience felt like it was awakening something in me, something dormant and decidedly yang in nature. Also, most of the girls were under 30. There were a couple of older ladies, but the rest were young. It was a very expansive energy and much lighter. Less serious. There was joy in the air amid the occasional snore and sob heard in the meditation hall. An occasional titter when someone farted while we were all concentrating so hard.
The Silence
The ten days (actually it is eleven) that you are there, you are completely silent. There is no speaking. There is also no technology of any kind, so you hand over your phones, tablets and all things technological when you arrive. You cannot have books, pens or paper either. And there is no eye contact. This may sound harsh and kind of a terrible way to spend ten days, but honestly, it is the best way for you to get the most out of the experience. And it is sort of awesome.
Personally, I loved the silence. Both times, I was sort of sad when we were allowed to speak again. The world gets loud, and so do your thoughts. How many times in your life do you spend ten days in the woods being completely silent? What HAPPENS to you when you remove the noise from the outside world and the noise coming out of your face? Well, it gets quiet. Really quiet, and eventually, something amazing happens. Your mind gets quiet as well. And when it stops churning and running and make believing (I did a lot of that), then some pretty profound stuff can happen. And some painful things too. For me, this time was a lot about the pain. I brought a lot of it with me, and I knew I was going to have to face it while I was there, because there were no distractions and there is nowhere else to go. Vipassana is like holding up a very large mirror helping you to see things the way they really are. That is the definition of Vipassana. And sometimes the way things really are isn't pretty. But that's ok, because it will pass. It isn't permanent.
I found that this time I knew the mechanics of things, the way things worked. The logistics. And this seemed to free my mind up for deeper, slightly scarier and more intense work. I had a lot to work through this time. The last time I went with a problem, a question I was grappling with and a curiosity about what this thing was and what it was going to do to me, but this time I was arriving after a complete life collapse. And what I wondered about this time was that if I delved deep into the darkness that had become my world of late, if I would ever come out. If I faced my demons, if they would overcome me or if I would come out the other side, back into the light. I am happy to say that I did come out the other side, and was reminded that darkness can't exist without light. They are both there. Always. It just depends on which one you are focussing on at any particular moment.
My favourite part of each day was the hour after lunch when I would walk in the woods. The woods are so wonderful and full of healing energy. When there is no outside (or inside) noise, it is like every tree, every insect and every blade of grass is speaking to you. It is the hum of nature, the qi of everything that is alive. I remember this from the last time too. Nature becomes so powerful. So communicative. I wanted to touch everything. Appropriately. I picked up leaves, ran my hands along ferns and touched the bark of trees communicating back to nature through my hands. Interestingly, everyone else seemed to be feeling the same thing. All the ladies could be seen out and walking in the forest, drinking in every bit of energy that radiated from it. Some would be standing looking up at trees, crouching looking at something on the ground or inspecting some flower or plant along the path. At one point early in the ten days, something cool happened. Someone drew a heart with a stick in the sand on the path. I smiled when I saw it. Every time I saw it. And then some lovely being made a piece of art out of different coloured leaves and twigs and left it by the path for others to enjoy. And as the days went on, more and more of these lovely pieces of art began to appear along the path, like a burst of creativity, being pushed out through nature by the ladies in our dorm. I was amazed at how creative they were. And how up lifting. I was excited to get out each day and see what new ones would be waiting.
Something I was not expecting was that I didn't sleep. The last time I slept like a corpse. Every night. I was practically asleep before I got into my bunk, but this time I feel like I didn't sleep a whole night the entire time I was there. I felt haunted. And was uncomfortable in my bed. It wasn't my bed that was uncomfortable, it was me. My mind was uncomfortable. My thoughts restless and dark. Sometimes I was still awake when the gong rang at 4am and wondered how I would sit for 12 hours in meditation on no sleep. But amazingly, I did it. Every day.
Another thing I noticed about this time more than the last was the need (or attempt) to overcome the body. There are three meditations in the day where you are asked to sit for one hour straight and not move. You work up to this, and I think these start on day three or four. At first, you feel like you are going to be paralyzed. That your knees will explode or that you will simply go insane. I know because when speaking to the girls at the end, we had all had this thought. More than once. But after a few sessions, you start to be able to sit, and to not move and you sort of surrender your body to it and that helps. Eventually, you can drop into it no problem when only a few days before you were sure they were going to have to carry you out of there on a stretcher. You are not "in" your body identified with it, you are a casual observer, looking from the outside. This is the point. Start with the body, and move it into your life. Its a powerful lesson.
The lesson is compounded by the fact that as an "old" student - which means that you have done at least one full ten day Vipassana course - that you will not eat after the 11am meal. At 5pm there is a snack which consists of tea and fruit for "new" students, but old students must refrain from eating. So... breakfast is at 6:30am, and lunch is at 11am... then you don't eat again until 6:30 the next morning. Now, I don't know about you, but I am a lover of food. Eating is like the best part of my day. I am also not a breakfast person as it takes my stomach a while to wake up. This usually happens fully at around lunch time. This caused serious problems considering 11am was the only meal my stomach was awake for. I had to really maximize that meal without looking like a greedy lunatic. For the first few days I did pretty well. I just decided, well, there is no food after lunch so don't think about it. Even at 5pm when the others were eating, I made a point not to look at the fruit they were eating and that did it. I just didn't think about it and therefore, wasn't hungry. Then on about day 4 I accidentally made eye contact with a bowl brimming with delicious and tasty looking fruits and it was all over. It was all I (and my poor stomach) could think about for the afternoon and evening meditations. All 8 hours of them. I was hungry. SOOOooooooo hungry. And that continued every day until the end. I managed, but the feeling of hunger never went away. I am not sure my stomach will ever forgive me.
Another thing that is granted to "old" students is a meditation cell for some of your ten days. I was given a cell for two whole days. The meditation cells are in a hallway located behind a mysterious door next to the meditation hall. I remember last time I was there wondering fiercely what was behind that door and what the meditation cells were like... Behind the door is a narrow hallway and 5 or 6 doors, all very close together. I was in cell number one, the first. I opened the door and there was a meditation cushion on the floor. That was it, it was the size of a meditation cushion with enough space to open the door. I spent two intense days in that cell, burning through all the painful emotions that I brought with me. Those were by far the most intense days for me, but it was a good chance to feel through them and finally let them go.
All in all I am so glad that I went. People asked when I got home if it was a good experience. It was a difficult experience, but a worthwhile one. I came back exhausted and had lost some weight, but I felt clean. Purified. It was a healing experience. A friend who had come with me and I spoke at length on the way home in the car and this was a fascinating and extremely edifying conversation. How interesting how two people could have the same experience, but, at the same time have a completely different experience. It was a really helpful conversation.
Again, I am struck by how pure it remains. It doesn't matter what you believe, what colour you are or what your background is, all are welcome. The goal is to bring human beings out of suffering by teaching them to gain mastery over their minds. A worthy goal, and one the planet so desperately needs. I think the intensity of the experience is really up to each individual. How deep you are willing to dig, how much light you are willing to shine on the dark places. And what you brought with you. I will go back. I am going to try to go every year to keep myself sane. As an attempt to be a better healer and a better human being. It is a work in progress.
*Image from Root Down Coaching & Yoga
If you would like to read about my first 10 Day Silent Vipassana Retreat, you can do so here - My 10 Day Vipassana Retreat. If you would like to learn more about Vipassana meditation, you can watch this excellent documentary called The Dhamma Brothers. It will leave you inspired. :)
Vipassana 2.0 : Chinese Medicine Living
Adventures at Meditation Camp
I wanted to share this with all of you as I had such an overwhelming response to the post about my Vipassana experience. I was very fortunate to, on the last day at the retreat, meet some wonderful ladies, one of whom went home and wrote about her experience as well. It is wonderfully refreshing and very funny.
She has very kindly given me permission to share it so that you can have a different persons take on the experience. It is a great piece and I have compiled her 3 entries into one post. Her original posts are on her blog - The Sparkler - here - Adventures at Meditation Camp Part 1 - Expectations / Meditation Camp Part 2 - Monkey Mind / Meditation Camp Part 3 - Itching is Not Eternal. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.
*I believe that she intends to add more posts so I will continue to add them to this post as she posts them...
Adventures at Meditation Camp
Part 1 - Expectations
I promised a full disclosure account of my 10 days spent in silent meditation at the Southeast Vipassana Center but I’ve been putting this off—trying to digest what I learned and put what I learned into practice but mostly trying figure out a way to summarize a VERY COMPLICATED experience.
A few days after my return, my dad (ever the pragmatist) asked, “So, what was the take-away?" My response to him was, “An ancient Buddhist meditation technique that (I hope) will help me maintain some sort of balance through the next round of challenges life throws at me." But my answer to him doesn’t really hint at the depth of what I experienced and learned, there and since.
Without a doubt, it has had a profound effect on me. Many who know me well have immediately recognized it in my face and demeanor (I call it the Vipassana facelift—I swear I have less wrinkles). But to tell the truth, it all seemed very ordinary at the start and quite a few days in I did not hold any hope of seeing any major changes. It was very peaceful there but it was almost over before I saw even the hint of the possibility of a change in consciousness, much less a drastic or revolutionary one.
There we were (me and about 60 strangers with whom I could not speak) in the middle of freaking nowhere in rural south Georgia (Jesup, GA, to be specific) on an enormous property accessed by dirt roads with no cell phone service within ten miles of the place.
The subtropical landscape felt like home, about an hour from the coast, lots of pines, magnolias and scrub oak, white sandy paths, cheerful waving palmettos and silvery Spanish moss in the trees (all very similar to coastal Alabama where I grew up).
I arrived just before one of the regular late afternoon thunderstorms. As we checked in everyone was supernice and calm, talking in low voices. Shoes are not worn in the buildings. There was a good vibe. Lots of cars in the parking lot had bumper stickers promoting peace and liberal political ideals. The folks checking in around me were diverse in age and ethnicity. The registration process included taking of all cellphones and other electronics and any belongings (car keys) that were not needed during your stay. All would be returned in eleven days as you departed. (This process was obviously scary for some participants. I watched as some students handed these items over with furrowed brows, many questions and nervous laughs.)
Eventually I walked into the freshly scrubbed and simply furnished dorm room I would share with three other women. I was immediately disheartened because they were all half my age and talking animatedly about things not remotely spiritual or enlightening. I was longing for a deeply spiritual, life-altering experience at this retreat and this was NOT AT ALL how I expected it to begin. I wanted to switch rooms, maybe join some of the older students, but I knew the dangers of holding on to expectations and made a conscious effort to just go with the flow.
Beyond this initial aversion to my dorm situation all was calm and generally blissful for the first few days. I enjoyed the quiet, the beautiful landscape around us, the food, even the meditation itself and the teachings of the guru, S. N. Goenka, whom we watched each evening by video.
Goenka is this adorable little man with a great sense of humor. I was often giggling to myself at his self-deprecating stories and his phrasing and pronunciation of certain words. Goenka would say slowly, “Alvays remain avare, remain avare," sounding more like Bela Lugosi than a Burmese-born meditation guru.
He repeated everything twice. And in teaching us Anapana breathing he would pronounce “nostrils" as “nose-trills." which actually makes more sense but still sounds amusing. “Focus all attention on the breath as it enters the nose-trills," he would repeat slowly like a hypnotist.
I felt that the breathing technique we were practicing was super easy, but little did I know this was just to sharpen our minds before we learned actual practice of Vipassana meditation. Once we began Vipassana practice, things began to shift for me. The process became more challenging, and things began to intensify on many levels.
More on that soon.
Meditation Camp Part 2 -
Monkey Mind
At orientation on the first evening of the retreat we all repeated a solemn vow to observe “noble silence" until the tenth day of our stay. We were even advised to pretend that we were alone on this retreat, to not even acknowledge one another or make eye contact as we passed in the hall. No need for social formalities here. Just stay within.
I was ready for this, ready and willing. This retreat was a last resort for me. I was in desperate need of profound, positive change and we all know the most profound changes come from within.
We woke at 4 am to start our first day of meditation, wandering by the light of the moon to the meditation hall. The Center is run very much like a monastery. Gongs were sounded for waking, breaks and meals. We ate full meals at 6 and 11 am and then had just fruit and tea at 5 pm. (I hear your question and no, I never felt hungry and the food was amazingly healthy and delicious.) Lights went out each night at 10 pm. Everything ran like clockwork so we had nothing to do but face the challenges of the silence and the meditation itself.
As I mentioned previously, I was finding the Anapana breathing technique easy, like child’s play, but maintaining my mental focus was a whole other story. It felt like an exercise in futility even though I was an eager student.
The mind has ways and wiles you will never know until you try to meditate regularly. In the world of meditation this is called “monkey mind," a mind that willfully refuses to be tamed (Very accessible discussion on this topic by Buddhist Lama Tenpa Gyaltsen herehttp://badlamaguide.wordpress.com/2012/04/15/enter-the-monkey/).
And oh, DID I EVER have a bad case of monkey mind. In those first days as I dutifully sat on my cushion for hours at a time, I wrote most of a comedic screenplay about a former job in my head. I designed dresses and came up with an entire business plan for the my company (which I decided to name Maude Designs after Harold and Maude). I had fantasies about Benedict Cumberbatch. I thought about baked brie and wedding cake and mojitos (not together). I also listened to long, grumbling south Georgia thunderstorms as if they were symphonies.
In other words, I found endless ways to distract myself and usually without even being aware that I was doing so until I had followed a random train of thought for a full half hour. But then, as the gentle Buddhists suggest, I did not berate myself for wandering. I recognized that I was following the monkeys, yet again, and came back to the breath. This is the process.
I did not have trouble staying awake as many others did (you would occasionally hear snores in the meditation hall) but instead my mind was in hyperdrive, perhaps from being denied the normal barrage of stimulation we encounter in everyday life.
But I also believe that a large part of the reason we cannot easily meditate (perhaps an even stronger reason than our limited attention spans) is fear. We are deeply afraid of what we are going to find when we really look within, and our mind does circus performances just to keep us from going there. This was definitely the case for me.
But by the third day things improved. I was able to sit for longer periods without shifting my position and I was much more focused. Goenka’s mind-sharpening technique seemed to be working. My mental focus increased and this happened just in time, because the next day we began our Vipassana training in earnest.
Will share the gory details about what happens next very soon. Peace out. ;)
Meditation Camp Part 3 -
Itching Is Not Eternal
Many people have said to me that they absolutely could NOT spend ten days in silence, much less in silent meditation. I readily admit that it is no easy task but I do believe that if I could do it and if prisoners in state penitentiaries can do it (http://www.prison.dhamma.org/), then pretty much anyone could do it. Being WILLING to do it is a whole other subject.
I was certainly willing and my mental focus was much-improved as I sat on the third day of this retreat, but physically I was still struggling. My foot would fall asleep. My back would ache. Random parts of my body would itch. A hair would fall in my face. I was suddenly too hot or too cold. All of these annoying and uncomfortable physical sensations would arise as I sat. But the teachings tell us to retain our composure of mind and sit through all of these annoying sensations, completely still and in the present moment.
One of the most basic tenets of Buddhist thought (across all traditions) is to have neither aversion to the unpleasant nor cling to the pleasant. It is believed that clinging and aversion are the roots of all suffering. And, an important aspect of meditation is to practice this non-clinging and non-aversion on the mat in order that you may take this practice into your daily life.
But me and my ‘beginner’s mind, beginner’s body" could not sit still. I tried different positions. I shifted around on the cushion in reaction to aches and pains. I could not resist the need to lean forward and stretch to relieve tension in my neck. I scratched things that itched.
Goenka knows his students so well. It seems that each time an issue came up for me, it would be the topic of discussion during discourse that evening. That night Goenka talked about sitting on the cushion, wanting to move or react to every unpleasant sensation. He laughed and said, “itching is not eternal." He explained that sensations arise and they pass away. We were advised to just sit and observe. Eventually each sensation, pleasant or unpleasant, will pass. Everything arises and passes in meditation and in life. Nothing is permanent.
And with this teaching I began to observe my need to “scratch each itch." And I was surprised by how quickly the sensation goes away when you just observe it, not reacting. I have also been surprised how much easier aches and pains are to deal with when you focus on them, bringing your full awareness to the site of pain and observing it as an outsider, studying the sensation, not identifying with it. Separating yourself from it makes it easier to bear.
These were the things I was working on as we began our fourth day. This was the day that the retreat got really intense for me.
More on this tomorrow.
Image below of S. N. Goenka, teacher of Vipassana meditation
Meditation Camp, Part 4,
Equanimous Mind
I’ve delayed publishing this installment because I felt a moral conflict. I was hesitant to say anything remotely negative about my roommates from the retreat. But I finally concluded that if they ever read this, I would hope that they would not be offended and would know that by the end of our time together, I had no hard feelings and loved them unconditionally. So here goes…
I was already aware that silent meditation retreats are deeply challenging and not at all appealing to everyone but I became painfully and personally aware of this fact when several of my roommates decided that it was not for them.
The first of them to balk broke her silence on day three to announce that “she already knew all this stuff" and wanted to leave. She even went so far as to pack her suitcase a few times. I cannot deny that I was hoping she would depart on each of those occasions and make our dorm room a more peaceful place.
This roommate’s overall mode of being was forceful and determined. She moved in sudden confident bursts and slammed doors at entrance and exit. She would come into the room like a tornado, unconcerned whether anyone was meditating or sleeping. She was so irritable about being there that, even when she wasn’t exhaling long drawn out sighs of angst and misery, she exuded negativity like an angry thundercloud.
She reached a point where she ignored most every rule they asked us to follow. She even wore her shoes indoors which is a sign of real disrespect in this tradition. If she had been rooming on her own it wouldn’t have mattered but we were all sharing this intimate space with two sets of bunk beds and a single bathroom. She made sure that we knew how miserable she was at all times.
Mind you, I had real compassion for her. I knew her ego had taken over out of complete fear of dealing with the things she might have to face in the silence. Our minds will do all sorts of desperate and surprising things (even beyond the circus antics of “monkey mind") to keep us from dealing with our own dark stuff.
But even though I recognized what she was doing and empathized, I was still feeling abused by her disruptive behavior and disrespect for others. It was as if she was not only going to reject the experience but to ruin it for those around her as well.
Frustration began to brew in me because I could not speak up to ask to her to consider the rest of us. I had made a solemn vow, and to speak up would mean breaking that vow. I decided to do my best to ignore her and to enjoy my time there, focusing on the work.
But on the fourth day we began practicing Vipassana meditation (more specifically the Vipassana meditation technique as taught by S. N. Goenka which is different from Vipassana as taught in the Theraveda Buddhist tradition). In the morning I felt very happy. I was now accustomed to the routine of waking at 4 a.m. and actually delighted in walking alone in the silence by the light of the moon to the meditation hall each day. Later in the morning it was sunny and clear, dragonflies flitted around and all seemed right in the world.
But after the morning sessions of Vipassana it seemed that all hell broke loose. A second roommate broke her silence (soon I was the only one in the room determined to honor our vow). This roommate was in her early 20’s, beautiful and full of energy. Meditating seemed antithetical to her nature. She could barely sit still. She brought her exercise mat and would exercise in the tiny dorm room (which was not allowed) even when others were trying to rest or meditate, huffing and puffing with her exertion. She found infinite ways to change her clothing and hairstyle each day, even shaving one side of her head about halfway through. Even though I did not know her, I could tell that she was a delightful person, but she was also absolutely miserable and complained in loud whispersabout wanting to leave.
My frustration continued to build. In meditation, I was struggling with the new meditation technique because suddenly my body was wracked with all sorts of random aches and pains each time I sat. I was extremely uncomfortable on the mat and I was unable to remain still for the full two-hour sessions. I went from “monkey mind" during the days of Anapana breathing to extreme levels of physical discomfort during Vipassana. I also found that the Vipassana body-scanning technique did not come easy to me. There was visualization required and a constant maintaining of focused awareness. Every session was like a mental wrestling match and it was really exhausting.
This struggle along with my whispering and restless roommates was making it incredibly difficult for me to maintain what our teacher, Goenka, calls “equanimous mind." I kept talking myself down from getting really upset with each additional incident.
Each day there were times when we were allowed to meditate in our rooms. I found it to be the most physically comfortable place to meditate and it was full of light—a nice break from the dark meditation hall. But my roommates would not keep quiet in the room.
That afternoon as I sat in my bed with my back to the wall immersed in meditation I was interrupted repeatedly and on the fourth or fifth time, I gave up, slumped down in my bed and began to cry with my head in my hands. I cried because my roommates were making me miserable. I cried because I had such high expectations for change and healing during this retreat and because I felt that circumstances outside my control were ruining all my efforts. I mostly cried because it all felt so unfair. I just broke down.
But it was not long before all my Buddhist teachings came flooding into my mind, reminding me that suffering is caused by clinging and aversion, both of which were playing major roles in this meltdown. I realized that I was clinging to expectations for the retreat when I know full well that this causes great suffering. If we do not want to suffer we must accept things as they are, as they unfold, rather than constantly wishing that they matched up to some self-created ideal.
And I was feeling strong aversion to the behavior of the people around me when acceptance would have kept me from feeling increasingly frustrated and reaching a state of emotional breakdown. Both clinging and aversion are barriers to maintaining a state of “equanimous mind," that the Buddha taught as the path to enlightenment. If we want to be free from suffering we must accept things as they are. Even if we do not like things, we do not have to react to them with aversion. Even if we really like something (or someone) we do not need to cling to it. It is all about balance.
We cannot control what other people do. We can only control our reactions. We do not have to suffer and, in this instance, I did not need to suffer. I realized in that moment that I would not be miserable if I simply accepted the situation and the people around me exactly as they are. I could not speak up because of my vow but I could choose to meditate elsewhere rather than spend time in the room, which was causing my greatest frustration. There are ways to make things better, to greatly decrease our suffering, even in difficult circumstances through acceptance and heartfelt compassion.
I am grateful to my roommates for pushing me to this epiphany. I experienced a “breakdown to breakthrough" and learned some things that I will be able to apply in daily life, but it was not easy. I came to a new and better understanding but that afternoon I thought to myself in a very non-Buddha-like way, “If I had a bottle of tequila, I’d be doing shots right now."
More soon.