Silence and visions
I alluded to some of the rules of the Suan Mokkh meditation retreat in my last post, but I didn't talk much about arguably the most important one: the silence. For a bit longer than 10 days, everyone at the retreat stayed mostly silent, which meant that in addition to not speaking to each other, we also didn't communicate through gesturing of any kind. We were allowed to smile at each other, but that's about it. The idea behind this was to encourage us to remain inside our heads as much as possible, and to take the time to digest and question the material presented to us in our minds rather than out loud to the volunteers and instructors.
Our days started at 4am with the sound of a bell ringing for about 10 minutes. We reported to the main meditation hall for a reading from my favourite volunteer, a Thai woman with slightly spiky short grey hair; glasses; a clear, soothing voice; and a bright, radiant smile. Her name was Khun Tai. I'm not sure whether or not she chose the readings, but I often found them very insightful and appreciated that she would add some of her own points as she read. As a result, this was, shockingly, one of my favourite times of the day. From there, the day generally switched back and forth between listening to talks about Buddhism, dharma and meditation, and actually practicing meditation, which we did for about 6 hours every day. There were a few exceptions to this: yoga and tai chi every morning; chanting and loving kindness meditation in the evening; our two daily vegan meals, breakfast and lunch; our evening tea; daily chores; hot springs; and some free time for bathing, laundry, naps, reflection, etc. If none of this sounds fun, it's because it wasn't. But I wasn't here for fun, I was here to learn and try something new.
I learned a lot during the 10 days of the retreat. I learned about meditation, of course, but also a lot about Theravada Buddhism, which I discovered has many principles that are close to ones I was already aspiring to live by. I won't get into them much here, but the main concept we were taught was the Buddha's belief that human suffering is caused by us clinging to impermanent phenomena, binding them to our sense of identity and carrying them with us as burdens. Instead, we should live in the moment, letting thoughts and feelings go as they come up. In fact, that's why we practice meditation. When we meditate, we try to concentrate on our breath, and when our mind inevitably wanders and we catch it in the act, we acknowledge the thought, let it go, and come back to our breath. Over time, this is supposed to help with focus and concentration, as well as encourage us to always be mindful of our actions in the present moment. As a result, it is supposed to help conditions like depression, where you tend to be focused on your past; and anxiety, where you tend to be focused on your future.
Spending that much time with yourself inevitably brings to the surface many things that you don't think about very often. I reflected on parts of myself that I liked, and parts that I wanted to change. Some days were pleasant and euphoric; others were long and depressing. I discovered that although I thought I was pretty good at living in the moment, I found it difficult and exhausting to stop my mind from wandering all the time. By the nighttime meditation sessions, I was usually tired enough that I couldn't concentrate at all and had to just let my mind wander. Interestingly, I was often not thinking of my past or my distant future, but my near future. What I might write in this blog article. If I was going to have any trouble getting to the airport after the retreat was over. Excitement for the trek and Nepal, and getting to spend time with Jon and Heather. The funny thing about this was that when I thought back to the week prior, when I was on Koh Tao, I realized I had spent a lot of time being excited about experiencing the retreat, i.e. for moments like the one I was currently living. So I asked myself: what's the point in doing all of these awesome things if most of the time I'm barely there mentally, too busy thinking about the next moment? How much am I missing by not paying attention? The talks and meditation sessions gave me many tidbits such as these to reflect on.
Overall, the retreat was a difficult, enlightening, insightful experience for me. I would do something similar again, but not any time soon. It has given me enough to think about for a while. An excerpt from one of the readings that resonated with me was: "our life is the creation of our mind." I'm going to try my best to make sure this mind creates a great life for me, and lets the rest go.
Our days started at 4am with the sound of a bell ringing for about 10 minutes. We reported to the main meditation hall for a reading from my favourite volunteer, a Thai woman with slightly spiky short grey hair; glasses; a clear, soothing voice; and a bright, radiant smile. Her name was Khun Tai. I'm not sure whether or not she chose the readings, but I often found them very insightful and appreciated that she would add some of her own points as she read. As a result, this was, shockingly, one of my favourite times of the day. From there, the day generally switched back and forth between listening to talks about Buddhism, dharma and meditation, and actually practicing meditation, which we did for about 6 hours every day. There were a few exceptions to this: yoga and tai chi every morning; chanting and loving kindness meditation in the evening; our two daily vegan meals, breakfast and lunch; our evening tea; daily chores; hot springs; and some free time for bathing, laundry, naps, reflection, etc. If none of this sounds fun, it's because it wasn't. But I wasn't here for fun, I was here to learn and try something new.
I learned a lot during the 10 days of the retreat. I learned about meditation, of course, but also a lot about Theravada Buddhism, which I discovered has many principles that are close to ones I was already aspiring to live by. I won't get into them much here, but the main concept we were taught was the Buddha's belief that human suffering is caused by us clinging to impermanent phenomena, binding them to our sense of identity and carrying them with us as burdens. Instead, we should live in the moment, letting thoughts and feelings go as they come up. In fact, that's why we practice meditation. When we meditate, we try to concentrate on our breath, and when our mind inevitably wanders and we catch it in the act, we acknowledge the thought, let it go, and come back to our breath. Over time, this is supposed to help with focus and concentration, as well as encourage us to always be mindful of our actions in the present moment. As a result, it is supposed to help conditions like depression, where you tend to be focused on your past; and anxiety, where you tend to be focused on your future.
Spending that much time with yourself inevitably brings to the surface many things that you don't think about very often. I reflected on parts of myself that I liked, and parts that I wanted to change. Some days were pleasant and euphoric; others were long and depressing. I discovered that although I thought I was pretty good at living in the moment, I found it difficult and exhausting to stop my mind from wandering all the time. By the nighttime meditation sessions, I was usually tired enough that I couldn't concentrate at all and had to just let my mind wander. Interestingly, I was often not thinking of my past or my distant future, but my near future. What I might write in this blog article. If I was going to have any trouble getting to the airport after the retreat was over. Excitement for the trek and Nepal, and getting to spend time with Jon and Heather. The funny thing about this was that when I thought back to the week prior, when I was on Koh Tao, I realized I had spent a lot of time being excited about experiencing the retreat, i.e. for moments like the one I was currently living. So I asked myself: what's the point in doing all of these awesome things if most of the time I'm barely there mentally, too busy thinking about the next moment? How much am I missing by not paying attention? The talks and meditation sessions gave me many tidbits such as these to reflect on.
Overall, the retreat was a difficult, enlightening, insightful experience for me. I would do something similar again, but not any time soon. It has given me enough to think about for a while. An excerpt from one of the readings that resonated with me was: "our life is the creation of our mind." I'm going to try my best to make sure this mind creates a great life for me, and lets the rest go.
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