It is all Anastasia’s fault. She was the one who suggested I should try this. Well, ok, it was me being at a crossroads and asking her if she had suggestions, but whatever, she is the cause of this looooong 10 day seclusion with soy based products. At the end, it was the hardest thing I have ever done. And yet it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. It was the most interesting thing I have ever done. And turns out, I was ready for such an experience.
It is a meditation retreat where for 10 days you do not speak, gesture, sign or communicate in writing, cannot read or journal, watch TV, listen to radio or surf the web, completely cut off contact with the outside world through confiscation of one’s cell phone, sleep fewer hours, meditate for 9 hours a day, listen to lectures rest of the time, eat a strictly vegetarian diet and do not eat after lunch. Your sole job is to practice the technique (vipassana) found by Buddha, by focusing on sensations on the body while quieting your mind to a complete silence. This is not easy, as neither your body nor your mind cooperates. The result is fascinating, to say the least.
8.04.2009
Location, Location, Location
To borrow from Jane Austen, this was a happily situated place with views of majestic Mt. St Helen’s across the meadow. We were surrounded by very mature trees around the edges, a few apple trees near the buildings and pretty wildflowers by the walking path. The center is located in a rural area with neighbors far enough, except for the smell of their fertilizer in the early morning hours. The only noise we experienced were clanking of utensils on our plates during breakfast and lunch, the Tibetan gong on the premises signaling the time to wake up, eat or to start meditating at 4 am, 4:20, 6:30, 7:50, 11, 12:50, 2:20, 3:40, 5, 5:50, 7, 8:30, and finally at 9:30 pm, and the construction noises in the afternoon as the new women’s dorms were being built by volunteers.
Just as the wandering mind is not allowed, wandering bodies are not desirable either. A very short walking path is available for walking, bearing in mind that running, jogging, yoga or any other form of exercise if forbidden. There are green signs everywhere alerting us to “Course boundary. No students beyond this point.” So you were to stay on designated walkways and nowhere else. Couldn’t walk up to the apple tree and sit under it, for example. This idea of segregation repeated itself throughout the course.
Workshop is strictly segregated by sex: male and female entrances to the meditation hall sit on either side of the building with separate walkways. Male and female dorms are not in view of each other and walking paths are also completely segregated so as to minimize any contact or visual of the other sex. The only time you see men is when they are in the meditation hall, but you are not supposed to be looking at their side of the hall. You do not observe what other women are doing either. You are here to find enlightenment for yourself, which means you do not concern yourself with others, you just work on yourself. As you read this long blog you will realize that I was observing everyone around me. I can’t help it, as a researcher and a sociologist I am curious about people. Or maybe I am just nosey….
Just as the wandering mind is not allowed, wandering bodies are not desirable either. A very short walking path is available for walking, bearing in mind that running, jogging, yoga or any other form of exercise if forbidden. There are green signs everywhere alerting us to “Course boundary. No students beyond this point.” So you were to stay on designated walkways and nowhere else. Couldn’t walk up to the apple tree and sit under it, for example. This idea of segregation repeated itself throughout the course.
Workshop is strictly segregated by sex: male and female entrances to the meditation hall sit on either side of the building with separate walkways. Male and female dorms are not in view of each other and walking paths are also completely segregated so as to minimize any contact or visual of the other sex. The only time you see men is when they are in the meditation hall, but you are not supposed to be looking at their side of the hall. You do not observe what other women are doing either. You are here to find enlightenment for yourself, which means you do not concern yourself with others, you just work on yourself. As you read this long blog you will realize that I was observing everyone around me. I can’t help it, as a researcher and a sociologist I am curious about people. Or maybe I am just nosey….
Food
Let me be honest, I was terrified of being hungry the whole time. I eat a lot, I cook a lot, I watch food on TV, read magazines and cookbooks, and basically think about food a large portion of my day. The philosophy about food at the retreat was such that you do not eat to the point of fullness since it is hard to meditate and stay awake when you are too full. You are not supposed to eat fatty or sugary stuff for the same reason as well as refrain from eating meat since philosophy of not killing any creature is paramount. The technique also requires that you do not eat after lunch (11 am). Returning students get tea at 5 pm and they allow new students to eat fruit along with their drink. Ok, so, since I eat the largest portion of my food at dinner, I was concerned as you can imagine. They specifically tell you not to bring any food so trio bars and chocolate stash were out of the question. Did I say I was concerned?
Here is the good news: I was fine, more than fine. I was not hungry at all. Yes, my stomach, along with 100 other people’s stomach, were growling at 9 pm before bed and during 4:30 am meditation sessions but it was manageable. On the afternoon of the last day, when they allowed us to talk to each other so as not to shock us upon returning to the real world, I was surprised to see how much harder the food issue was for younger women. They kept talking about craving pizza, donuts, chicken wings and planned their departure at 6:30 am the next day to drive to the nearest restaurant they can find for the kind of food they missed. They hated the food served (mostly vegan). I thought the food was plenty and tasty, considering we were all too hungry to be critical, but also there was a lot of food if you wanted to go back and get some more from the buffet. I made the decision not to fill my plate too full and to never go back for seconds. And I have stuck to my decision. Teacher said to get up from the table with quarter of your stomach still empty. I can’t say that was the case but 15% of my stomach was still available for more consumption at the end of each food break.
As the days went on I started cutting down on food further. At the beginning I was scared of being hungry-- I think we all were—so I would eat a banana, half an apple and a small orange at 5 pm and force myself to drink some sort of herbal tea with milk. For those of you who know me, I do not like tea or coffee (unless it is served with chocolate cake or a scone at the least) and do not like bananas so I was stocking up for sure out of fear of hunger. But halfway through, I was eating either a small orange or an apple and nothing more. Last day I forgot to eat at 5 pm and twice I passed dessert! Ok, well, it was vegan rhubarb crumble but hey, it is still impressive for my eating standards…
Though I thought about a brownie or two in the afternoon once or twice, I was really too preoccupied with the technique and giving it a fair chance to be consumed about food dreams. Starting about day 5, they started giving us sugar after lunch. It was vegan chocolate cake or vegan ginger cookie (in other words, really sucky versions of the actual dessert it was named after) but it hit the spot and I was grateful. One day they had a real chocolate chip cookie but they were the size of a quarter so as we say in Turkish “disimin kovuguna gitmedi” (didn’t even fill the space in between my teeth). The sign read “cookies contain BUTTER!” I watched as every single person took at least 2 or 3 pieces and I smiled (ok, maybe smirked) inside. Why you ask. I know I am about to offend or really hurt a few of my friends with this statement, and so let me apologize in advance for being insensitive and ignorant about this issue.. BUT, I have never met a German who had wheat allergies and therefore couldn’t eat bread, never met a Swiss or French who couldn’t eat cheese and was lactose intolerant and have never met a person from the Third World or the developing world who had an allergy for specific food groups. And if I did, let me assure you that they were all very well educated, well read, liberal people with specific environmental and health point of view, possibly working for an ivy league university or a non-profit social agency, after living in the US for 10 years who defined themselves as avid yogis.
I find this aversion to food to be an affliction of the West, particularly among Americans who have such abundance of food and choices that in the midst of their overwhelmed food selection they decide to leave out categories of food because they are convinced it is not good for their body or it makes them bloated etc. I find this to be almost puritanical, a moralistic way of looking at food and earthly delights. I find myself smiling when I watch Survivor and after weeks of serious hunger, seeing vegan or vegetarian, skinny women with no fat reserves, who formerly found many forms of food “gross,” now sucking a tiny fish’s eyeballs out or licking somebody else’s already eaten chicken bones. I doubt if I was to feed an 80 lb Ethiopian refugee, he would turn down meat or dairy, or wheat or strawberries, regardless of the reaction their stomach may have to these foods. So, anyways, I have this slight amusement about food allergies. And YES, I know there must be legitimate environmental reasons as to why this happens here more, but at the end of the day, I grew up in Turkey and we say “misafir umdugunu degil, buldugunu yermis” (the guest eats what she finds, not what she hopes to find).
Notice that the workshop we are attending is completely free: to live like a nun/monk, you must live on the charity of others and devote yourself to nothing but meditation. This teaches you humility, you eat what you are given and this allows you to break down your ego, accepting handouts from others. Yet, women were constantly whispering to the female manager (you are allowed to talk to her about issues as they come up) to make sure there was soy in this food, or no soy in that food, or if there was dairy in this or wheat in that, and there must be rice milk along with soy and rice bread along with sprout one, and there should be signs about this on the table etc. So you can understand my amusement watching people get in line for their 3rd chocolate chip cookie with BUTTER and white flour on day 7.
I was also fascinated by the Asian women in the group, literally 1/3rd of my size in body, yet eating 3 times the food I ate. I would try to not stare at their healthy appetite and their highly noisy and quick chopstick skills. Always in line 1st, as soon as the gong was heard, and last ones to leave the dining hall. As someone who likes to feed people and who likes food, I was mesmerized by their appetite.
Differences between returning students and new students in terms of food consumption were also fascinating. Our barely containable lunges at the food and the way we ate-- quickly and noisily-- was in stark contrast to their slow movements in and out of the dining room, very slow chewing and always looking at the mountains or still meditating with eyes closed while eating .
There was actually sugar available at the retreat. They had honey for tea and turbinado sugar as well. I am not much of a drinker but by 3rd day I noticed a drink no one was paying attention to. It was called INCA and said to be fully natural, preservative and additive free, made out of roasted barley and rye, a natural drink of the gods. I smelled it and found it to be pleasant to try, a cross between coffee and hot chocolate. It wasn’t bitter like coffee but had a roasted smell to it. I would add some turbinado sugar and a lot of milk at 5 pm and it was sweet and satisfying. We had three containers that had milk in them. Signs read: rice, soy, COW 2%. Since people were routinely in line for the first two and constantly asking the female manager to replenish the soy milk container, I felt bad for the 2% cow. It was usually neglected and pushed to the side so it called out to me. I was a favorite of hers and she was a favorite of mine.
Turbinado sugar was hard to dissolve in cold milk and not as sweet as regular sugar. They put it in a glass container with a tiny spout that required violent shaking for puny amount of sugar to dispense. As I was trying to pour more I would feel the frustration rising up, thinking why can’t they just put it in a jar with no lid and a spoon, and feeling rushed since more ladies were waiting behind me. After about 5th or 6th shake a voice in my head said that’s probably good enough but my hand wanted one more which caused the cover to come off and about 1 cup of sugar to land in my drink. I was so impressed with myself that I didn’t shout ‘SHIT!’, just a gurgled but somewhat quiet ‘HEEEEEEEE!’ I cleaned up the vicinity and ignored the voice in my head asking “is that enough sugar now, you think?” and decided that I should drink and not waste it as a punishment. Punishment is not a part of the vipassana philosophy, mind you, but I decided that it was worth it to pay for my sugary greed. I tried not to stir it but after about 4th sip I decided it can’t be done unless I wanted to vomit and dumped the sugary drink into the compost pile. Compost pile? Of course we had one!
Here is the good news: I was fine, more than fine. I was not hungry at all. Yes, my stomach, along with 100 other people’s stomach, were growling at 9 pm before bed and during 4:30 am meditation sessions but it was manageable. On the afternoon of the last day, when they allowed us to talk to each other so as not to shock us upon returning to the real world, I was surprised to see how much harder the food issue was for younger women. They kept talking about craving pizza, donuts, chicken wings and planned their departure at 6:30 am the next day to drive to the nearest restaurant they can find for the kind of food they missed. They hated the food served (mostly vegan). I thought the food was plenty and tasty, considering we were all too hungry to be critical, but also there was a lot of food if you wanted to go back and get some more from the buffet. I made the decision not to fill my plate too full and to never go back for seconds. And I have stuck to my decision. Teacher said to get up from the table with quarter of your stomach still empty. I can’t say that was the case but 15% of my stomach was still available for more consumption at the end of each food break.
As the days went on I started cutting down on food further. At the beginning I was scared of being hungry-- I think we all were—so I would eat a banana, half an apple and a small orange at 5 pm and force myself to drink some sort of herbal tea with milk. For those of you who know me, I do not like tea or coffee (unless it is served with chocolate cake or a scone at the least) and do not like bananas so I was stocking up for sure out of fear of hunger. But halfway through, I was eating either a small orange or an apple and nothing more. Last day I forgot to eat at 5 pm and twice I passed dessert! Ok, well, it was vegan rhubarb crumble but hey, it is still impressive for my eating standards…
Though I thought about a brownie or two in the afternoon once or twice, I was really too preoccupied with the technique and giving it a fair chance to be consumed about food dreams. Starting about day 5, they started giving us sugar after lunch. It was vegan chocolate cake or vegan ginger cookie (in other words, really sucky versions of the actual dessert it was named after) but it hit the spot and I was grateful. One day they had a real chocolate chip cookie but they were the size of a quarter so as we say in Turkish “disimin kovuguna gitmedi” (didn’t even fill the space in between my teeth). The sign read “cookies contain BUTTER!” I watched as every single person took at least 2 or 3 pieces and I smiled (ok, maybe smirked) inside. Why you ask. I know I am about to offend or really hurt a few of my friends with this statement, and so let me apologize in advance for being insensitive and ignorant about this issue.. BUT, I have never met a German who had wheat allergies and therefore couldn’t eat bread, never met a Swiss or French who couldn’t eat cheese and was lactose intolerant and have never met a person from the Third World or the developing world who had an allergy for specific food groups. And if I did, let me assure you that they were all very well educated, well read, liberal people with specific environmental and health point of view, possibly working for an ivy league university or a non-profit social agency, after living in the US for 10 years who defined themselves as avid yogis.
I find this aversion to food to be an affliction of the West, particularly among Americans who have such abundance of food and choices that in the midst of their overwhelmed food selection they decide to leave out categories of food because they are convinced it is not good for their body or it makes them bloated etc. I find this to be almost puritanical, a moralistic way of looking at food and earthly delights. I find myself smiling when I watch Survivor and after weeks of serious hunger, seeing vegan or vegetarian, skinny women with no fat reserves, who formerly found many forms of food “gross,” now sucking a tiny fish’s eyeballs out or licking somebody else’s already eaten chicken bones. I doubt if I was to feed an 80 lb Ethiopian refugee, he would turn down meat or dairy, or wheat or strawberries, regardless of the reaction their stomach may have to these foods. So, anyways, I have this slight amusement about food allergies. And YES, I know there must be legitimate environmental reasons as to why this happens here more, but at the end of the day, I grew up in Turkey and we say “misafir umdugunu degil, buldugunu yermis” (the guest eats what she finds, not what she hopes to find).
Notice that the workshop we are attending is completely free: to live like a nun/monk, you must live on the charity of others and devote yourself to nothing but meditation. This teaches you humility, you eat what you are given and this allows you to break down your ego, accepting handouts from others. Yet, women were constantly whispering to the female manager (you are allowed to talk to her about issues as they come up) to make sure there was soy in this food, or no soy in that food, or if there was dairy in this or wheat in that, and there must be rice milk along with soy and rice bread along with sprout one, and there should be signs about this on the table etc. So you can understand my amusement watching people get in line for their 3rd chocolate chip cookie with BUTTER and white flour on day 7.
I was also fascinated by the Asian women in the group, literally 1/3rd of my size in body, yet eating 3 times the food I ate. I would try to not stare at their healthy appetite and their highly noisy and quick chopstick skills. Always in line 1st, as soon as the gong was heard, and last ones to leave the dining hall. As someone who likes to feed people and who likes food, I was mesmerized by their appetite.
Differences between returning students and new students in terms of food consumption were also fascinating. Our barely containable lunges at the food and the way we ate-- quickly and noisily-- was in stark contrast to their slow movements in and out of the dining room, very slow chewing and always looking at the mountains or still meditating with eyes closed while eating .
There was actually sugar available at the retreat. They had honey for tea and turbinado sugar as well. I am not much of a drinker but by 3rd day I noticed a drink no one was paying attention to. It was called INCA and said to be fully natural, preservative and additive free, made out of roasted barley and rye, a natural drink of the gods. I smelled it and found it to be pleasant to try, a cross between coffee and hot chocolate. It wasn’t bitter like coffee but had a roasted smell to it. I would add some turbinado sugar and a lot of milk at 5 pm and it was sweet and satisfying. We had three containers that had milk in them. Signs read: rice, soy, COW 2%. Since people were routinely in line for the first two and constantly asking the female manager to replenish the soy milk container, I felt bad for the 2% cow. It was usually neglected and pushed to the side so it called out to me. I was a favorite of hers and she was a favorite of mine.
Turbinado sugar was hard to dissolve in cold milk and not as sweet as regular sugar. They put it in a glass container with a tiny spout that required violent shaking for puny amount of sugar to dispense. As I was trying to pour more I would feel the frustration rising up, thinking why can’t they just put it in a jar with no lid and a spoon, and feeling rushed since more ladies were waiting behind me. After about 5th or 6th shake a voice in my head said that’s probably good enough but my hand wanted one more which caused the cover to come off and about 1 cup of sugar to land in my drink. I was so impressed with myself that I didn’t shout ‘SHIT!’, just a gurgled but somewhat quiet ‘HEEEEEEEE!’ I cleaned up the vicinity and ignored the voice in my head asking “is that enough sugar now, you think?” and decided that I should drink and not waste it as a punishment. Punishment is not a part of the vipassana philosophy, mind you, but I decided that it was worth it to pay for my sugary greed. I tried not to stir it but after about 4th sip I decided it can’t be done unless I wanted to vomit and dumped the sugary drink into the compost pile. Compost pile? Of course we had one!
Modesty
Emails received before the workshop stressed the importance of modesty over and over again: no tank tops, no sleeveless shirts, tights, shorts, no form fitting outfits, no sunbathing etc. Do not bring attention to yourself! We also had to take a wow to abide by these rules. We were to abstain from sexual conduct, bodily entertainment as well as bodily decorations. Those of you who know me a little, know that I like jewelry- the flashy, big, impossible not to notice kind. But I read the instructions and I took a wow, ANNNNNND I grew up in a military family so I can follow rules to the T.
I arrived at the retreat with nothing but long sleeve shirts, loose sweatpants and one large skirt to wear over my pants with no make-up or jewelry whatsoever. I paid no attention to colors of the clothes I brought, so I routinely ended up with gray sweats, pink socks, reddish orange loose skirt, brown long sleeve shirt, green sweater and blue shawl: OK I looked like a gypsy or a mental patient dragging cans behind me, and I was the only one who looked as such. Everybody else had really nice, 90$ a pop yoga apparel, Patagonia shirts, matching velvet sweat suits, and sexy formfitting sleeveless tops with racer back bra showing through. Variety of cool shirts were worn everyday: One said Obama/Biden, one had the Hope poster on it, many wore t-shirts that said things like “Run for Sustainable Communities. 5K race,” “Global Justice,” “Support local economy” etc. Though we weren’t speaking we were definitely advertising our liberal point of view. Since we weren’t allowed to read, I appreciated the choice of shirts with words, which gave me something to read on a daily basis.
I was determined not to give in to my ego. Who cares what I looked like? But, as someone coming from a military family, only I following the rules was not enough. The fact that others weren’t was bothersome to me. Yeah yeah, I know, I am not supposed to be paying attention to others. But they are in my dorm, sleeping next to me, eating across from me, meditating in front of me. I have to be blind in order not to notice. So I did and I was irritated at people blatantly breaking rules while I was being such a good girl. When I wasn’t irritated, I thought I was one of the few who got it, who wasn’t into this earthly, outwardly appearance. I was deeper, all about the soul and the mind, unlike these bitches. Clearly, I was one of the best students in the retreat who actually got it. Ok, so that wasn’t a good ego-eradicating thought but hey I was a new student so of course in due time I would reach perfection. In the meantime, my failure not to notice and not to criticize/judge others was a sign of my imperfection, my humanness. This is why I was here. All was good.
I may be about to offend few more of my friends (by the end of the blog I may have none at this rate) but I think American women have no idea what modesty means. You see, Asian women, Muslim women, women from Pakistan, India, Turkey etc, understand this idea of modesty very well. Young American women are so invested in how they look in their clothes and are so defined by it that they can’t separate/compartmentalize . To them, not wearing a bikini or showing cleavage at the retreat meant they were modest. But in fact, it was anything but. So called yoga apparel most women sported was incredibly form fitting and made out of material which was meant to feel like second skin. So even with yards of fabric hanging down on their legs to allow for movement, the flimsy fabric would wrap around their butt in such a fashion that every muscle movement was visible. Fabric wrapped around their hips so closely that you would see movement of each butt cheek separately and very clearly.
Also, in America, women hate anything that sits on their actual waist line. Everyone--except mom-jeans wearing women from Idaho or Montana-- wears low rise stuff. But wait a minute, low rise is simply not low enough, so one must turn out the waist of yoga pants, sweats or any flexible fabric to make sure that it sits comfortably across their hips, right above the butt crack. Now, be aware that you are sitting on the ground in lotus position to meditate which means that people bend in front of you, inches away from your face to adjust their sitting arrangements, during which time their already low-sitting pants moved further down and then sit crossed legged which means their bottom clothing has now stretched further south and you are completely seeing their butts since their tops are never loose or long enough to cover their lower abdomen region anyways. Since I was able to see everyone’s lower backs I noticed that all the young women had tattoos across that area. Some women also continued to wear jewelry which I promptly noticed as against the rules. Of course, if I was actually not paying attention and keeping my eyes closed even before everybody else settled in to meditate I wouldn’t notice or be bothered by any of this. Alas, I was paying attention and noticing…
Though the mornings were cold and misty, afternoons were hot and dry. 100 people in the meditation hall made it even warmer. During lectures at night, people were allowed to sit more comfortably. Ladies in yoga pants with yards of fabric would pull up their pant legs to their crotch fully exhibiting their legs as if wearing very short shorts. They already were wearing really tight, almost sleeveless tops that showed quite a bit of skin. But you have to understand, they were very warm and there was no AC in the meditation hall. This they continued to do night after night, sitting towards the teachers, basically displaying their flesh to these poor men who would be wearing long sleeved cotton shirts and pants, with a cloth covering their crotch area at all times. Ladies never seemed to notice the stark contrast of their behavior versus teachers’. They would also lounge back, almost lying down in this position, during which time the female manager would come and whisper to them to collect themselves.
You see, Asian women from Japan, China, Taiwan always wore shirts and pants at least a size bigger than their body. Nothing was v neck or low cut or short sleeved or strapless. Their hair was always neatly tucked in a pony tail. Indian women, Pakistani women would wear beautiful, colorful fabrics, long skirts down to their ankles, flowing fabrics that wouldn’t show their shapes and they were wrapped in pretty shawls while in the meditation hall. They looked very feminine, yet very modest. Young American women on the other hand would run into the meditation hall after the teachers showed up, long, wet hair swinging from one side to the other, soaking their tight, boat-necked shirts displaying their shoulders. This they considered to be modest.
Sunbathing was strictly forbidden. What is sunbathing anyways? Nobody was out in their bathing suit lying on the lawn, no! People were lying on the lawn with their pants pulled up to their crotch, their tops pulled up to expose their bellies. That is not sunbathing! Gosh, I can be so rigid sometimes!
Of course there were the earthly women who walked everywhere barefoot. We were not allowed to walk into the meditation hall or the dining hall or bathrooms with our outside shoes yet these earth mamas would be dragging the outside in routinely. They of course did not shave either. If you looked at their legs only, you could swear you were looking at a dude’s legs. All three of these women were in their early 20s. I wondered how much time I was losing and they were saving through shaving practices. These women were modest alright. They did not care about societal pressures that I succumbed to. They were determined to stay as natural as possible. So imagine my shock when I walked into the bathroom one night and found the hairiest of them all in front of the mirror, tweezing the hairs off of moles on her pretty face. I guess everybody has their limits.
Much to my surprise there were a lot of young women at the retreat, I mean people in their early 20s. I was expecting women in their late 30s and up. When I was 19 years old, spirituality was the last thing on my list, that is to say, if it ever made it to the list. So I was pleasantly surprised and in awe of these young women for being there instead of partying by the pool with the boys. Kudos to them for starting early, thinking about a peaceful, harmonious life filled with wisdom. Two of the 3 women who left the retreat were very young however, which showed how unready they were for such an experience at such a young age. I think what comes up to deal with requires a certain level of maturity which is hard to reach at age 20.
I arrived at the retreat with nothing but long sleeve shirts, loose sweatpants and one large skirt to wear over my pants with no make-up or jewelry whatsoever. I paid no attention to colors of the clothes I brought, so I routinely ended up with gray sweats, pink socks, reddish orange loose skirt, brown long sleeve shirt, green sweater and blue shawl: OK I looked like a gypsy or a mental patient dragging cans behind me, and I was the only one who looked as such. Everybody else had really nice, 90$ a pop yoga apparel, Patagonia shirts, matching velvet sweat suits, and sexy formfitting sleeveless tops with racer back bra showing through. Variety of cool shirts were worn everyday: One said Obama/Biden, one had the Hope poster on it, many wore t-shirts that said things like “Run for Sustainable Communities. 5K race,” “Global Justice,” “Support local economy” etc. Though we weren’t speaking we were definitely advertising our liberal point of view. Since we weren’t allowed to read, I appreciated the choice of shirts with words, which gave me something to read on a daily basis.
I was determined not to give in to my ego. Who cares what I looked like? But, as someone coming from a military family, only I following the rules was not enough. The fact that others weren’t was bothersome to me. Yeah yeah, I know, I am not supposed to be paying attention to others. But they are in my dorm, sleeping next to me, eating across from me, meditating in front of me. I have to be blind in order not to notice. So I did and I was irritated at people blatantly breaking rules while I was being such a good girl. When I wasn’t irritated, I thought I was one of the few who got it, who wasn’t into this earthly, outwardly appearance. I was deeper, all about the soul and the mind, unlike these bitches. Clearly, I was one of the best students in the retreat who actually got it. Ok, so that wasn’t a good ego-eradicating thought but hey I was a new student so of course in due time I would reach perfection. In the meantime, my failure not to notice and not to criticize/judge others was a sign of my imperfection, my humanness. This is why I was here. All was good.
I may be about to offend few more of my friends (by the end of the blog I may have none at this rate) but I think American women have no idea what modesty means. You see, Asian women, Muslim women, women from Pakistan, India, Turkey etc, understand this idea of modesty very well. Young American women are so invested in how they look in their clothes and are so defined by it that they can’t separate/compartmentalize . To them, not wearing a bikini or showing cleavage at the retreat meant they were modest. But in fact, it was anything but. So called yoga apparel most women sported was incredibly form fitting and made out of material which was meant to feel like second skin. So even with yards of fabric hanging down on their legs to allow for movement, the flimsy fabric would wrap around their butt in such a fashion that every muscle movement was visible. Fabric wrapped around their hips so closely that you would see movement of each butt cheek separately and very clearly.
Also, in America, women hate anything that sits on their actual waist line. Everyone--except mom-jeans wearing women from Idaho or Montana-- wears low rise stuff. But wait a minute, low rise is simply not low enough, so one must turn out the waist of yoga pants, sweats or any flexible fabric to make sure that it sits comfortably across their hips, right above the butt crack. Now, be aware that you are sitting on the ground in lotus position to meditate which means that people bend in front of you, inches away from your face to adjust their sitting arrangements, during which time their already low-sitting pants moved further down and then sit crossed legged which means their bottom clothing has now stretched further south and you are completely seeing their butts since their tops are never loose or long enough to cover their lower abdomen region anyways. Since I was able to see everyone’s lower backs I noticed that all the young women had tattoos across that area. Some women also continued to wear jewelry which I promptly noticed as against the rules. Of course, if I was actually not paying attention and keeping my eyes closed even before everybody else settled in to meditate I wouldn’t notice or be bothered by any of this. Alas, I was paying attention and noticing…
Though the mornings were cold and misty, afternoons were hot and dry. 100 people in the meditation hall made it even warmer. During lectures at night, people were allowed to sit more comfortably. Ladies in yoga pants with yards of fabric would pull up their pant legs to their crotch fully exhibiting their legs as if wearing very short shorts. They already were wearing really tight, almost sleeveless tops that showed quite a bit of skin. But you have to understand, they were very warm and there was no AC in the meditation hall. This they continued to do night after night, sitting towards the teachers, basically displaying their flesh to these poor men who would be wearing long sleeved cotton shirts and pants, with a cloth covering their crotch area at all times. Ladies never seemed to notice the stark contrast of their behavior versus teachers’. They would also lounge back, almost lying down in this position, during which time the female manager would come and whisper to them to collect themselves.
You see, Asian women from Japan, China, Taiwan always wore shirts and pants at least a size bigger than their body. Nothing was v neck or low cut or short sleeved or strapless. Their hair was always neatly tucked in a pony tail. Indian women, Pakistani women would wear beautiful, colorful fabrics, long skirts down to their ankles, flowing fabrics that wouldn’t show their shapes and they were wrapped in pretty shawls while in the meditation hall. They looked very feminine, yet very modest. Young American women on the other hand would run into the meditation hall after the teachers showed up, long, wet hair swinging from one side to the other, soaking their tight, boat-necked shirts displaying their shoulders. This they considered to be modest.
Sunbathing was strictly forbidden. What is sunbathing anyways? Nobody was out in their bathing suit lying on the lawn, no! People were lying on the lawn with their pants pulled up to their crotch, their tops pulled up to expose their bellies. That is not sunbathing! Gosh, I can be so rigid sometimes!
Of course there were the earthly women who walked everywhere barefoot. We were not allowed to walk into the meditation hall or the dining hall or bathrooms with our outside shoes yet these earth mamas would be dragging the outside in routinely. They of course did not shave either. If you looked at their legs only, you could swear you were looking at a dude’s legs. All three of these women were in their early 20s. I wondered how much time I was losing and they were saving through shaving practices. These women were modest alright. They did not care about societal pressures that I succumbed to. They were determined to stay as natural as possible. So imagine my shock when I walked into the bathroom one night and found the hairiest of them all in front of the mirror, tweezing the hairs off of moles on her pretty face. I guess everybody has their limits.
Much to my surprise there were a lot of young women at the retreat, I mean people in their early 20s. I was expecting women in their late 30s and up. When I was 19 years old, spirituality was the last thing on my list, that is to say, if it ever made it to the list. So I was pleasantly surprised and in awe of these young women for being there instead of partying by the pool with the boys. Kudos to them for starting early, thinking about a peaceful, harmonious life filled with wisdom. Two of the 3 women who left the retreat were very young however, which showed how unready they were for such an experience at such a young age. I think what comes up to deal with requires a certain level of maturity which is hard to reach at age 20.
Oh Deer!
A deer family inhabited the center’s grounds: a mama deer and 2 fawns, which I named Bambi I and Bambi II, as they looked exactly like Disney’s Bambi. The first day of the retreat was a long day dealing with different food, silence, long hours in an uncomfortable sitting position and less sleep. But everybody, I think, was filled with determination and hope to make this retreat a good one, reach a better understanding of priorities and make some headway towards peace and wisdom so the energy around the compound was quiet yet tangibly positive.
At the end of the 1st night’s lecture, around 8:15 pm, we had a 5 minutes break before the last meditation session. Right next to the meditation hall, there was a circle, clearly demarcated with green signs that said “Course boundary. No students beyond this point” and the circle had 2 beautiful apple trees, low to the ground. On either side of the circle were the exit/entry to the meditation hall, one for men and one for women. As we quietly walked outside we saw a deer family enjoying the apple trees. We were all in awe, everybody had a smile on their faces. By this time the deer were completely surrounded by about 100 people, yet they seemed completely at ease. Mama was standing on her hind legs and pulling some apples down and would push it towards the youngsters. One of the Bambis would start eating but the other was in a playful mood so he would get behind his sister and kick with his hind legs and then jump around her as if to say “Booh! Got you!” She would ignore him for a while and then start chasing him. They looked so very happy. We looked so very happy. Things were gonna be ok for us for the next 10 days. This was a sign.
Then the 2nd and 3rd day we never saw them again. On the 4th day, the most difficult day of my stay at the compound, when I was desperate for something to hold on to, they came back and pulled me out of my misery. After that sighting we saw them every single day: on the walking path, by the construction site, at the apple tree, in the meadow. Sometimes it was the whole family, sometimes it was just the kids, sometimes the mama and one of the Bambis would show up, as if to say, “you see, we are here. Don’t panic. You’ll be ok.”
I was so surprised at how close they would get, Bambis curiously watching us, mama completely ignoring us. How is this possible I thought, that they don’t run away when surrounded by 100 people. I had this image of mama deer talking to another mama deer. It went something like this:
- We haven’t seen you around these past few weeks.
- Oh yeah, I take the kids to this retreat every year and teach them about humans
- What? Oh my god, why would you expose them to such cruel race? Aren’t you scared they would be killed?
- No, not at all. This is an interesting place. It is quiet. We are the only deer there. It is huge, filled with apple trees and wild flowers. Large meadow, so much to eat. Humans there are very quiet and they never walk towards us. There are these green markers everywhere and the humans won’t dare cross it for nothing. I mean there are apple trees just on the other side and they would just stand there, like human in headlights, and won’t cross over.
- And they don’t hunt?
- No. They have an aversion to killing or something. I see them carrying out insects from the big building and releasing them. It is such a sight for sore eyes, humans sparing lowly insects. These are weird but acceptable kinds of humans. So I take the kids there every year, let them roam around, tell them to take a look, get a little close so they know what to avoid later on. Sometimes I take naps and they go over there but I know they are safe. You should come with us next year. It is a lovely place. Kids love it.
At the end of the 1st night’s lecture, around 8:15 pm, we had a 5 minutes break before the last meditation session. Right next to the meditation hall, there was a circle, clearly demarcated with green signs that said “Course boundary. No students beyond this point” and the circle had 2 beautiful apple trees, low to the ground. On either side of the circle were the exit/entry to the meditation hall, one for men and one for women. As we quietly walked outside we saw a deer family enjoying the apple trees. We were all in awe, everybody had a smile on their faces. By this time the deer were completely surrounded by about 100 people, yet they seemed completely at ease. Mama was standing on her hind legs and pulling some apples down and would push it towards the youngsters. One of the Bambis would start eating but the other was in a playful mood so he would get behind his sister and kick with his hind legs and then jump around her as if to say “Booh! Got you!” She would ignore him for a while and then start chasing him. They looked so very happy. We looked so very happy. Things were gonna be ok for us for the next 10 days. This was a sign.
Then the 2nd and 3rd day we never saw them again. On the 4th day, the most difficult day of my stay at the compound, when I was desperate for something to hold on to, they came back and pulled me out of my misery. After that sighting we saw them every single day: on the walking path, by the construction site, at the apple tree, in the meadow. Sometimes it was the whole family, sometimes it was just the kids, sometimes the mama and one of the Bambis would show up, as if to say, “you see, we are here. Don’t panic. You’ll be ok.”
I was so surprised at how close they would get, Bambis curiously watching us, mama completely ignoring us. How is this possible I thought, that they don’t run away when surrounded by 100 people. I had this image of mama deer talking to another mama deer. It went something like this:
- We haven’t seen you around these past few weeks.
- Oh yeah, I take the kids to this retreat every year and teach them about humans
- What? Oh my god, why would you expose them to such cruel race? Aren’t you scared they would be killed?
- No, not at all. This is an interesting place. It is quiet. We are the only deer there. It is huge, filled with apple trees and wild flowers. Large meadow, so much to eat. Humans there are very quiet and they never walk towards us. There are these green markers everywhere and the humans won’t dare cross it for nothing. I mean there are apple trees just on the other side and they would just stand there, like human in headlights, and won’t cross over.
- And they don’t hunt?
- No. They have an aversion to killing or something. I see them carrying out insects from the big building and releasing them. It is such a sight for sore eyes, humans sparing lowly insects. These are weird but acceptable kinds of humans. So I take the kids there every year, let them roam around, tell them to take a look, get a little close so they know what to avoid later on. Sometimes I take naps and they go over there but I know they are safe. You should come with us next year. It is a lovely place. Kids love it.
Compassion
The vipassana technique is supposed to cultivate your compassion for all living beings. Now, almost everyone I know would agree that this is a good thing to do, intellectually that is. I don’t have one friend who thinks Gandhi, MLK or Mother Teresa are full of themselves or obnoxious. Yet it is so hard to actually feel compassion for some people who are nothing like Mother Teresa.
Like the Burp Man. Now I know burping is sort of a national sport for Americans. It is considered cute or funny. 22 year old hot blonds who just spent 3 hours to get ready to look as sexy as possible would burp loudly in public to prove their coolness to guys around them. Even on TV, they would disclose this as something that makes them so likable! Every dinner table in America has a few kids or youth loudly burping and then giggling or even competing to see who would produce the loudest burp. Parents affectionately roll their eyes and remind them to say “excuse me” but honestly they don’t mind. It is OK to let your body do its thing as long as you say sorry. How is this different than me farting at the dinner table because I had beans?
So Americans don’t mind. I DO! I DO NOT EXCUSE YOU! I don’t care if you are 2 years old, I don’t. This disgusting habit makes me want to vomit. I can’t enjoy my food, I feel like going to the bathroom and throwing up. I do not want to hear your stomach function, neither do I EVER want to smell semi-digested odor that comes with it. But I know I am a guest in this country and I know how fond people are of burping so I put my head down when this happens, averting my gaze away from the person and just stay quiet and try not to gag. If kids are doing it, I usually correct and say how unacceptable the behavior is, that she should cover her mouth and try not to be so loud. This is called “kizim sana soyluyorum, gelinim sen anla” in Turkish- “I am telling this to my daughter so my daughter-in-law can hear,” indirectly trying to tell people how I don’t like this behavior. Honestly, I don’t think anybody cares so I just try to ignore it.
Now, the burp man at the retreat… He made an art of this particular body function. You have to understand, this is no occasional burping. This is material worth the Guinness Book of Records. Imagine an idyllic, quiet meditation hall, imagine you are trying so hard to focus on the sensations on the body and imagine you are trying your hardest not to react to anything: positive or negative, to avoid attachment/desire/passion or aversion/hate/dislike. Imagine a guy burping every minute for the next 2 hours. Imagine you can hear the rumbles in his stomach before this happens, follow it all the way up to his esophagus, feel it getting stronger, louder, and release like a thunder. Imagine almost smelling it from the other side of the hall. And imagine the poor guy actually trying to control it, this is not the full force version you could be hearing.
And imagine me trying to ignore this for hours at a time for days. I ponder how it is possible for someone to burp so much. I wonder how it is possible at 4:30 in the morning when we haven’t eaten anything the last 17 hours. I spend hours trying to find compassion for this man. He can’t help it. How hard it must be to meditate when your body constantly disrupts your flow. How ashamed he must feel that everyone can hear it. I try to divert my dislike to others who fart and sneeze and cough all day long. Did they not get the same message I got 3 times before the retreat asking to please cancel if they are feeling under the weather even if a little bit, and not to expose others to flu etc? Those selfish bastards! We are in an enclosed hall, breathing the same air you are contaminating with all your sneezing. We are asked to cover our sneeze with our sleeves yet no one wants to break their meditation pose so they are literally sneezing onto the person in front of them. I mean the Burp Man is a saint next to these people. Yet, these poor sick people are getting up every morning at 4 am to meditate regardless of being sick. How hard it must be to meditate when you are deadly ill. I command their persistence. I am searching for compassion. I really am.
Maybe I’ll divert my attention to Amy instead (I changed names hoping to trick Karma :) since she is bugging me so much lately. She sits right in front of me and we are also bunking in the same dorm. She looks about 18 or 19. She is a tall, chubby kid with rosy red cheeks. She has long flowing fine blond hair that she can’t stop playing with. The check-in day I hear her saying that someone in her mom’s yoga class recommended she attends this workshop. I imagine a skinny mom who gently tries to help her. I can see she is searching for something. I imagine she doesn’t have a lot of friends. She is awkward yet she tries very hard to act like it’s all cool, she doesn’t mind. I can tell, she minds most of it but thinks her cover is pretty good. Well, I see through you kid. I feel for you. You are neither a woman nor a child. You don’t fit in the beauty ideal of our day. You can’t help but eat. I feel your pain. But I also see that whatever it is you are trying you are not ready to commit 100%. You want to be cool. You just don’t know how. So this retreat is another attempt at that intangible you are looking for. I can tell you are not gonna find it here, not yet…
Amy is afraid that someone might take away her shower time so before the day is over she will sign her name up and put a note with the next day’s number next to it. Childish! She can’t see it. At the end of every day, someone erases everything including her name and puts the next day’s number as a new clean sign up sheet. Her preemptive sign up did not work, yet no one signs up for her slot. As if to say, ‘see? no need to be fearful of this, you can have the slot without preventing others from signing up.’ She continues this practice and the eraser lady continues hers. I continue my role: to observe but not to react (which is exactly what vipassana technique says to do. I am such a good student!)
Amy stays in the dining hall the whole time meals are scheduled. She is always hovering around food, hands in her sweat pant’s pockets, looking over to see if the selection has changed since she loaded her plate 15 minutes ago. Sometimes she sits on the window sill that separates the buffet from the dining tables and loads her plate again without having to go around the buffet table. She likes the breakfast most I think. She practically lives by the toaster. She has about 5 slices of bread with varying combinations of butter, peanut butter, tahini, honey, jam. She doesn’t like the oatmeal or the yogurt much though she tries to eat a little bit with fruit. When there is dessert, she will take two, then every time she would be leaving the room to get a drink or more food she will inconspicuously pick another one and throw in her mouth. None of this bothers me. I watch her with understanding. I am getting a hang of this compassion thing.
Things change around day 5. Now the technique is getting harder. We are not supposed to change our posture even if there is pain and we are supposed to be more dedicated in our practice, extending it to meditating even with eyes open while doing other things. Around this time people are sobbing and can’t take it anymore and some people already left, breaking their wows to complete the 10 days. I can see that Amy’s excitement about trying this “awesome” thing is now vanishing rapidly. She does not get up for the 4:30 am meditation session anymore. I see her tumbling into breakfast with the gong at 6:30 am, clearly just having woken up. There are 3 specific meditation sessions which everyone must attend with the teachers as well as the nightly discourses. Other times are more relaxed, you are allowed to meditate in your own room. I was meditating on my bed half of these flex times since I liked having my back to the wall. Of course Amy and half the room were sound asleep during meditation time, snoring and inviting me to do the same (and succeeding half the time). So she would only show up in the meditation hall when it was required. She was always one of the last ones to enter the hall and the first one to leave. She was going through the motions but really wasn’t there anymore. She wasn’t gonna quit –in her mind- but it was clear she already did.
Of course she was bored out of her mind. She would sit or lay down on the lawn in front of my window during meditation hours and start making bird calls. There were 2 birds who would respond to her and she would smile and say stuff to herself in whispers. Granted a lot of people were having issues with the silence by this time. Some people were humming songs. Giggles and laughter and snorts were increasing at an alarming rate at the evening discourses. It is not that the teacher’s stories weren’t funny but honestly they weren’t funny enough to warrant the laughter you usually reserve for Jerry Seinfeld’s stand up routine. People just needed to make noise, I think. Amy loved these lectures. She would laugh at every story, put her hands around her head shaking from side to side because she could not contain herself or better yet would raise her arms up and point with her hands down as if in a hip hop concert, saying ‘word!’
By this time she was so bored that she started working on her hair. She would braid her hair into really skinny braids on either side of her face during the day and then she would unbraid them during the evening lectures. This would happen every single day like clockwork. Then she started collecting rocks. This consumed her days. Her head was constantly down surveying the grounds. We were instructed not to pick anything, no flowers etc while at the compound. Her collection started with 3 rocks of varying sizes, than by the 9th day it was up to 25. She would wear her gray sweatpants but would not tie it so it was constantly falling down and exposing her butt crack while the long tie dangled in front of her, feeling completely ignored. She was also bending her waist line out like the skinny girls but of course this was making it harder for the poor old sweats to stay on her bottom. Now, add 25 rocks to her pockets and her pants were constantly grazing her mid-hip area. She would constantly put her hands in her pockets and swish the rocks around making noise which I could not ignore since she was literally inches away from me. She would bend in front of me to make her sitting arrangement perfect –which started with one cushion and now was up to 12 cushions that fit under her butt, behind her back, under knees as well as every other crevice you can imagine- and plop down with a loud thump and swoosh which would push her set up back towards my feet blocking the walkway. At this time her butt was completely exposed as she would try to pull up her pants and pull down her shirt while sitting which would then mess up her sitting arrangement and she would be up and starting all over again for that perfect meditation pose.
If by some miracle she found a semi-comfortable sitting arrangement, she would take out all her stones and start putting them on her legs and around her pillows which was slowly encroaching upon the two women’s meditation cushion on each side and the walkway behind her and in front of me. Every time she would get up, or move her legs, there would be numerous rocks falling onto the concrete floor and snapping me out of my meditation. Her body was at the retreat while her mind was at a dreaded summer camp somewhere else. And the funny thing is I can picture her talking to people after the retreat saying things like, “yeah, it was awesome. Like, I really dig this meditation. It is so cool, it is insanely good for you. Vegan food was the bomb. Like, I meditate now all the time.”
Let me put it this way: I would cut my arm off if she meditated once since the retreat ended.
Dear Amy, please come back when your mental age reaches 40 and you are actually interested in doing the work.
As you can see, I am still working on compassion. It is not easy. OK, it is easy when you are talking about a 2 year old kid who is abused by his crack addict mom. It is very easy to feel compassion for this child. Now, the compassion for the mom, which you should have more of, is another story. When you find that compassion, call me and we’ll exchange notes. Similarly, liking the deer family on premises and not wanting to kill the Bambi or a pretty poppy flower is very easy. Not wanting to swat the mosquito that is about to feast on your nose, cockroach in your room or the hairy dark mouse running under your foot in the dining hall are much harder kinds of compassion. Do you have it?
Like the Burp Man. Now I know burping is sort of a national sport for Americans. It is considered cute or funny. 22 year old hot blonds who just spent 3 hours to get ready to look as sexy as possible would burp loudly in public to prove their coolness to guys around them. Even on TV, they would disclose this as something that makes them so likable! Every dinner table in America has a few kids or youth loudly burping and then giggling or even competing to see who would produce the loudest burp. Parents affectionately roll their eyes and remind them to say “excuse me” but honestly they don’t mind. It is OK to let your body do its thing as long as you say sorry. How is this different than me farting at the dinner table because I had beans?
So Americans don’t mind. I DO! I DO NOT EXCUSE YOU! I don’t care if you are 2 years old, I don’t. This disgusting habit makes me want to vomit. I can’t enjoy my food, I feel like going to the bathroom and throwing up. I do not want to hear your stomach function, neither do I EVER want to smell semi-digested odor that comes with it. But I know I am a guest in this country and I know how fond people are of burping so I put my head down when this happens, averting my gaze away from the person and just stay quiet and try not to gag. If kids are doing it, I usually correct and say how unacceptable the behavior is, that she should cover her mouth and try not to be so loud. This is called “kizim sana soyluyorum, gelinim sen anla” in Turkish- “I am telling this to my daughter so my daughter-in-law can hear,” indirectly trying to tell people how I don’t like this behavior. Honestly, I don’t think anybody cares so I just try to ignore it.
Now, the burp man at the retreat… He made an art of this particular body function. You have to understand, this is no occasional burping. This is material worth the Guinness Book of Records. Imagine an idyllic, quiet meditation hall, imagine you are trying so hard to focus on the sensations on the body and imagine you are trying your hardest not to react to anything: positive or negative, to avoid attachment/desire/passion or aversion/hate/dislike. Imagine a guy burping every minute for the next 2 hours. Imagine you can hear the rumbles in his stomach before this happens, follow it all the way up to his esophagus, feel it getting stronger, louder, and release like a thunder. Imagine almost smelling it from the other side of the hall. And imagine the poor guy actually trying to control it, this is not the full force version you could be hearing.
And imagine me trying to ignore this for hours at a time for days. I ponder how it is possible for someone to burp so much. I wonder how it is possible at 4:30 in the morning when we haven’t eaten anything the last 17 hours. I spend hours trying to find compassion for this man. He can’t help it. How hard it must be to meditate when your body constantly disrupts your flow. How ashamed he must feel that everyone can hear it. I try to divert my dislike to others who fart and sneeze and cough all day long. Did they not get the same message I got 3 times before the retreat asking to please cancel if they are feeling under the weather even if a little bit, and not to expose others to flu etc? Those selfish bastards! We are in an enclosed hall, breathing the same air you are contaminating with all your sneezing. We are asked to cover our sneeze with our sleeves yet no one wants to break their meditation pose so they are literally sneezing onto the person in front of them. I mean the Burp Man is a saint next to these people. Yet, these poor sick people are getting up every morning at 4 am to meditate regardless of being sick. How hard it must be to meditate when you are deadly ill. I command their persistence. I am searching for compassion. I really am.
Maybe I’ll divert my attention to Amy instead (I changed names hoping to trick Karma :) since she is bugging me so much lately. She sits right in front of me and we are also bunking in the same dorm. She looks about 18 or 19. She is a tall, chubby kid with rosy red cheeks. She has long flowing fine blond hair that she can’t stop playing with. The check-in day I hear her saying that someone in her mom’s yoga class recommended she attends this workshop. I imagine a skinny mom who gently tries to help her. I can see she is searching for something. I imagine she doesn’t have a lot of friends. She is awkward yet she tries very hard to act like it’s all cool, she doesn’t mind. I can tell, she minds most of it but thinks her cover is pretty good. Well, I see through you kid. I feel for you. You are neither a woman nor a child. You don’t fit in the beauty ideal of our day. You can’t help but eat. I feel your pain. But I also see that whatever it is you are trying you are not ready to commit 100%. You want to be cool. You just don’t know how. So this retreat is another attempt at that intangible you are looking for. I can tell you are not gonna find it here, not yet…
Amy is afraid that someone might take away her shower time so before the day is over she will sign her name up and put a note with the next day’s number next to it. Childish! She can’t see it. At the end of every day, someone erases everything including her name and puts the next day’s number as a new clean sign up sheet. Her preemptive sign up did not work, yet no one signs up for her slot. As if to say, ‘see? no need to be fearful of this, you can have the slot without preventing others from signing up.’ She continues this practice and the eraser lady continues hers. I continue my role: to observe but not to react (which is exactly what vipassana technique says to do. I am such a good student!)
Amy stays in the dining hall the whole time meals are scheduled. She is always hovering around food, hands in her sweat pant’s pockets, looking over to see if the selection has changed since she loaded her plate 15 minutes ago. Sometimes she sits on the window sill that separates the buffet from the dining tables and loads her plate again without having to go around the buffet table. She likes the breakfast most I think. She practically lives by the toaster. She has about 5 slices of bread with varying combinations of butter, peanut butter, tahini, honey, jam. She doesn’t like the oatmeal or the yogurt much though she tries to eat a little bit with fruit. When there is dessert, she will take two, then every time she would be leaving the room to get a drink or more food she will inconspicuously pick another one and throw in her mouth. None of this bothers me. I watch her with understanding. I am getting a hang of this compassion thing.
Things change around day 5. Now the technique is getting harder. We are not supposed to change our posture even if there is pain and we are supposed to be more dedicated in our practice, extending it to meditating even with eyes open while doing other things. Around this time people are sobbing and can’t take it anymore and some people already left, breaking their wows to complete the 10 days. I can see that Amy’s excitement about trying this “awesome” thing is now vanishing rapidly. She does not get up for the 4:30 am meditation session anymore. I see her tumbling into breakfast with the gong at 6:30 am, clearly just having woken up. There are 3 specific meditation sessions which everyone must attend with the teachers as well as the nightly discourses. Other times are more relaxed, you are allowed to meditate in your own room. I was meditating on my bed half of these flex times since I liked having my back to the wall. Of course Amy and half the room were sound asleep during meditation time, snoring and inviting me to do the same (and succeeding half the time). So she would only show up in the meditation hall when it was required. She was always one of the last ones to enter the hall and the first one to leave. She was going through the motions but really wasn’t there anymore. She wasn’t gonna quit –in her mind- but it was clear she already did.
Of course she was bored out of her mind. She would sit or lay down on the lawn in front of my window during meditation hours and start making bird calls. There were 2 birds who would respond to her and she would smile and say stuff to herself in whispers. Granted a lot of people were having issues with the silence by this time. Some people were humming songs. Giggles and laughter and snorts were increasing at an alarming rate at the evening discourses. It is not that the teacher’s stories weren’t funny but honestly they weren’t funny enough to warrant the laughter you usually reserve for Jerry Seinfeld’s stand up routine. People just needed to make noise, I think. Amy loved these lectures. She would laugh at every story, put her hands around her head shaking from side to side because she could not contain herself or better yet would raise her arms up and point with her hands down as if in a hip hop concert, saying ‘word!’
By this time she was so bored that she started working on her hair. She would braid her hair into really skinny braids on either side of her face during the day and then she would unbraid them during the evening lectures. This would happen every single day like clockwork. Then she started collecting rocks. This consumed her days. Her head was constantly down surveying the grounds. We were instructed not to pick anything, no flowers etc while at the compound. Her collection started with 3 rocks of varying sizes, than by the 9th day it was up to 25. She would wear her gray sweatpants but would not tie it so it was constantly falling down and exposing her butt crack while the long tie dangled in front of her, feeling completely ignored. She was also bending her waist line out like the skinny girls but of course this was making it harder for the poor old sweats to stay on her bottom. Now, add 25 rocks to her pockets and her pants were constantly grazing her mid-hip area. She would constantly put her hands in her pockets and swish the rocks around making noise which I could not ignore since she was literally inches away from me. She would bend in front of me to make her sitting arrangement perfect –which started with one cushion and now was up to 12 cushions that fit under her butt, behind her back, under knees as well as every other crevice you can imagine- and plop down with a loud thump and swoosh which would push her set up back towards my feet blocking the walkway. At this time her butt was completely exposed as she would try to pull up her pants and pull down her shirt while sitting which would then mess up her sitting arrangement and she would be up and starting all over again for that perfect meditation pose.
If by some miracle she found a semi-comfortable sitting arrangement, she would take out all her stones and start putting them on her legs and around her pillows which was slowly encroaching upon the two women’s meditation cushion on each side and the walkway behind her and in front of me. Every time she would get up, or move her legs, there would be numerous rocks falling onto the concrete floor and snapping me out of my meditation. Her body was at the retreat while her mind was at a dreaded summer camp somewhere else. And the funny thing is I can picture her talking to people after the retreat saying things like, “yeah, it was awesome. Like, I really dig this meditation. It is so cool, it is insanely good for you. Vegan food was the bomb. Like, I meditate now all the time.”
Let me put it this way: I would cut my arm off if she meditated once since the retreat ended.
Dear Amy, please come back when your mental age reaches 40 and you are actually interested in doing the work.
As you can see, I am still working on compassion. It is not easy. OK, it is easy when you are talking about a 2 year old kid who is abused by his crack addict mom. It is very easy to feel compassion for this child. Now, the compassion for the mom, which you should have more of, is another story. When you find that compassion, call me and we’ll exchange notes. Similarly, liking the deer family on premises and not wanting to kill the Bambi or a pretty poppy flower is very easy. Not wanting to swat the mosquito that is about to feast on your nose, cockroach in your room or the hairy dark mouse running under your foot in the dining hall are much harder kinds of compassion. Do you have it?
Cast of Characters
Maple:
Maple was coming from a summer of living in an intentional community. This was her second time completing a 10-day course. She was blond and cute as a button. She had dreadlocks, a soft voice, was always barefoot, would never wear bras and smelled like she took baths on a need to basis. She wore a beige tank-top with spaghetti straps which completely gave away her nipples but would wear a long sleeve sweater over it when it was cold. Sweater was completely off the shoulders and she would tie it in the back to make it stay there. You could tell she was outside this summer a lot as her shoulders glistened in the sun, a beautiful, light, milk chocolaty tan. She seemed about 20 or 21.
Maple wasn’t her real name but she legally changed it to this name. Though Maple is such a grand and mature tree compared to her young age, the syrupy sweetness completely matched her personality. She would wrap herself in this lilac color, big blanket in the meditation hall and she looked like those catholic Virgin Mary statues, blanket softly falling all around her to the floor. I thought if I only walked around and looked at her from front I was sure to find a few crying children and women around her legs, lost in the blanket’s curves, looking up at her while she looked down as if to say ‘there now, I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry.”
I liked Maple. She was sweet and soft. And she seemed to have gathered more life experiences than some people twice her age. When the technique started pushing us to our limits, people would burst out crying and ran out of the hall in uncontrollable sobs. It was too much pain coming up to stay still and quiet. One day, as I had my eyes closed and focused deep in meditation, I heard a huge hick up followed by the most infectious, girlish giggle. I knew it was Maple. I couldn’t help but smile. I liked her. It was nice to have her around. And if I had to bust out of the meditation hall with a grand exit, I would rather be giggling than sobbing.
Jane:
Jane slept in the bed across from me and she sat next to me in the meditation hall. She is tall with impeccable posture. Not once did I see her slouch- not when she was eating, not when she was walking, sitting on a chair or meditating. She stood tall and proud. Not a hair was out of place. She looked about my age, late 30s or early 40s. Had a ring on her slender finger. She always carried her clothes to the bathroom in the other building to change even though our beds were enclosed with cotton fabric on 3 sides for privacy. I pictured this woman wanting to have sex with the lights off. She struck me as prudish. She was always up at 4 am to meditate. She never slacked off her meditation. From day 1, she never changed her posture during meditation, she was solid like a rock, while everyone else was fidgeting to find that one comfortable pose.
She was constantly doing yoga by her bed during breaks. In fact during the short breaks at the hall, most women would run out and start doing downward dogs, sun salutations, the pigeon and any other yoga poses you can imagine. Earth mamas would simply lay down in a snow angel pose and soak up the earth beneath them. When they walked back into the meditation hall, their back would be covered in hay and they would walk towards their spot dropping grass all along like Hansel and Gretel to find their way back out. This behavior was simply too disheveled for Jane. She would do standing poses or sit on a bench, none of that roll in the grass wild antics.
She would never rush into the dining hall. In fact she would avoid it, taking walks in the meadow and showing up for food later. She ate mostly salad, did not toast her bread and ate very slowly, with eyes closed meditating no matter what we were doing. I was intrigued by her. When my back was screaming at me with utmost pain and begging me to shift, I would say “look at Jane. She is new and she never changes her posture. Try to be like her.” She made it easier for me to get up and show up and try to do better. She seemed so at ease with it. The last day when we chatted up I learned that she and her husband have been trying the raw food diet (hence all the salad eating) and are avid meditators and yogis. I wasn’t surprised. I had the best conversations with her in that last day and left thinking I would have liked to get to know this woman more.
Janice:
On my right, sat Janice. She was in her late 60s, a social work professor I came to learn on the last day. She was, like all the other older women, always in the meditation hall. They were not seduced by this-worldly distractions. They were there to truly do it. At 4:30 in the morning, when only about 10 women were there in the hall, 6 of them were the older women-- always dependable and clearly not in need of early morning sleep. Every morning, when the gong would go off, I would snuggle up in my sleeping bag thinking, so many people are skipping the morning meditation, I can skip once too. But then I would hear Jane get up and quietly leave and then I would picture Janice already in her place, standing upright and see my place empty in between them. Thinking of them there made it easier for me to get up every morning.
When I couldn’t quiet my mind or my insane back pain during meditation, my mind would be racing from thought to thought and inevitably would come to see myself in this picture: So here I was, clearly on the throne because of my family connections, of being born into the royal family. I was sure however my mom already gotten the true heir from another mother in the harem killed before he was 15 so I was the unlikely but only choice for the throne after the sultan passed away from a feverish illness.
I was sitting in this imaginary throne, short and chubby. A sad example of what a royal should look like. Because my back pain was so immense that I would contort myself into some supposedly comfortable position which looked like somebody pushed my neck down and it disappeared into my spine while right side of my body was slightly forward and straight, the left side was some sort of an S shape pushing back at my lower back and leaning left and down at the upper back area. I looked like one of those fake-disabled street beggars in Istanbul who dislocate their shoulders and legs for the day. I was sure I looked like Quasimodo asking Esmeralda for water. And of course to my each side stood Jane and Janice, holding tall and heavy spears covered possibly in gold. They were tall and slender, looked proud, strong and dependable. Clearly chosen among thousands and thousands of commoners as perfect specimens to represent the throne. And after where they ended up, probably thinking WTF?
I titled this black and white snapshot in my head “the Royal Guards.”
Maple was coming from a summer of living in an intentional community. This was her second time completing a 10-day course. She was blond and cute as a button. She had dreadlocks, a soft voice, was always barefoot, would never wear bras and smelled like she took baths on a need to basis. She wore a beige tank-top with spaghetti straps which completely gave away her nipples but would wear a long sleeve sweater over it when it was cold. Sweater was completely off the shoulders and she would tie it in the back to make it stay there. You could tell she was outside this summer a lot as her shoulders glistened in the sun, a beautiful, light, milk chocolaty tan. She seemed about 20 or 21.
Maple wasn’t her real name but she legally changed it to this name. Though Maple is such a grand and mature tree compared to her young age, the syrupy sweetness completely matched her personality. She would wrap herself in this lilac color, big blanket in the meditation hall and she looked like those catholic Virgin Mary statues, blanket softly falling all around her to the floor. I thought if I only walked around and looked at her from front I was sure to find a few crying children and women around her legs, lost in the blanket’s curves, looking up at her while she looked down as if to say ‘there now, I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry.”
I liked Maple. She was sweet and soft. And she seemed to have gathered more life experiences than some people twice her age. When the technique started pushing us to our limits, people would burst out crying and ran out of the hall in uncontrollable sobs. It was too much pain coming up to stay still and quiet. One day, as I had my eyes closed and focused deep in meditation, I heard a huge hick up followed by the most infectious, girlish giggle. I knew it was Maple. I couldn’t help but smile. I liked her. It was nice to have her around. And if I had to bust out of the meditation hall with a grand exit, I would rather be giggling than sobbing.
Jane:
Jane slept in the bed across from me and she sat next to me in the meditation hall. She is tall with impeccable posture. Not once did I see her slouch- not when she was eating, not when she was walking, sitting on a chair or meditating. She stood tall and proud. Not a hair was out of place. She looked about my age, late 30s or early 40s. Had a ring on her slender finger. She always carried her clothes to the bathroom in the other building to change even though our beds were enclosed with cotton fabric on 3 sides for privacy. I pictured this woman wanting to have sex with the lights off. She struck me as prudish. She was always up at 4 am to meditate. She never slacked off her meditation. From day 1, she never changed her posture during meditation, she was solid like a rock, while everyone else was fidgeting to find that one comfortable pose.
She was constantly doing yoga by her bed during breaks. In fact during the short breaks at the hall, most women would run out and start doing downward dogs, sun salutations, the pigeon and any other yoga poses you can imagine. Earth mamas would simply lay down in a snow angel pose and soak up the earth beneath them. When they walked back into the meditation hall, their back would be covered in hay and they would walk towards their spot dropping grass all along like Hansel and Gretel to find their way back out. This behavior was simply too disheveled for Jane. She would do standing poses or sit on a bench, none of that roll in the grass wild antics.
She would never rush into the dining hall. In fact she would avoid it, taking walks in the meadow and showing up for food later. She ate mostly salad, did not toast her bread and ate very slowly, with eyes closed meditating no matter what we were doing. I was intrigued by her. When my back was screaming at me with utmost pain and begging me to shift, I would say “look at Jane. She is new and she never changes her posture. Try to be like her.” She made it easier for me to get up and show up and try to do better. She seemed so at ease with it. The last day when we chatted up I learned that she and her husband have been trying the raw food diet (hence all the salad eating) and are avid meditators and yogis. I wasn’t surprised. I had the best conversations with her in that last day and left thinking I would have liked to get to know this woman more.
Janice:
On my right, sat Janice. She was in her late 60s, a social work professor I came to learn on the last day. She was, like all the other older women, always in the meditation hall. They were not seduced by this-worldly distractions. They were there to truly do it. At 4:30 in the morning, when only about 10 women were there in the hall, 6 of them were the older women-- always dependable and clearly not in need of early morning sleep. Every morning, when the gong would go off, I would snuggle up in my sleeping bag thinking, so many people are skipping the morning meditation, I can skip once too. But then I would hear Jane get up and quietly leave and then I would picture Janice already in her place, standing upright and see my place empty in between them. Thinking of them there made it easier for me to get up every morning.
When I couldn’t quiet my mind or my insane back pain during meditation, my mind would be racing from thought to thought and inevitably would come to see myself in this picture: So here I was, clearly on the throne because of my family connections, of being born into the royal family. I was sure however my mom already gotten the true heir from another mother in the harem killed before he was 15 so I was the unlikely but only choice for the throne after the sultan passed away from a feverish illness.
I was sitting in this imaginary throne, short and chubby. A sad example of what a royal should look like. Because my back pain was so immense that I would contort myself into some supposedly comfortable position which looked like somebody pushed my neck down and it disappeared into my spine while right side of my body was slightly forward and straight, the left side was some sort of an S shape pushing back at my lower back and leaning left and down at the upper back area. I looked like one of those fake-disabled street beggars in Istanbul who dislocate their shoulders and legs for the day. I was sure I looked like Quasimodo asking Esmeralda for water. And of course to my each side stood Jane and Janice, holding tall and heavy spears covered possibly in gold. They were tall and slender, looked proud, strong and dependable. Clearly chosen among thousands and thousands of commoners as perfect specimens to represent the throne. And after where they ended up, probably thinking WTF?
I titled this black and white snapshot in my head “the Royal Guards.”
Silence and my meditation
If you are still reading, you must be thinking that I talked about everything but my actual experience with the meditation. You are right. It is one of those cliché things that one cannot describe but one must experience for him/herself. I have many questions about Vipassana. I barely graduated from kindergarten of this technique so there is much to be learned. It is intense but makes sense in terms of the application to oneself, on an individual level. I have many questions as to how this looks when you apply it to your relations, when there are other people involved. Those will probably fall into place as time goes by with consistent practice.
What I do know is that I was ready for such an experience. I learned something very useful to apply to my life. Technique requires very consistent and disciplined practice. So I will struggle with it like everyone else. My conversations with the returning students made it clear that very few people meditate 1 hr in the morning and 1 hr at night every day. But people do what they can, when they can and they keep coming back to it.
Before checking in I was nervous about the food, sleep and silence. They were not an issue at all. Silence, in fact, was wonderful. You didn’t have to please others, focus on others, and worry about being unfriendly or being the popular girl in the dorm. You just kept your head down and focused on your experience. I had no problems being quiet (thanks to all of you who suggested I could NEVER do this!) Not reading, writing etc was hard at times as the meditation and quiet mind would become exhausting. But you get used to it. Your reality completely shifts. Sleep was attractive the first few days. Any break we had I would nap. But halfway through I couldn’t anymore, I didn’t need it. I would lay in I bed trying to meditate with eyes open- ok, partly writing this report in my head but regardless…
Almost all of you know about how cold I get on a routine basis (since you tease me about it incessantly), particularly in my hands and feet. You would be surprised to hear that during my meditation, my hands and feet would get so hot that I was bare feet and in short sleeves at 4:30 in the morning when everybody else was bundled up in multiple blankets. I could not feel my toes or fingers separately, it felt like my hands and feet were huge concrete blocks, weighing a thousand tons and set on fire (and no, it wasn’t pleasant!)
Some of you know about my car accident back in November which left my back in pretty regular pain. My back for the first 7.5 days was in such pain that I was about to burst into tears or kill someone while screaming profanities at the teacher to shut the fuck up and stop chanting (sorry Goenka, I didn’t mean to yell at you). I did neither out loud, luckily. But here is the kicker: my back pain vanished on day 8, gone! So I had some pretty powerful experiences, though I did not go there with an expectation as such. It was a glimpse of what could be achieved with consistent practice. I learned to be still, completely still and to ignore my pain for hours at an end. That is no small achievement if you ask me.
All in all, I am intrigued by Vipassana. Half the women were saying that they would never be back. I was already thinking that I would be back to serve a 10 day course, working in the kitchen, doing selfless service for sure (like this guy). I think everyone should try it once in their lifetime. It is worth it… Particularly for those of us (like 95% of my friends) who live in their heads since they are academics, intellectuals, or rational thinkers. All this pondering, wondering, wandering and such are useless in Vipassana. All my conceptual questions went unanswered by assistant teachers with the same response: "I can't tell you what that would be like for you. You must experience it for yourself." It gets pretty frustrating if you are used to researching issues and reading statistics. This is not a heaven for thinkers. Quite the opposite. Yet very refreshing if you can give in to it. But I won't say more. You must try it for yourself, and no! You cannot read about Buddha or the technique, you MUST DO IT to truly understand it...
Buddha has some pretty amazing insights. I am not a total convert yet as I am still way too connected to earthly delights and pleasures but I am willing to consider…
I will end by repeating what our teacher Goenka says at the end of every session:
May peace be with you. May all living beings be happy. May you be blessed with peace and happiness and may you grow in Dhamma.
What I do know is that I was ready for such an experience. I learned something very useful to apply to my life. Technique requires very consistent and disciplined practice. So I will struggle with it like everyone else. My conversations with the returning students made it clear that very few people meditate 1 hr in the morning and 1 hr at night every day. But people do what they can, when they can and they keep coming back to it.
Before checking in I was nervous about the food, sleep and silence. They were not an issue at all. Silence, in fact, was wonderful. You didn’t have to please others, focus on others, and worry about being unfriendly or being the popular girl in the dorm. You just kept your head down and focused on your experience. I had no problems being quiet (thanks to all of you who suggested I could NEVER do this!) Not reading, writing etc was hard at times as the meditation and quiet mind would become exhausting. But you get used to it. Your reality completely shifts. Sleep was attractive the first few days. Any break we had I would nap. But halfway through I couldn’t anymore, I didn’t need it. I would lay in I bed trying to meditate with eyes open- ok, partly writing this report in my head but regardless…
Almost all of you know about how cold I get on a routine basis (since you tease me about it incessantly), particularly in my hands and feet. You would be surprised to hear that during my meditation, my hands and feet would get so hot that I was bare feet and in short sleeves at 4:30 in the morning when everybody else was bundled up in multiple blankets. I could not feel my toes or fingers separately, it felt like my hands and feet were huge concrete blocks, weighing a thousand tons and set on fire (and no, it wasn’t pleasant!)
Some of you know about my car accident back in November which left my back in pretty regular pain. My back for the first 7.5 days was in such pain that I was about to burst into tears or kill someone while screaming profanities at the teacher to shut the fuck up and stop chanting (sorry Goenka, I didn’t mean to yell at you). I did neither out loud, luckily. But here is the kicker: my back pain vanished on day 8, gone! So I had some pretty powerful experiences, though I did not go there with an expectation as such. It was a glimpse of what could be achieved with consistent practice. I learned to be still, completely still and to ignore my pain for hours at an end. That is no small achievement if you ask me.
All in all, I am intrigued by Vipassana. Half the women were saying that they would never be back. I was already thinking that I would be back to serve a 10 day course, working in the kitchen, doing selfless service for sure (like this guy). I think everyone should try it once in their lifetime. It is worth it… Particularly for those of us (like 95% of my friends) who live in their heads since they are academics, intellectuals, or rational thinkers. All this pondering, wondering, wandering and such are useless in Vipassana. All my conceptual questions went unanswered by assistant teachers with the same response: "I can't tell you what that would be like for you. You must experience it for yourself." It gets pretty frustrating if you are used to researching issues and reading statistics. This is not a heaven for thinkers. Quite the opposite. Yet very refreshing if you can give in to it. But I won't say more. You must try it for yourself, and no! You cannot read about Buddha or the technique, you MUST DO IT to truly understand it...
Buddha has some pretty amazing insights. I am not a total convert yet as I am still way too connected to earthly delights and pleasures but I am willing to consider…
I will end by repeating what our teacher Goenka says at the end of every session:
May peace be with you. May all living beings be happy. May you be blessed with peace and happiness and may you grow in Dhamma.
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