The following includes an attempt at expressing in words an experience of deliberate silence in search of something intangible - wisdom. I'm not at all certain therefore that it will meet with success but it does offer an opportunity to quote a couple of my favourite passages from Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha: 'Wisdom is not communicable. The wisdom which a wise man tries to communicate always sounds foolish.' and 'Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish. And yet it also pleases me and seems right that what is of value and wisdom to one man seems nonsense to another.'
As a child, young teen and into adulthood I, like so many others, was not always content to be alone. At times, alone also meant lonely and bearing the sadness that can accompany such a sense of isolation. But with maturity the aloneness has more often been welcomed or even deliberately sought and embraced as a simple, silent, passing of time. Time to just sit and find awareness, perspective, perhaps a little insight. Now I consider myself a person who enjoys some quiet solitude. Relishes the opportunity truly to experience, to wonder and to be.
Which brings me to meditation which, in my youth, was popularly depicted in dismissive terms as the loinclothed and bedraggled mountaintop guru, sitting in lotus pose and intoning 'OM'. Shorthand for weird mysticism or whacko hippieness. Viewed from the perspective of my conservative, rationalist upbringing, the almost cult-like popular embrace of Transcendental Meditation served chiefly to amplify these perceptions. So I saw meditation chiefly from the sidelines, curious but wary, and busy anyway leading my own life of desire, acquisition, ego and selfish gratification.
Cut to the 21st century. I'm mid-life, nary a crisis in sight, within the warm and secure embrace of an enduring partnership, with a child, a home, a job, friends and colleagues, recreations, possessions - so many unnecessary possessions - all the usual trappings of conformity and success in this strangeness we call normal life. But meditation keeps appearing, keeps tapping at the periphery of my experience - a weekly gathering on the sands of my local beach, the words of a friend in conversation, leaflets posted on a community noticeboard.
It's the digital age now so my enduring curiosity leads me to the Play store where I settle upon downloading Insight Timer. I find both enjoyment and the beginnings of a clearer understanding of the practice of meditation in such as Learn How To Meditate In Seven Days; Breath Meditation and Loving Kindness with Sharon Salzberg, Mindfulness Daily with Jack Kornfield and Tara Brach, or the simple soundtracks of Patrick Lynen's Wind In The Trees and Shawn Leahy's Peaceful Forest Rain Fall. After my daily dawn surf, I might sit in the warmth of the car, sunlight through the windscreen, earphones in, the sound of the waves fading, finding relaxation in my private participation - even if only for ten minutes. But is relaxation all there is to find here?
Then two books enter my life through the auspices of a Street Library I established. Meditation for normal people and other not so woohoo stuff: The relatable meditation beginners' guide for not so spiritual folks, by S. Caroline Hey, and Reflections on a Mountain Lake, by Tenzin Palmo. Both are aimed squarely at a lay audience, using clear language and personal anecdotes to emphasise not just the benefits but also the relative simplicity and normality of a regular meditation practice. In the latter are two consecutive chapters dealing specifically with what she describes as 'two streams of meditation practice within Buddhism'. The chapters, Shamatha, or Calm Abiding and Vipashyana, or Insight, clarified for me that indeed there is more to find, but not necessarily in the techniques I had heretofore been practicing.
Which brings me at last to my experience this past weekend. After most of a year's worth of unrest I was in want of a break - some time out and time alone from, on the one hand the regular routine and on the other the occasional uncertainties of, my daily existence. I was considering a solo booking of a Tiny Home in some remote and beautiful environs, but then thankfully recognised an opportunity to at last embark upon a brief meditation retreat. Some quick research and, with my partner's support, an eleventh hour booking and I was ready to pack my bags, load the motorcycle, and head west for two days of immersion in self discovery.
I shall elaborate a little more at the end of this post, including details as to the location and type of retreat I experienced, but immediately following is quite simply the perhaps unintelligible or indecipherable content of the small journal in which I recorded my sketchy thoughts, wonderings and understandings as they occurred to me across the forty-plus hours of richly varied, gently paced, exposure to and experience of solitude, silence, meditation and movement practices that I joyfully embraced during my stay. (There's not so many words, just plenty of scrolling.)
So it begins.
Late afternoon,
I'm sitting in Infinity -
my room.
Out the window -
trees, ferns, blue sky and last sunlight on high leaves.
Habit has me glance at my wrist, but my watch is not there.
The grandfather clock in the dining room states simply -
Now.
I think we may shortly have our Greeting Circle.
I think I'm going to enjoy my presence here.
Already the silence beckons.
Can I calm the tinnitus in my head?
Time -
I make a blue origami crane.
It seems, as yet (early I know), only possible to quiet the mind,
by giving it a task on which it may focus.
Fewer external stimuli may help,
but how to reduce the internal?
Silence begins.
Quietude.
Flowing with it.
Trying to quiet also the judgement -
of self,
of retreat,
of restless mind,
of aching body,
of doubt,
of process,
of this now ...
Now -
Sleep.
My first this eve?
But no judgement.
The night sky,
full of stars,
awaiting the dawn,
while I sleep.
The sleep of the fortunate.
This day -
So many here,
healing from some thing,
seeking wellness.
I am here,
already well,
seeking some thing,
greater.
Am I here,
to give?
Sleep now.
New day -
Timeless time.
Sleepless rest.
Restless sleep.
Gentle rain in the dim morning light.
Staying silent.
Attempting to be quiet,
but body awake,
and wanting to be active.
Some tools -
guidance,
toward insight today?
Patience.
Still any expectation.
Be -
and see.
Off for a dunk in the icy pool.
How shower and warm room.
Dark sky lightening,
ruddy in the east.
Stilling the reflex courtesies of Good Morning.
The kookaburras greet the dawn for us.
The distant hum of traffic and a screeching cockatoo.
Yet the silence is thick, heavy, warm.
An absence of timepieces is delight,
yet in combination with a program,
makes me perhaps more aware of time ...
Trust to the bells.
Sit.
Relax.
Meditate?
- Shinrin Yoku -
Sensory and nature meditation.
Nature bathing.
To sit in a clearing,
a view if you wish to see,
though sound, smell, touch,
is often enough.
The smooth bark of an angophora.
Cool, moist air after morning showers -
wet, earthy aromas prevail,
over the oft expected clarity of eucalypt.
Amongst the constant and ever varied bird call,
gentle, syncopated spatter of droplets,
falling from the wet canopy above.
This, indeed, makes quieting the mind simpler -
but insight eludes still.
Start of walk towards dell -
passed by chatting couple,
their blue puffer jackets,
then their voices also,
quickly swallowed as they descend the gully.
Solitary platform on a prominence -
the cloud-hidden sun yet warm on my face.
The broad and deep valley,
stretches to a distant ridge line -
late morning mists still rising,
in slothful, slithering ribbons,
from the carpet of treetops.
I sit in my chair -
a single point of intense, tickling pleasure,
deep in my right ear.
I resist the common response of a wiggled finger,
to still the (mis?)firing nerve,
using it instead as a focal point,
for my awareness.
Other thoughts I had hoped to write,
pushed aside and rapidly lost.
Resist no thoughts.
React to no thoughts.
Retain no thoughts.
Simply watch them come,
and go,
like breaths.
But what about the journal!?
A young magpie,
still in immature coat,
fossicks in the undergrowth beyond my window.
Visual stimuli -
trumps again.
Awaiting the next bell.
Why wait for time to pass?
It passes anyway.
Better to dive deep,
and go/come along for the ride.
Still -
time and life by the bell,
is pleasant indeed.
I miss not the watch,
or absurd digital device.
The ancient appeal of the monastic life,
by the bell,
is easy to understand.
Closer perhaps indeed,
to Dao,
than I have given credit?
Simply drop the deity!
- Random prompts -
This too shall pass.
and
Change is the only constant.
After lunch -
I'm unsure what I wanted from this weekend,
but to be open to the experience,
and whatever it provided.
Sitting outside in the sun,
with a distant view,
and a nearby, well-tuned, five-note, wind chime.
Occasional breezes provoke unexpected harmonies -
perfect accent notes to the birdcall,
bursts of nearby drumming,
and constant, textured, drone of the highway traffic,
or infrequent train.
I persist with simply sitting,
eyes shut,
but otherwise sensorially aware.
Still awake.
Every once in a while -
a brief moment,
less than a second,
when I simply,
am.
No inputs,
no inner musings,
no thing,
nothing,
but being.
Of course,
I tend to only be aware of them,
once they have passed.
Looking at them,
makes me aware of them,
and myself,
looking.
Or am I being them?
The trap of language,
and foolish sounding words.
Nearby,
a solo meditation hut on short stilts.
Warm, dry, oriented, obvious!
But I never thought of such a thing.
And difficult to leave even my crude approximation -
a weathered, green, injection-moulded, garden chair,
on the gently sloping lawn.
Plus still,
the chimes,
sound.
Music,
written by the breeze.
A rare and privileged luxury -
this time.
And so many,
and so much,
to thank,
for the generosity of its provision.
Beautiful,
and memorable,
words,
spoken by the facilitator,
during meditation session -
but forgotten nonetheless,
before they can be written.
Perhaps that is as it should -
be.
Lying down -
awash with sound.
It is difficult (and why!?),
to be mentally anywhere else.
I have long known this.
I have lived it so very many times.
Yet it benefits to be shown again -
in this context.
An Andy-esque spiral of shells,
to adorn a blank end of dining table.
Simple,
beauty.
A wish to make.
A wish to give.
I enjoy its creation.
Perhaps others might enjoy my gift?
A eucalypt leaf from my walk earlier today.
A fine place marker.
An ideal addition to this journal.
_____________________
When you put aside,
absolutely everything,
that you think you are.
What is left,
is truly,
you.
You have always been,
and will always be,
that you.
Be
that
you.
_____________________
Sunrise over the valley.
Long shadows on the lawn.
Treetops sigh in the west wind.
The chimes sound some notes.
Warm sun brightens the morning movement session,
belying the whistle and clatter of the wind outside the verandah.
My mind is stupidly racing ahead.
A part of me is already no longer here.
Though I am not alone -
small, short, voiced sounds,
spontaneously escape me,
and others,
with a smile.
Closing circle -
voices once more.
So many words.
Lots of understanding.
Some shared joys.
Love given,
and received.
Thanks offered,
and accepted.
Difficult to still the urge,
to get my words heard.
Listen not to respond.
Listen to hear,
and understand.
Time NOW to leave.
Bags packed.
Riding gear on.
Sky blue and weather dry,
for the road home.
Still reluctant,
to turn on my phone ...
With thanks,
and love.
M
Thanks for making it this far. I hope it has been a worthwhile journey so far? One final, brief, offering ...
What follows is not a review. I'm not even sure it counts as a testimonial. I hope it is a simple, generous acknowledgement of my gratitude to all those who contributed to my enjoyment of the experience. My stay at the retreat was entirely self-funded and I receive no financial or other benefit from this posting.
I stayed at Happy Buddha Retreats, Wentworth Falls - in the Blue Mountains not far west of Sydney, Australia - and participated in their currently offered 'Silent Meditation Retreat'.
I was there smack in the middle of winter, but despite the expected mountains chill (though this is Australia, so it's at less than 1,000m elevation) and even a brief flurry of snow, every room was warm and inviting with comfortable beds and furnishings. The four bathrooms are shared, and there are communal spaces for quiet contemplation, reading or simple art/craft activities, a cosy dining room adjacent to the grand entrance hall and robustly glowing woodfires galore. With only six participants during my retreat (half their maximum complement for the silent retreat) we had a room each and, for me, a wonderfully intimate sense of collective, yet still personal, endeavour. Most of the meditation and movement sessions occur on an enclosed, and once again well heated, verandah with beautiful views across the lawns or the sunrise over the valley. Though the pool is unheated and not to everyone's taste perhaps, OMG it certainly woke me up and got the blood coursing! I am on a budget, so their extraordinarily reasonable pricing (well under what you may expect to pay in many 'Wellness Spas') was not just attractive, but also seemingly at odds with the quality and quantity of their offerings. I actually don't know how they do it! The food was simple, honest, homely, plentiful and truly delicious - served with generosity and always a warm smile. All the staff and volunteers are, without exception, delightful, positive, welcoming and supportive. And our facilitator, John, the beautiful man who would guide our journey through silence and insight, was - is - quite simply a truly strong yet gentle human, filled with compassion, understanding, acceptance, knowledge, skill, patience, and an abundance of genuine love.
I would visit again without hesitation. I discovered a not entirely expected glimpse or two of personal insight; an acknowledgement of worth in continuing my pursuit of this practice, my journey toward potentially greater wisdom. My sincere thanks to everyone with whom I shared this experience.
With love, Martin
