I peel my eyes open and hear the dong of the bell once again, and cant help but to think "I wonder if anyone will notice if I skip 4:00 am meditation today".. Despite this tempting idea to miss the morning routine, I sit up on my concrete slab and stretch out the kinks in my back. I slowly pull open my mosquito net, carefully placing one bare foot on the floor at a time; always conscious of poisonous creatures that might be lurking around. Another day has arrived, waiting to be filled with quiet contemplation, sitting meditation, dharma teachings, and Pali chanting. The sun awaits its turn in the sky, the air tangible with the anticipation of daylight. Sometimes, during these early mornings I can almost feel the change happening from darkness to light. The sun is like liquid filled to the brim of a cup, hanging in balance until the moment it inevitably spills into the sky.
Here there is no need to keep track of time. The bell tells us what to do and when to do it. The day starts with our first meditation session accompanied with a reading from the teachings of the Buddha. After this we move through yoga, breakfast, another sitting meditation, walking meditation, standing meditation, sitting meditation then break/lunch. Repeat for the second half of the day. The repetitive nature proves to be a challenge and my minds natural desire to stay busy makes each day harder and harder.
The monastery held a calmness that is very difficult to find. Although the place was the definition of peaceful, this absolute stillness creates a mind that is quite the opposite. Thought patterns that are never apparent until your trying to break them arise consistently with no mercy. Emptying the mind is like trying to shovel in a blizzard. The thoughts cease to end when you want them to, and finding inner silence seems nearly impossible. For ten days I attempted this meditation, hour after hour, day after day. I was able to achieve concentration one time. One. Time.
I entered the retreat thinking that this was going to be a calm and peaceful ten days, filled with long walks, a quiet mind, and a simplicity that I really do adore. I found that this was not the case. Yes, there were some moments when I truly felt at peace, I found pleasure in simple tasks like hand washing my clothes or brushing my teeth. But the truth of the matter is that meditation is not a relaxing affair. It is not soothing hours spent calmly reflecting your thoughts, nor is it a peaceful pondering of life. Not a woman sitting near a stream with a half smile on her face looking like Mother Mary herself.
It is a battle. A constant war against yourself. A fight to the death between your ego and the unconditioned mind.
Usually the ego wins. It has been controlling your mind for the majority of your life, so its stronger, better at dominating. However, if the other part of your mind can take over, even if only for a second, it is a major victory. Hopefully with time my ego will learn to take the backseat a bit more. With practice and education, one day I hope to achieve a state of mind with limited conditions. Or at least with a little less influence from my thought indulgent ego.
On the last day, the silence was finally broken. We all finally were able to speak with individuals whom we had been sharing this difficult experience with in complete silence. It was refreshing to hear that I wasn't the only one who struggled literally the entire time. Four people actually ended up approaching me with kind things to say. One telling me; " I just HAVE to tell you how much I admired your posture throughout the whole retreat". The others telling me that I had smiled at them at the exact time they needed it, giving encouragement and inspiration at exactly the right time. A man ended up buying me breakfast for the same thing, and I couldn't help but to be surprised at the impact you can have on people without even knowing it.
So smile at others, give an encouraging nod even for no reason. Everyone is fighting a battle. Even if they don't know it.
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