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| The Dhamma Meditation Center outside of Pokhara, Nepal, offers a serene setting to work hard. |
No talking. No nonverbal communication. No physical contact. In fact, don't look anyone in the eyes. No reading. No writing. No music. No exercise. No stealing, or lying--the latter is made significantly easier by that whole no talking part. No drugs or alcohol. No killing (not even mosquitoes!!!). No dinner, save a few slices of fruit and tea. No tight or revealing clothing. Men and women are separated. You're asked to hand over your phone and any reading materials in your possession. There's no leaving the premises without permission. And, if that isn't cramping your style enough, you'll be woken up at 4 am by a gong. Yes, a gong. In fact, every part of your day will be dictated by a gong. It may sound like prison, but these were the terms of engagement for the beginner 10-day Vipassana meditation course that I signed up for, and miraculously completed, this November in Nepal.
For a week and a half, I adhered to the strict schedule below, which included more than 10 hours of seated meditation per day.
For a week and a half, I adhered to the strict schedule below, which included more than 10 hours of seated meditation per day.
At this point, I guess you're wondering why anyone would willingly subject themselves to something so uh...torturous. If I am honest, I didn't actually want to, at least not at first. I have my boyfriend and travel companion, Thore, to thank/blame for getting me to sign up.
Over the past year, we jointly read a few books on meditation, including Mindfulness in Plain English, which was given to me years ago by my mother who practices daily. While Thore had wholeheartedly embraced it all, getting in hour-long sittings nearly every day, my enthusiasm and consistency was a little more sporadic, with 20-minute sessions sprinkled into my weeks on a semi-regular basis.
So when he suggested including a 10-day meditation course in our trip around the world, I wasn't exactly thrilled. I think terrified and apprehensive is probably more accurate. Couldn't we find something shorter? I could picture myself doing three days, maybe five, but 10?! No, no, not me. It was beyond my ability to even imagine.
So why'd I go anyway? Well there are a few reasons:
Over the past year, we jointly read a few books on meditation, including Mindfulness in Plain English, which was given to me years ago by my mother who practices daily. While Thore had wholeheartedly embraced it all, getting in hour-long sittings nearly every day, my enthusiasm and consistency was a little more sporadic, with 20-minute sessions sprinkled into my weeks on a semi-regular basis.
So when he suggested including a 10-day meditation course in our trip around the world, I wasn't exactly thrilled. I think terrified and apprehensive is probably more accurate. Couldn't we find something shorter? I could picture myself doing three days, maybe five, but 10?! No, no, not me. It was beyond my ability to even imagine.
So why'd I go anyway? Well there are a few reasons:
- First and foremost, science says it's good for you. Meditation and mindfulness may be trendy buzzwords, but well-designed, evidence-based research from the world's leading universities, including the likes of Harvard, Johns Hopkins, and Yale, indicates that secular mindfulness meditation has real benefits when it comes to stress reduction, and managing anxiety, depression, and pain by influencing neurotransmitter activity among other mechanisms (I'll link a few articles at the end of this if you're interested). Yes, it might be a painful path, but at least science was telling me there was something tangible to attain by strengthening my practice, instead of "enlightenment," which I can't wrap my brain around.
- Morbid curiosity. I won't lie. I also just wanted to see what I was made of. I read a bit of what it might be like online before going, and it seemed like a challenge to say the least. At worst, I'd fail to finish the course, but there was a chance getting out of my comfort zone would result in some personal growth.
- The course is free, and, while it sounds like prison, you are actually free to leave. They accept donations if you complete the course, but if you don't--and online blogs confirmed that people do in fact leave--you're not even allowed to donate! A novel concept that I felt spoke to the course being both achievable and rewarding.
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| Some of our class members after having completed the course. Pure joy! |
Now, weeks later, the stress and challenges of daily life (I promise full-time travel still has its fair share) creep back in. I still get angry, irritable, frustrated, overwhelmed, and anxious. Ten days of meditation unfortunately don't equal a lifetime of happiness. But what I have now is an exceptional tool to help me cope with unproductive thoughts and difficult moments. A way to take a step back and not let my mind overpower me.
For anyone interested in a more detailed account of the experience, below you'll find:
- A high-level summary of what Vipassana meditation is, or what I understand it to be,
- A play-by-play of how those 10 days went down for me,
- What I enjoyed and didn't about the course, and
- What advice I'd give to anyone considering signing up!
So What Is Vipassana Meditation Anyway?
As someone who's only taken an intro class, I'm grossly unqualified to answer this, but I'll try to briefly explain what I took away in as plain of English as possible. For a professional explanation, you'll have to check out the Dhamma website.
It may sound simple, but holy. crap. I promise this is one of the hardest things you may ever do. Your nose itches? Don't scratch. Have stabbing pain in your back, knee, or butt? Don't move. Not only that, but trying not dwelling on the desire to itch or change positions. Remain objective as if you were a doctor examining yourself. Where exactly is the pain most intense? Where does it stop? Are there any other sensations in that area?
I guess you've heard the phrase "this too shall pass." Well, Vipassana is basically trying to get you to understand exactly this, but on an experiential rather than purely intellectual level by watching the arising and passing of sensations in your body.
You realize these sensations, both the pleasant and unpleasant, like everything in life, are impermanent. Misery arises not from these sensations or things that happen to us, this we have no control over, but from our reactions (craving and aversion) to sensations and life. When we truly internalize this impermanence, we can more easily greet life's roller coaster with equanimity, take a step back from knee-jerk reactions, and make space for peace and happiness.
Thankfully, we were still allowed to talk until our first hour-long meditation session that evening. Chatting to the other newbies calmed my nerves, but there were a few students who were taking the course again, and their presence was both intimidating and inspiring. They did it. They look normal enough. They even liked it so much, they're doing it again. I'm fine. It'll be fine. But then I made the mistake of asking one of the returning girls how hard she found the course. She replied, "I feel like a woman in my last course captured it well when she said 'And I thought child birth was hard.'" Right. Thanks, sooo back to being terrified.
I settled into my residential hall, a dank uninsulated room with a tin roof that I shared with four girls. It was cramped to say the least. I shoved my backpack under my narrow bed and laid down to fend off my cold with rest. The mattress was about two inches thick. Despite a stuffed nose, I could smell mildew. Too nervous to nap, I just stared at the walls until dinner.
After a meal filled with nervous chatter, we were briefed on everything we weren't allowed to do for the next 10 days, and our course schedule (see intro for both). Then came a very stern speech about how if we weren't fully committed to completing the course, please leave now. Things like "you cannot leave" were said, but then a few sentences later the language was softened just enough to indicate that you could in fact leave. It was obvious leaving midcourse was NOT taken lightly here. The tension in the room was palpable. No one left.
Not long after, the gong rang, and everyone shuffled to the meditation hall, knowing that once we entered its doors "noble silence" had begun. I situated myself on my assigned mat, too nervous to ask for more pillows, despite the cushion being about a fourth of the thickness as my one at home. I closed my eyes, and spent the next hour bouncing between thoughts and counting breathes (a technique I later found out I needed to unlearn).
To my delight, the first sitting was fairly easy. I'd spent the past weeks ramping up my meditation time to 1.5 hours, so a single 60-minute sitting was fully within my capabilities. I walked back to my residential hall feeling pleased with myself, and secretly hopefully that this whole thing was easier than everyone made it out to be. Little did I know what the next day had in store.
Before we started, I whisper-requested two additional meditation cushions from one of our "servers," returning students who were volunteering to help with the course. No, I wasn't already breaking my noble silence. It turns out, we could speak to these helpers to request items, or if we had problems with our accommodation. We could also ask our teacher technical questions related to the practice of meditation during his office hours twice a day. But all communication was to be kept as short and quiet as possible.
Just two hours of meditation until breakfast. I'll be fine. I situated myself on a throne of pillows, refusing to close my eyes even a moment before the session officially started. When I finally did, I heard a clicking sound, and seconds later over the sound system came a crackly recording of... well, I guess it was chanting, but I feel like vaguely melodic, painfully drawn out droning might be more accurate. Whatever it was, it wasn't in English (sample a similar recording here, but it's ironically of less off-key and of better quality). I later learned I'd be hearing a lot more of this, and that it was the voice of the late S. N. Goenka, a revered Vipassana teacher who the New York Times touts as having "brought mindfulness to the West" in their obituary. Most of our instruction would be coming from his recordings, with our teacher meeting with us now and again for clarification and advice.
After the chanting stopped, the next nearly two hours felt like eternity. I almost missed the singing. I wanted something, anything to keep me awake. My body was heavy, and I caught myself almost tipping over a few times from dozing off. Finally the gong freed me, and I could go find breakfast, just as soon as my legs started working.
Punctuality to meals was stressed if you wanted to eat, so there was no dilly dallying. Everyone marched up to the dining hall at the top of the hill. Metal plates and bowls in hand, we silently lined up to be served bean soup, which sick me was so, so grateful for, and some thick grain porridge with pieces of coconut and dried fruit. I located my assigned seat, a plastic stool (no back rest to lean on, sigh) that faced the wall, just like everyone else's. For something that isn't prison, this feels an awful lot like it. I shoveled the food in, as I stared at "B3" painted on the wall in front of me and listened to the soft clattering of cutlery. It tasted nice, but I wanted my bed.
I slept briefly, but before I knew it the gong rang again, and I found myself back on the cushions. Every second that passed wore away yesterday's foolish optimism that my preparations for the course would be enough to help me sail through. Staying with my breath that day was like trying to herd cats, while someone repeatedly hit me with a wooden spoon. My mind, foggy from sickness and exhaustion, rebelled every few seconds.
Breathhhh innn...Breathh outttt. One. Breath inn...Two. Wait, you're counting wrong. You count on the out breath. Ughhh, just start over. Do I need to pee? I wonder what's for lunch. Just focus again already, Dani. I bet everyone else is focusing. OK. Breath innnnnn...Breathh outt. I just want to lay downnnnn. Why now body! Why now!!? Breathh innnn...Breathhhh out. I cann barely breathh though. This is insanity. Calm down. You can breath otherwise you wouldn't be alive. Breathhh in...
It was this kinda mundane, chaotic internal dialogue, but for hours and hours and hours. My joints ached, and my will to carry on was waning. By the time the evening discourse rolled around, I was barely hanging on.
The lights in the room were dimmed, a TV was unveiled from behind a sheet at the front of the room. I tried to recline ever so slightly onto the cushions that I'd piled into a mini mountain for movie time, only to be whisper-told to sit up by a server seconds later. I obliged, but groaned internally. I just want to lay downnn.
A grainy video recording from the early 90s of Goenka sitting all in white flicked on the screen. His chubby face was that of a stern, yet wise and kind grandfather. His eyes seemed to barely open, and his forehead was covered in perspiration.
An audio full of background noise and coughing came on. With careful enunciation and theatrical pauses that reminded me of the voice from behind the curtain in the Wizard of Oz, Goenka announced: "You have completed day one. You have nine days left to work." Something in me broke, and tears rolled down my feverish face sitting in a room full of strangers. I can't do this for another hour, let alone another nine freaking days. I am DONE.
After the discourse, I spoke to our instructor. A slight, soft-spoken man with a peaceful demeanor. "I'm sick. I've got a fever and chills, and I don't...," I mumbled, unsure what I even wanted to ask him. Before I could figure it out, he was on it. "O, you need medicine. Don't worry. We'll get you all the teas, and some medicine. Just sit for the instructions of the next meditation session, and then you can go back to your residential quarters and sleep."
I wasn't sure what kind of medicine I'd be getting, but this response gave me the hope I needed. He told me I could also spend tomorrow's nongroup sittings (the sittings without instruction) in my residential quarters, i.e. my bed. Minutes later and to my great surprise, I was provided with exactly three genuine cold pills containing pain killer and decongestant. I took one and went straight to bed.
Meditating was a bit like being in a sensory deprivation chamber. With so little external input, my ability to concentrate improved. It was like my brain was a murky glass of pond water, and I'd finally stopped stirring it long enough for sediment to fall to the ground.
Each day Goenka tweaked our instructions, having us focus on the sensation of breath on a smaller and smaller patch of skin beneath our nose. The throbbing pressure in my sinuses and stuffed nose started to feel like a blessing in disguise even, as it heightened the sensitivity of that area. Soon I found that for 20, 30, sometimes even 40 seconds at a time my mind did not wander. I no longer would find myself deep in thought before realizing my mind had wandered off. Instead, I'd catch myself just moments after veering off course and be able to return to my breath.
With this newfound focus came other discoveries. All of a sudden, even the softest, slightest natural breath would register strong sensations on the patch of skin beneath my nose. A shock, given that days before I felt absolutely nothing.
Despite progressing, I was hardly floating through the days. Each minute of meditation was grueling work. The three back-to-back afternoon sessions were always especially hard. I'd burn out by the second, frequently end up changing my posture and needing to go outside to splash water in my face and pinch my cheeks to avoid dozing off. It was like that post-lunch work slump, only there was no coffee machine to perk me up. No work bestie to vent to for a few seconds and laugh with. No vices. Just you, and the choice to keep trying or not. With the mounting difficulty of our instructions, I feared that if I didn't use all my time to work, I'd get left behind. So I was constantly battling with myself to keep going.
Day 4: Are You Kidding Me?!
My meditation mat was still surrounded by little mountains of tissue, but I felt I was at least keeping up meditation wise, and my body was getting into the rhythm of waking up before dawn. Lunch came and went that day, and then, in the afternoon, when I am at my most exhausted and unfocused, they hit us with the news:
We've actually not been doing Vipassana at all. Sorry, what? We're been doing Anapana, or breath meditation to focus the mind. From now on, we'd be doing true Vipassana, and focusing on remaining equanimous while observing all types of sensations throughout the body. Only one MAJOR FREAKING CATCH: you are no longer to move AT ALL during our three daily one-hour group sittings, and they are going to be renamed "sittings of strong determination." Actually, please move as little as possible during all sittings, because this interferes with your ability to observe.
My heart dropped. My stomach knotted itself into a pit of fear. I knew this was going to get worse, but fuck. I probably change my posture at least every 15 minutes. How THE HECK is this going to go down?! Which of the like seven positions I've been transitioning between do I even choose? What if I choose the wrong one?
Hopping for the best and fearing the worst, I fluffed my cushions and situated myself in a half lotus. A mixture of pride, determination, and stubbornness allowed me to hold the posture for the full hour, but it was excruciating. The only sensation I could feel by the end of was stabbing pain. I was just plain furious. Genuine fury. So much for equanimity.
When Goenka came on the TV that night, I was pissed with him. How can you sit there and recommend people do this? This is masochistic! Outraged, I repeatedly punched myself in the shoulder, which was still on fire and throbbing in pain, trying to loosen whatever it was that had tied itself into an unbearable knot. The tension crossed from my shoulder to my back to my hips to my knees. My body was screaming at me. I was certain an old gymnastics injury was flaring up. I dramatically fashioned a sling from my scarf while I listened to him speak for the next hour.
I couldn't even stay angry at him though. The man is such a freakishly talented speaker that within minutes I was stifling laughter at his jokes. I was reminded that pain was just pain and would pass, but the anger, the anger was all me making myself miserable. I left inspired to approach everything again tomorrow with a calm and equanimous mind, but I had one very sore shoulder.
At first, I was in agony most sittings. By the end of the day, my back was all knots, and my pelvic bones felt so bruised that I couldn't even sit on my plastic stool at "dinner". I spent rest periods stretching and desperately trying to roll out my back with my water bottle. In fact, one day, when I stupidly tried a new position during a sitting of strong determination, my legs shook from pain and I thought they might just break off at the hip. But the thing was, they didn't. The pain was never eternal. I'd shake my limbs out after the gong rang, wait a few seconds (or minutes if it was an especially brutal session), and be able to stand.
I think this is when that concept of "this too shall pass" began to sink in on a deeper level. Slowly, but surely, I became better and better at just observing the pain. And as I did, it became less all-consuming and melted away. Much more subtle sensations started to cropped up across my body, and new spots that were void of sensation before came to life.
Even weirder still, these changes in my meditation were also accompanied by shifts in my general thinking outside of meditation. The first time this happened was with the mountains. Occasionally, when visibility was good, I'd catching a glimpse of the gorgeous Himalayan mountains from our center grounds. Those moments were so stunning and special that at first I found myself yearning to see the snowy peaks, checking the horizon after every meditation session for them, and let down when the mist and clouds stuck around. But as the days went on, I started to make the connection that this was exactly what Vipassana was try to help me unlearn. Appreciate them while they are there, but don't react with craving.
Before I knew it, I was having dozens of tiny little realizations about how I was interacting with the world. Grimacing at the cold shower? Why grimace? This won't make the shower warmer. Annoyed at having to wait in line for said cold shower? I can wait patiently or impatiently, but I'll have to wait. Irritated that my roommate is doing x, z, y? I can't control what she does. I can focus on myself. Realistically I'm probably also annoying. What can I do to be more considerate? In all these instances, I could feel the sensations of stress building in my body from my reactions to life, and as soon as I began observing them, I had taken a critical step backward from reacting, and the tension began to dissolve.
Then around day eight this vein of self reflection became incredibly deep, almost imposingly so. It had me examining just about every relationship in my life from a new perspective, looking for instances where I had been at fault, reacted poorly, contributed to disharmony, or caused pain. It had me feeling compassionate and forgiving. It had me looking at myself and wanting to do better. Wanting to do my very best. Wanting to spread as much joy, love, and happiness as possible. I was genuinely taken aback by this wave of emotion.
Focusing during our morning meditation session was nearly impossible. My mind was busy drafting and revising explanations of Vipassana for Thore, my family, and friends, trying to tie up this crazy experience into a neat digestible bow that was accessible rather than alienating. I wondered intensely what Thore had taken away from the course. If he would be the same person as when we left, or if he, in the last 10 days, had perhaps decided to become a monk or something wild. It all seemed possible somehow.
Once our morning meditation ended, we crossed the threshold into a small courtyard that had been off limits until now. Here, for the first time in over a week, we were allowed to talk again, and women and men could interact. Within minutes the garden erupted in joyful chatter and laughter. Everyone was brimming with happiness that we'd all made it through the course. Thore was especially proud that I'd stayed for the entire thing after getting sick (apparently my coughs could be heard far and wide), and had zero plans to become a monk, much to my delight. Everyone began exchanging stories about their experiences and which moments had pushed them to their limits. The space felt like a small, safe bridge back to reality before entering the real world again, with all its chaos and challenges.
The rest of the day everyone was all smiles. At dinner that night, we no longer faced the wall. The girls pulled stools up around what was a serving table, and a meal (or tea and fruit) was once again a social occasion filled with stories. Although I hardly knew these women, we'd been through so much together. We'd struggled together, and formed friendship through silence. It was a beautiful ending to an intense 10 days.
I'll start off with all the things that I loved about the course, including some I thought would be awful.
Now, what I didn't enjoy:
You realize these sensations, both the pleasant and unpleasant, like everything in life, are impermanent. Misery arises not from these sensations or things that happen to us, this we have no control over, but from our reactions (craving and aversion) to sensations and life. When we truly internalize this impermanence, we can more easily greet life's roller coaster with equanimity, take a step back from knee-jerk reactions, and make space for peace and happiness.
Dani's Meditation Bootcamp Diaries
Day 0: The Start of Noble Silence
Arriving at the center, I was a bundle of nerves. Lightheaded, heart-pounding, hands-shaking scared. Some of this might have been amplified by the slight cold I had. As I handed over my phone and laptop, and signed a waiver promising to adhere to a bajillion rules including not speaking, I felt like I was about to jump off a cliff. What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doinnng?!!Thankfully, we were still allowed to talk until our first hour-long meditation session that evening. Chatting to the other newbies calmed my nerves, but there were a few students who were taking the course again, and their presence was both intimidating and inspiring. They did it. They look normal enough. They even liked it so much, they're doing it again. I'm fine. It'll be fine. But then I made the mistake of asking one of the returning girls how hard she found the course. She replied, "I feel like a woman in my last course captured it well when she said 'And I thought child birth was hard.'" Right. Thanks, sooo back to being terrified.
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| A friendly reminder near my room. |
After a meal filled with nervous chatter, we were briefed on everything we weren't allowed to do for the next 10 days, and our course schedule (see intro for both). Then came a very stern speech about how if we weren't fully committed to completing the course, please leave now. Things like "you cannot leave" were said, but then a few sentences later the language was softened just enough to indicate that you could in fact leave. It was obvious leaving midcourse was NOT taken lightly here. The tension in the room was palpable. No one left.
Not long after, the gong rang, and everyone shuffled to the meditation hall, knowing that once we entered its doors "noble silence" had begun. I situated myself on my assigned mat, too nervous to ask for more pillows, despite the cushion being about a fourth of the thickness as my one at home. I closed my eyes, and spent the next hour bouncing between thoughts and counting breathes (a technique I later found out I needed to unlearn).
To my delight, the first sitting was fairly easy. I'd spent the past weeks ramping up my meditation time to 1.5 hours, so a single 60-minute sitting was fully within my capabilities. I walked back to my residential hall feeling pleased with myself, and secretly hopefully that this whole thing was easier than everyone made it out to be. Little did I know what the next day had in store.
Day 1: The Day That Broke Me
The morning gong rang at 4 am. It can't be. Please let this be my dream. GONNNGGG. Nooooooo, I swear I just went to sleep. GOONNNGGG. In pitch black, the reverberations took on an ominous tone. As I shook off sleep, I made the discovery that my cold had shifted to full-on achy joints, best-to-call-in-sick status. But unsure of what to do about it short of leaving, given the whole no-drugs rule, I trudged up the uneven stone steps to the meditation hall that were enveloped in thick fog. |
| It often took until midday for the fog to clear. To the far left is the meditation hall, to the far right our residential quarters, and in the far back, behind our teacher's residence, was the dining hall. |
Just two hours of meditation until breakfast. I'll be fine. I situated myself on a throne of pillows, refusing to close my eyes even a moment before the session officially started. When I finally did, I heard a clicking sound, and seconds later over the sound system came a crackly recording of... well, I guess it was chanting, but I feel like vaguely melodic, painfully drawn out droning might be more accurate. Whatever it was, it wasn't in English (sample a similar recording here, but it's ironically of less off-key and of better quality). I later learned I'd be hearing a lot more of this, and that it was the voice of the late S. N. Goenka, a revered Vipassana teacher who the New York Times touts as having "brought mindfulness to the West" in their obituary. Most of our instruction would be coming from his recordings, with our teacher meeting with us now and again for clarification and advice.
After the chanting stopped, the next nearly two hours felt like eternity. I almost missed the singing. I wanted something, anything to keep me awake. My body was heavy, and I caught myself almost tipping over a few times from dozing off. Finally the gong freed me, and I could go find breakfast, just as soon as my legs started working.
Punctuality to meals was stressed if you wanted to eat, so there was no dilly dallying. Everyone marched up to the dining hall at the top of the hill. Metal plates and bowls in hand, we silently lined up to be served bean soup, which sick me was so, so grateful for, and some thick grain porridge with pieces of coconut and dried fruit. I located my assigned seat, a plastic stool (no back rest to lean on, sigh) that faced the wall, just like everyone else's. For something that isn't prison, this feels an awful lot like it. I shoveled the food in, as I stared at "B3" painted on the wall in front of me and listened to the soft clattering of cutlery. It tasted nice, but I wanted my bed.
I slept briefly, but before I knew it the gong rang again, and I found myself back on the cushions. Every second that passed wore away yesterday's foolish optimism that my preparations for the course would be enough to help me sail through. Staying with my breath that day was like trying to herd cats, while someone repeatedly hit me with a wooden spoon. My mind, foggy from sickness and exhaustion, rebelled every few seconds.
Breathhhh innn...Breathh outttt. One. Breath inn...Two. Wait, you're counting wrong. You count on the out breath. Ughhh, just start over. Do I need to pee? I wonder what's for lunch. Just focus again already, Dani. I bet everyone else is focusing. OK. Breath innnnnn...Breathh outt. I just want to lay downnnnn. Why now body! Why now!!? Breathh innnn...Breathhhh out. I cann barely breathh though. This is insanity. Calm down. You can breath otherwise you wouldn't be alive. Breathhh in...
It was this kinda mundane, chaotic internal dialogue, but for hours and hours and hours. My joints ached, and my will to carry on was waning. By the time the evening discourse rolled around, I was barely hanging on.
The lights in the room were dimmed, a TV was unveiled from behind a sheet at the front of the room. I tried to recline ever so slightly onto the cushions that I'd piled into a mini mountain for movie time, only to be whisper-told to sit up by a server seconds later. I obliged, but groaned internally. I just want to lay downnn.
A grainy video recording from the early 90s of Goenka sitting all in white flicked on the screen. His chubby face was that of a stern, yet wise and kind grandfather. His eyes seemed to barely open, and his forehead was covered in perspiration.
An audio full of background noise and coughing came on. With careful enunciation and theatrical pauses that reminded me of the voice from behind the curtain in the Wizard of Oz, Goenka announced: "You have completed day one. You have nine days left to work." Something in me broke, and tears rolled down my feverish face sitting in a room full of strangers. I can't do this for another hour, let alone another nine freaking days. I am DONE.
After the discourse, I spoke to our instructor. A slight, soft-spoken man with a peaceful demeanor. "I'm sick. I've got a fever and chills, and I don't...," I mumbled, unsure what I even wanted to ask him. Before I could figure it out, he was on it. "O, you need medicine. Don't worry. We'll get you all the teas, and some medicine. Just sit for the instructions of the next meditation session, and then you can go back to your residential quarters and sleep."
I wasn't sure what kind of medicine I'd be getting, but this response gave me the hope I needed. He told me I could also spend tomorrow's nongroup sittings (the sittings without instruction) in my residential quarters, i.e. my bed. Minutes later and to my great surprise, I was provided with exactly three genuine cold pills containing pain killer and decongestant. I took one and went straight to bed.
Days 2-3: The Mud Starts To Settle
On day two, I woke up feeling not worse, maybe even slightly better, which gave me renewed determination to carry on. Despite the cold, the next few days were some of my favorite in the course, because I noticed my mind start to settle.Meditating was a bit like being in a sensory deprivation chamber. With so little external input, my ability to concentrate improved. It was like my brain was a murky glass of pond water, and I'd finally stopped stirring it long enough for sediment to fall to the ground.
Each day Goenka tweaked our instructions, having us focus on the sensation of breath on a smaller and smaller patch of skin beneath our nose. The throbbing pressure in my sinuses and stuffed nose started to feel like a blessing in disguise even, as it heightened the sensitivity of that area. Soon I found that for 20, 30, sometimes even 40 seconds at a time my mind did not wander. I no longer would find myself deep in thought before realizing my mind had wandered off. Instead, I'd catch myself just moments after veering off course and be able to return to my breath.
With this newfound focus came other discoveries. All of a sudden, even the softest, slightest natural breath would register strong sensations on the patch of skin beneath my nose. A shock, given that days before I felt absolutely nothing.
Despite progressing, I was hardly floating through the days. Each minute of meditation was grueling work. The three back-to-back afternoon sessions were always especially hard. I'd burn out by the second, frequently end up changing my posture and needing to go outside to splash water in my face and pinch my cheeks to avoid dozing off. It was like that post-lunch work slump, only there was no coffee machine to perk me up. No work bestie to vent to for a few seconds and laugh with. No vices. Just you, and the choice to keep trying or not. With the mounting difficulty of our instructions, I feared that if I didn't use all my time to work, I'd get left behind. So I was constantly battling with myself to keep going.
Day 4: Are You Kidding Me?!
My meditation mat was still surrounded by little mountains of tissue, but I felt I was at least keeping up meditation wise, and my body was getting into the rhythm of waking up before dawn. Lunch came and went that day, and then, in the afternoon, when I am at my most exhausted and unfocused, they hit us with the news:
We've actually not been doing Vipassana at all. Sorry, what? We're been doing Anapana, or breath meditation to focus the mind. From now on, we'd be doing true Vipassana, and focusing on remaining equanimous while observing all types of sensations throughout the body. Only one MAJOR FREAKING CATCH: you are no longer to move AT ALL during our three daily one-hour group sittings, and they are going to be renamed "sittings of strong determination." Actually, please move as little as possible during all sittings, because this interferes with your ability to observe.
My heart dropped. My stomach knotted itself into a pit of fear. I knew this was going to get worse, but fuck. I probably change my posture at least every 15 minutes. How THE HECK is this going to go down?! Which of the like seven positions I've been transitioning between do I even choose? What if I choose the wrong one?
Hopping for the best and fearing the worst, I fluffed my cushions and situated myself in a half lotus. A mixture of pride, determination, and stubbornness allowed me to hold the posture for the full hour, but it was excruciating. The only sensation I could feel by the end of was stabbing pain. I was just plain furious. Genuine fury. So much for equanimity.
When Goenka came on the TV that night, I was pissed with him. How can you sit there and recommend people do this? This is masochistic! Outraged, I repeatedly punched myself in the shoulder, which was still on fire and throbbing in pain, trying to loosen whatever it was that had tied itself into an unbearable knot. The tension crossed from my shoulder to my back to my hips to my knees. My body was screaming at me. I was certain an old gymnastics injury was flaring up. I dramatically fashioned a sling from my scarf while I listened to him speak for the next hour.
I couldn't even stay angry at him though. The man is such a freakishly talented speaker that within minutes I was stifling laughter at his jokes. I was reminded that pain was just pain and would pass, but the anger, the anger was all me making myself miserable. I left inspired to approach everything again tomorrow with a calm and equanimous mind, but I had one very sore shoulder.
Day 5-9: Passing Pain & Shifting Perspective
The next days I lived in fear that Goenka would declare all of our sittings ones of "strong determination," and I'd be in constant pain. He never did, but a weird thing started to happen instead.At first, I was in agony most sittings. By the end of the day, my back was all knots, and my pelvic bones felt so bruised that I couldn't even sit on my plastic stool at "dinner". I spent rest periods stretching and desperately trying to roll out my back with my water bottle. In fact, one day, when I stupidly tried a new position during a sitting of strong determination, my legs shook from pain and I thought they might just break off at the hip. But the thing was, they didn't. The pain was never eternal. I'd shake my limbs out after the gong rang, wait a few seconds (or minutes if it was an especially brutal session), and be able to stand.
I think this is when that concept of "this too shall pass" began to sink in on a deeper level. Slowly, but surely, I became better and better at just observing the pain. And as I did, it became less all-consuming and melted away. Much more subtle sensations started to cropped up across my body, and new spots that were void of sensation before came to life.
Even weirder still, these changes in my meditation were also accompanied by shifts in my general thinking outside of meditation. The first time this happened was with the mountains. Occasionally, when visibility was good, I'd catching a glimpse of the gorgeous Himalayan mountains from our center grounds. Those moments were so stunning and special that at first I found myself yearning to see the snowy peaks, checking the horizon after every meditation session for them, and let down when the mist and clouds stuck around. But as the days went on, I started to make the connection that this was exactly what Vipassana was try to help me unlearn. Appreciate them while they are there, but don't react with craving.
Before I knew it, I was having dozens of tiny little realizations about how I was interacting with the world. Grimacing at the cold shower? Why grimace? This won't make the shower warmer. Annoyed at having to wait in line for said cold shower? I can wait patiently or impatiently, but I'll have to wait. Irritated that my roommate is doing x, z, y? I can't control what she does. I can focus on myself. Realistically I'm probably also annoying. What can I do to be more considerate? In all these instances, I could feel the sensations of stress building in my body from my reactions to life, and as soon as I began observing them, I had taken a critical step backward from reacting, and the tension began to dissolve.
Then around day eight this vein of self reflection became incredibly deep, almost imposingly so. It had me examining just about every relationship in my life from a new perspective, looking for instances where I had been at fault, reacted poorly, contributed to disharmony, or caused pain. It had me feeling compassionate and forgiving. It had me looking at myself and wanting to do better. Wanting to do my very best. Wanting to spread as much joy, love, and happiness as possible. I was genuinely taken aback by this wave of emotion.
Day 10: The Day The Silence Ended
The days until now were so similar that they'd started to meld into one in my mind. I felt I was in some Vipassana version of Groundhog Day. But today was different. Today we would speak again. I woke up with butterflies in my stomach, thrilled and shocked that I had made it to day 10.Focusing during our morning meditation session was nearly impossible. My mind was busy drafting and revising explanations of Vipassana for Thore, my family, and friends, trying to tie up this crazy experience into a neat digestible bow that was accessible rather than alienating. I wondered intensely what Thore had taken away from the course. If he would be the same person as when we left, or if he, in the last 10 days, had perhaps decided to become a monk or something wild. It all seemed possible somehow.
Once our morning meditation ended, we crossed the threshold into a small courtyard that had been off limits until now. Here, for the first time in over a week, we were allowed to talk again, and women and men could interact. Within minutes the garden erupted in joyful chatter and laughter. Everyone was brimming with happiness that we'd all made it through the course. Thore was especially proud that I'd stayed for the entire thing after getting sick (apparently my coughs could be heard far and wide), and had zero plans to become a monk, much to my delight. Everyone began exchanging stories about their experiences and which moments had pushed them to their limits. The space felt like a small, safe bridge back to reality before entering the real world again, with all its chaos and challenges.
The rest of the day everyone was all smiles. At dinner that night, we no longer faced the wall. The girls pulled stools up around what was a serving table, and a meal (or tea and fruit) was once again a social occasion filled with stories. Although I hardly knew these women, we'd been through so much together. We'd struggled together, and formed friendship through silence. It was a beautiful ending to an intense 10 days.
Day 11: Back To Reality
After one last two-hours morning meditation session, we were reunited with our phones, books, and laptops, and piled into a bus headed back to the town of Pokhara. As we drove away from the center, I felt full of joy, compassion, peaceful excitement, and gratitude. It was definitely 10 days well spent.Things I Loved & Didn't About The Course
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| A highlight of the course was the vast array of plant and wildlife at the center. |
- All those rules and our schedule. Turns out they knew what they were doing when they took away my phone and told me not to talk. With silence, zero disturbances, and a strict schedule, you have an ideal environment for progressing with meditation. I would never have been able to cultivate this at home. You don't even have to worry about what to eat.
- The vegetarian diet and having two main meals a day. As someone who's always hungry, I thought the food aspect would be the hardest of me. It ended up being a nonissue. You barely move all day, so your caloric needs drop. Meals were high in carbs and moderate amounts of fiber-filled plant-based protein, which kept my energy levels pretty consistent throughout the day and hunger at bay. No overly fatty meals that left me in need of a nap either.
- The secular nature of the course and the meditation technique of focusing on equanimity and sensation. I didn't really realize there were so many different types of meditation, but I fell in love with this one. While challenging, I think it is very straight forward and helpful. You don' need to take any leaps of faith for it to work, and at no point is someone trying to get you to adopt a new religion.
- The nature & wildlife: Our center looked out over a placid lake and rice fields, and every so often the clouds would part to reveal the white caps of Himalayan mountains. Beautiful flowers and lush plant diversity surrounded the buildings, and hundreds of butterflies sailed through the air. One evening a troop of monkeys descended on the trees next to our residential quarters. There was always something to appreciate.
- Goenka's oration skills. The evening discourses were pretty entertaining. Goenka knows how to tell a story and crack a few jokes to break up what would otherwise be a 1.5-hour lesson after a very long day.
- The chanting. Beside frequently being off-key, the recordings were filled with coughing and feedback. Not so peaceful, and I estimate that we listened to about 1-2 hours of it daily. I also wished they'd have provided a translation, because I have no idea what I was listening to (and singing to myself later).
- Getting up at 4 am. I liked our schedule in general, but not that it started at this hour. I was sick, and the amount of time allotted to sleep was insufficient to get even the recommended 7-9 hours a night. I was always tired.
- Some of the theory that Goenka shared evenings. The nice thing about Vipassana though, is that no one is asking you to go all in with the theory. Yes, follow the meditation technique carefully, but, when it comes to the theory, Geonka says take what makes sense to you and leave the rest.
Top Tips For Surviving A Vipassana Course
While having meditated before was helpful, it definitely wasn't critical. The course is made for people to learn the technique, so you won't see "meditate" on this list.There are a number of things I think would help someone succeed in a course though. And, yes, I wrote these in order of importance.
- Be selective about the center you pick. While the teachings should all be the same, the centers are not. The class size, accommodations/facilities, and food selection differ drastically. I choose Pokhara based on the beautiful location and the fact that it had smaller class sizes of about 30, but at other locations you may be one of 100 students. What I didn't consider was that the facilities in Nepal would be much more...erm basic than ones in say Germany or the U.S. There were squat toilets and no hot showers, the mattresses were thin, and in the night condensation from the tin roof would drip down on you as the rooms were uninsulated. The dampness meant slightly mildewy beds that gave me a rash, despite using a sleeping bag liner. There were also spiders the size of my entire hand directly next to the outdoor sinks evenings, and we came across a snake one night. These conditions made for a distinctly harder, but more interesting experience. A friend who did a course in Thailand during one of the hottest months also mentioned the lack of air conditioning as adding some challenge, so just something to keep in mind. The food at the center in Nepal was also strongly influenced by local cuisine. Breakfast was bean or lentil soup more often than not. I loved it, but again something to take into consideration when picking a location.
- Adjust your sleep schedule in advance. The course is hard enough without having to fight to stay awake. I tried to do this, but travel plans got in the way and the first days were hard.
- Try different positions. Turns out you don't have to be in a lotus. Look up a few other options before going and experiment. But for the love of all things: DO NOT try a new position during a sitting of strong determination (the sittings where you can't move). I did and I deeply regretted it.
- Bring a massage ball, or foam roller. You'll thank me later. Once it gets to day 4 you will be so unbelievably happy you have this. My back was in such painful knots that I ended using my water bottle to try to roll some out.
- Being kind to and patient with yourself. The progress isn't linear. Don't worry about "bad" sittings or what anyone else is doing. Negative self talk just takes you one step in the wrong direction. Just show up and try your best. That is 100% enough.
- Bring ear plugs and an eye mask, even if you're not a light sleeper. I found myself sharing quarters with four women, and when you can't speak it complicates matters. A simple "I'm going to rest now, would you mind turning off the light or being a bit quieter" wasn't possible. The meditation was so exhausting that I also napped almost everyday.
- Wear loose layers. The temperatures fluctuated considerably. The last thing you want to be is freezing or boiling during sittings, so give yourself some options.
- Consider bringing your own meditation cushion. The center provided cushions, but they were very different from what I use at home. If you have something you like, I say bring it.
Alright, that's it. Best of luck, or as they say in Vipassana, may all beings be happy! :)
What Science Has To Say
Oh, and here are a few links to articles that look at the hard science behind meditation. In them, you will find links to studies from Harvard, Yale, UCLA, Johns Hopkins, and the like:
- When Science Meets Mindfulness, The Harvard Gazette, April 9, 2018
- With Mindfulness, Life's In The Moment, The Harvard Gazette, April 17, 2018
- 7 Ways Meditation Can Actually Change The Brain, Forbes, Feb. 9, 2015
What Science Has To Say
Oh, and here are a few links to articles that look at the hard science behind meditation. In them, you will find links to studies from Harvard, Yale, UCLA, Johns Hopkins, and the like:- When Science Meets Mindfulness, The Harvard Gazette, April 9, 2018
- With Mindfulness, Life's In The Moment, The Harvard Gazette, April 17, 2018
- 7 Ways Meditation Can Actually Change The Brain, Forbes, Feb. 9, 2015
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