(Due to the nature of this post, I have changed names to protect the persons involved.)
Wow, I made it to Day 9 and the end was in sight. The meditations and food were becoming my new normal.
We had been introduced to sitting inside the Pagoda the day before, which meant that we were welcome for an hour in the afternoon session to retire to our cell. Think Cool Hand Luke in solitary confinement and you might be close. It was somewhat self-managed because there was no way a student could go to these cells to sleep or get out of meditating. The cells were tiny, more like closets where you definitely could not lie down. But at least you could stretch your legs out straight and not sit in the more formal cross-legged position with the Dhamma Police ready to pounce on you if you happened to stretch your legs out towards the Dhamma teacher. A huge infraction that would be certain to get an admonishing finger-pointing from the Dhamma Police.
Towards the end of Day 9, I decided to skip the 4:30 to 5pm part of the last meditation. My legs were sore, and I'd already been meditating since 4:30am. I'd earned a small break to enjoy the sunset. I walked up to the rooftop of our residence and sat quietly on the roof with two other students who had the same idea.
The sunset was pure magic. My mind was completely clear of any background chatter, like a still pond without a single ripple. I hadn't read an email or the news for 10 days now. I had no bills to pay, no emails to read, no meetings to go to, no obligations. For the first time in my adult life, perhaps in my entire life.
I could look out on the Indian rice fields and palmettos and drink in this scene of antiquity. The fields outside the monastery seemed to have been unchanged for thousands of years. Patchwork fields of different hues of yellow and green, palmettos, a few simple brick buildings, and not a single person walking or working in the fields. I imagined how they could have looked during the time that Siddhartha Gautama might have been walking through them, and how little they would have changed. Aside from maybe the slight smell of burning plastic, I wasn't going to be nit-picky about a moment as powerfully serene as this.
Day 10. On the last day, I made it.
Once we got through the first group meditation at 8am to 9am, and then one more ending at 10am, we were allowed to go to the lunch hall where we could start chatting with the other students. And I could go see Kirsten and find out how she had done. It was finally over. Sort of.
Similar to the previous evening, I ducked out of the 4:30 to 6:30am meditation at 6am to watch the sunrise. The experience was so enthralling the night before that I wanted to drink in one last scene at Dhamma Bodhi.
I walked out onto the steps of the Dhamma Hall, near where the lotus pond had brought me so much wisdom and respite during the last 10 gruelling days.
It's a scene I shall never forget for as long as I live.
The morning sky was a pale pink, softened by a creamy haze of white early morning mist. Morning doves were cooing on the tops of the nearby trees. The tree had what we would have called a "widow maker" from my chainsawing former forest fire fighting days. A widow maker was a culled top of a tree that would likely fall off and kill a logger or firefighter cutting a tree down if they weren't looking up to watch out. I had this deeply ingrained — to watch for these — and that memory of another life floated dreamily by.
The air was chilly enough to be noticeable, but still pleasant. I had a short-sleeved shirt on, the air so cool and still I could imagine the droplets of dew settling on my arm hairs. I could see the dew clinging to the cobwebs that hung softly on the cattails. Everything was perfect that morning. My mind had zero cloudiness, it was razor-sharp. I was doing the Anapana breathing without even realising it. Breathing in, noticing the sensation on my upper lip as I exhaled. Supremely silent, supremely aware of the beauty of the moment. It was, as I recalled at the time, the most peaceful moment of my life. I am quite sure of that, and that's why I will always remember it — because I was so present at that moment and also aware that I was so mindful. My mentor at a distance, Ram Dass, spoke of moments like these where you are simply aware that you are one with the moment. It was my second Ram Dass moment.
I knew that this was my ground zero. A place I would always strive to get back to during moments of confusion, sadness or chaos. I knew that with meditation, I would be able to always return to my ground zero. I had been there before, and I knew the way back. It was here and now, in this moment of the dawn at Dhamma Bodhi. I would be able to recall it, as I knew that memory would never die even until my last dying breath.
As I sat on these steps, I reflected upon the things that I had learned and would take away from this experience.
That I can do the work. The phrase Do The Work had gotten me through this incredibly difficult experience, and I knew that mantra would help me get through other situations later on in life.
Equanimity with the wisdom of impermanence. A new mantra I could use to help me get through tough times.
Twice now, I had clear communications with the One Who Observes, and he had guided me through two of my worst moments of anguish. I knew that I could have this communication again.
I learned to observe and not judge. Of course, I am not perfect all the time, but it's a work in progress that I will take away with me, like an empty rice sack.
Happiness for me will never exist again. I am quite sure of that, primarily because I think that happiness is a craving that people seek and it is fleeting. For those that know true impermanence, like suffering the death of a child, I know not to seek happiness. It is better to observe and not judge moments, and this is another work in progress. This statement may seem grim, but I have seen that it is just the way things are. Just like the lotus pond that has a fly land on its surface, or a frog slip off a pad, events happen in life that come and go. I will work to only observe these, and not crave addictions like happiness, joy, perfect powder days, or moments of pure love. Things come and go, and that is the nature of life.
Change is inevitable. It is not bad or good.
I learned how to sit for 90 minutes without moving. It was maybe one of the most painful and difficult things I have ever done in my life. Literally. With perseverance, I could do anything I set my mind to.
I will likely do another Vipassana when the time is right. To find my ground zero, and rebalance my mind.
I could find joy in the simplest of moments. Watching a tree frog jump across the lane, looking at the stillness of a dragonfly sitting on a leaf, feeling the chill of morning dew settle on my naked skin. While I knew that happiness wasn't real, I knew equally that there was joy in moments like these. I never knew how to recognise them or accept them for what they were before.
To feel thoughts, even very sad thoughts about my beloved Finn, and observe them objectively. Like bubbles floating by on a slow-moving current.
At 10am, I ran feverishly to find Kirsten and find out how her experience went. I found her, and we took a quiet corner and caught up. There were tears from both of us as we relayed the powerful experiences of the past 10 days. There was laughter too, and I could see that it had been a powerful, personal experience for her.
I recounted how I felt that Vipassana was an essential human experience.
I feel like there are three things every human being should experience at least once in their lives: for taste, a hamburger is a must at least once in your life (I'm vegan too); for the sight and senses, Venice is a must; and for the mind, a Vipassana retreat is a must.
As I recounted the stories, I knew that my steps out of the Ashram would be as a newly minted spiritual warrior. One that I would nourish, and cultivate into a stronger, more resilient version of myself. That remains to be seen, and is a continuing work of progress.