I want out!
The fear inside my head and body feels loud enough to burst the speakers of a heavy metal band. I can’t do this. Walking ahead I see the rectangular shaped meditation hall. Is the door on the left end or the right? Why aren’t there any signs? Not knowing which way to walk is complete overload. The feeling inside my stomach resembles the ocean on a stormy day. Waves thunderously crashing in every direction threatening to destroy all who dare enter her. I just want this to stop. I can’t stand being this afraid any more.
I’m closest to the left side of the building. Walking slower than my speeding heart rate, I regrettably find myself far too quickly outside a door. Damn, I need the loo, why didn’t I go to the loo, I can’t go now I’ll be late. Damn. The door is made of wood and has a round metal handle. Flip flops and sandals litter the entrance. No wearing shoes then I guess. Untying the laces of my walking books is a challenge with clammy shaky hands. I can’t hear any noise from the other side of the door. Oh god am I late? Have they started without me? Socks on or off? S’’t I don’t know what to do. Hand shaking, I turn the knob, pushing the door open just wide enough for my bare feet to carry my body through the gap.
I’m greeted by a room that’s perhaps 100 feet in length and 20 feet wide. The only access for light to enter this otherwise dark space, (other than the opening of the door) are 3 windows fitted side by side, half way down the wall to the right. Painted white beams expose what appears to be a wooden slat ceiling. There are no windows on the wall to the left. Straight ahead of me, at the far end, in the centre of the back wall, is a white concrete platform. It’s maybe just 3 inches in height with space either side perhaps the width of 2 small people. Upon the platform is a wooden stand which holds an unassuming, relatively small, statue of the Buddha. A vase of yellow flowers and a lit candle brings life to this humble stage. 2 White concrete benches, run the length of the room down both sides. Large square cushions covered in deep maroon fabric, perhaps 1 inch thick, and 2 people wide, are placed on top of the concrete. Sitting alongside each other, close to the buddha statue, are what I suppose to be the monks. There are 7 of them. All are wrapped in orange cloth. Legs crossed, spine erect, head straight, eyes down or closed. Their hands are placed either with palms up, 1 placed on top of the other, resting below their naval or palms down, resting on their thighs. At the front of the class, to the right of the statue, stands a bare foot Asian man. He’s dressed in grey trousers and a crisp white tunic. Shutting the door, I remain close to the exit as I stand with fingers and thumbs fidgeting inside clenched fists. With a soft smile and gentle welcoming eyes, he bows his head slightly whilst placing his hands in prayer position in front of his chest. My mouth responds with a tight a smile as my eyes continue to dart around the room. Eventually, glancing once again upon his genteel face, he uses his left arm and sparkly eyes to guide my attention towards a pile of round cushions placed near where I’m stood at the back of the room. Picking up a round, heavy, coconut haired stuffed piece of rough fabric, my eyes search the benches for a place to sit.
Spread out along both benches, are some Westerners. 6 women, 5 men. Some are sat with legs crossed, others seem to be kneeling. Most are wearing the requested loose fit clothing. Others, who are in tight fitted leggings and vest tops, have draped themselves in silk scarves and some in blankets.
There’s a gap on the bench opposite the monks, down at the front next to the teacher (There would be wouldn’t there!?) Crossing the scratchy carpet, I’m relieved to take a seat. Another Westerner arrives, walks painfully slowly to the front, climbs down to his knees and bows his head to the floor in front of the Buddha statue. ‘This is a bit much’ I say sarcastically in my head while shifting around on the hairy cushion, trying to find a comfortable spot. There isn’t one.
Looking around I decipher that the other westerners know what they’re doing and so copy them. Crossing my legs on the hard cushion I’ve no clue how I’m going to sit like this. My knees won’t go lower than my hips whilst the bones of my ankles are pressing hard into the concrete bench. The man in the white tunic (Which I presume to be the teacher) speaks in the softest voice I’ve ever heard. ‘Let us begin, once again, by connecting with our breath. Be aware of the whole breath. Accepting it just the way it is.’
Huh? What? He wants me to breathe? My eyes dart around the room to check out everyone else’s reaction to this instruction. Most are perfectly still while a couple of others gently make small adjustments to their posture. Little shoulder shrug here, mini back twist there. This cushion is digging in me already. I adjust myself. The teacher assumes the crossed leg position, at the front of the class, in the space beside the ‘stage’ to the left of the Buddha statue. His body appears to melt into the perfect posture. Like a bride wearing a vail, he covers his lower half with the same material worn by the monks ‘Let us begin, being still, we will begin by observing our breath, allowing our thoughts to rise and fall. Allowing the thoughts to drift away. Thoughts are simply thoughts. When we find ourselves getting carried away within a thought, we gently bring our awareness back to our whole breath. Follow the journey of your breath. Our 90-minute meditation can begin, now.
90 minutes!! I’ve got to sit here for 90 minutes!? The tears immediately begin to well up again, I can’t do this, I can’t be here. Don’t cry Lisa, Don’t be a wimp. Already fidgeting, I scratch around the mosquito bites on my legs.
The teachers gentle voice caresses the silence: ‘This is our time for stillness. If you get an itch, observe the itch, don’t scratch it, just be curious. What makes this itch an itch? Where does the itch begin and end? Then gently invite your awareness back to the journey of your whole breath.
I want to scream and shout and have some kind of tantrum. Not allowed to scratch?! Watch the itch? Why have I ended up sat this close to the teacher? I just want to go home. I don’t want to be here. I’m not sitting here tomorrow; I’m getting here earlier.
‘Close your eyes and observe the journey of your breath. Notice where it travels to and from.’
Fine, the journey of my breath, let’s have a look. Huh its barely reaching the top of my lungs, I breathe deeper into my lungs, that’s better. I breathe into my tummy, that’s better again. ‘Wow what a trip I’m on, how the hell has this happened; I’m meditating and with actual monks. They’re never gonna believe this when I get home, I open 1 eye slightly, yep actual monks. Quickly closing my eye I smile trying to withhold a laugh. This is totally mental. This morning I’m by a lake meeting an old woman and now I’m here doing meditating. Oh bugger, I’m supposed to be following my breath. Oh yeah, can’t believe I lost it so quick. Wonder how long it lasted? Actually, I reckon it only lasted 2 breaths. Oh my god I’ve done it again. Follow the breath, Lisa. Wow that time I didn’t even follow 1 breath. This is really hard. Lisa follow your breath. Oh my god I can’t do this. This seat is uncomfortable and my necks hurting. I can’t be sitting here for 90 minutes. I wonder how long it’s been? My knees are hurting. Surely, he can’t expect me to sit here in pain. Wonder what the times is? follow your breath Lisa, f##k sake. O.K, here we go, I’m breathing in through my mouth and out through my mouth. Am I supposed to be doing that? Aren’t we supposed to breathe in through our nose? Isn’t that what were supposed to do? Breathe in through the nose? I just need to follow my god damn breath! O.K, breathing into my mouth. I wonder why we’re supposed to breathe in through our nose? I internally scream! I can’t do this! O.K, concentrate this time, follow a whole breath in and out, go: Breathing all the way into my tummy, aww that feels good, and all the way out of the tummy, aww that feels good. I did it I did a whole breath. Bloomin hec my left foots going numb. I can’t sit here with a numb foot. God its quiet in here. I can’t hear anybody moving. Nobody’s moving. God please let somebody move. Surely somebodies got to move. My backs killing me. I’m pretty sure I saw a clock on the wall above the teacher. Keep your eyes closed Lisa. My neck really does hurt. I’ll just check the time. Don’t open your eyes. O.K think of something other than the pain. It’ll be amazing being on that beach in 2 weeks’ time. Wonder if I’ll have enough money to be able to stay right on the beach? A few weeks lying on a beach is just what I need. A proper rest, a few beers, bit of dancing that’ll sort me out. I’m alright, I don’t need that counselling. That Dr never really knew me. I bet he says that to everyone who cries in…..The teachers voice floats into the silence of the room and tenderly interrupts the noise of my thoughts: ‘Gently and kindly invite your awareness back onto your breath. When you notice yourself getting caught up in those thoughts, simply let them go, surrender them and bring your attention onto your breath.’
Oh my God he can see into my mind, he knows I’m not doing it properly. I don’t care, I’ve got to move. I can’t bare this anymore. Quietly opening both eyes (it’s so quiet I bet the teacher can hear my eye lids opening). I stretch both eyes, as far to the right as the muscles will allow, while holding my head completely still. This is my first good look at the teacher. He’s a slim man, neither thin nor fat, greying dark hair, receding but thick. Rather large ears, almost as big as my dad’s, with a strip of finger width, white hair, lay in front of both ears. A slim, yet strong looking nose and lips neither thick or thin. His white tunic is Daz white and creaseless. Mmm there’s no electricity, wonder how he manages that? It’s hard to tell his age, definitely in his 60s, maybe older. Great skin. Barely a line upon his face. I hope my skin looks like his at half his age. He looks relaxed and calm. Seeing him so calm, suddenly irritates me: How the hell can anybody find this relaxing? The monks have the same comfortable peaceful look about them. The teacher’s voice is like an automatic switch on my eyes as they snap shut the second his voice enters the silence around:
‘Invite your attention to your whole breath. Allow the thoughts to drift on by’. Bloody norah, I’m no good at this meditating stuff. 2 weeks of this? Wonder what we’re doing after this? Haven’t even got my music, ugggh! The teachers voice interrupts my thinking once again:
‘Let your thoughts pass on by, be curious about your breath, perhaps notice the temperature of your breath as it enters your body, where do you feel your breath as it enters your body?’
OOOO hadn’t even thought of my breath having a temperature, right, lets concentrate, I’m gonna have to move and start again, I can’t sit here like this anymore. As quietly as a parent tiptoeing into the room of a child, stocking in hand, on Xmas Eve, I begin to shift on top of the coconut hair mound. My legs need help from my arms and hands, it’s is if they’ve been super glued into place with the pain. It feels so good to stretch them out. Moving my head around, although releases tension, makes almost as much noise as a creaky floor board in an old house. I wonder if the others can hear my neck creaking? Whilst stretching the neck, I notice those that are sat on their knees. I’ll give that a go. My movement, although as quiet as can be seems to transcend a message to others that they can move too. I observe a couple of Westerners begin to fidget a little. Slight finger stretches for the guy down the bench, a small hip stretch from the woman on my right. Dear God who is that girl? She looks about my age but isn’t moving at all. She doesn’t have the serenity of the monks but her posture is ridiculously perfect. I need to close my eyes again, just a quick scan of the clock before I settle into it…..You’ve got to be kidding me!! No way!! Just kill me now. Kill. Me. Now. 17 minutes. F##k off. That’s over an hour left. F##k this. Tears begin to choke me, my ears start to ring. I kneel on the concrete seat, hands placed on top of thighs, palms down with tears silently streaming down my face. I’ve closed my eyes as tight as possible in an attempt to stop the free-flowing water coming out of my eyes. Don’t sniff lisa. Don’t make a noise. Stop being a wimp. Slowly, lifting my arm to my nose, as silently as my body will allow, I wipe the snot on my sleeve just as I would have as a young child. Well, there’s no way I can breathe through my nose now. I start following my breath in through my mouth, it feels quite warm, I first feel it on my lips just before it enters the mouth, ha, never noticed that before, and it’s not all of my lips just the centre part of them, where do I feel it next? I can’t figure out if it’s the tip of my tongue or the roof of my mouth. I play with it for a while. Taking really short breaths for a minute trying to locate the breaths early journey. Ha it’s the tip of my tongue, then the roof of my mouth. I then feel it drift down through my throat. Not all of my throat, how come I can’t feel it all the way down my throat? How strange, wonder if everyone has that experience? I wonder if everyone else is thinking other thoughts too or if it’s just me? It’s a bit better on my knees but I’m not going to be able to stay here long. Gently, the teacher interrupts my thinking: ‘Whilst observing your breath you can count. Saying in your mind Breathing in 1 breathing out 1 breathing in 2 breathing out 2. When you notice yourself drifting away in your thoughts, gently invite your awareness to your breath and begin counting again: Breathing in 1 breathing out 1 breathing in 2 breathing out 2.’
Ooo O.K lets do that. Breathing in 1, breathing out 1, breathing in 2, breathing out….I really need a shower, wonder if there’s time for a shower after this? I didn’t even look at the showers, I really need the loo now. Not sure I can wait any longer…….
A bell sounds bringing the gift of distraction from the loud, fast paced thoughts. ‘That completes our afternoon meditation. Please continue to practice noble silence as we make our way into our hour of working meditation.’
That is without a shadow of a doubt, the longest 90 minutes of my life! Hang on a minute, what? working meditation, what’s working meditation? I just need to be left alone, I just need to go lie down, oh god but I don’t want to go back to that ‘cell’ either. Already my breath is accelerating and the tears welling up again. Don’t start bloody crying Lisa, get a grip. Stop being such a wimp. Observing the others making their way out of the hall, like a lost sheep, I follow. One of the ladies smiles kindly, I smile back shrugging my shoulders. Sticking my feet in my walking boots, I shove the laces inside, I can’t be bothered to do them up. Dragging my boots along the ground the lady with the kind smile nods her head to the right, I take it I’m to follow behind. Waiting outside whilst she enters a cupboard, I take in the view. Wow this place is stunning. Green mountains are all that my eyes can see for miles around. The air feels fresh as it caresses my face. In this moment, I feel soothed. Leaving the cupboard with only a single match, I take in the surroundings as I follow this serene looking stranger down a curved stony pathway lined with trees. Reaching another cement block, leaning into my ear she whispers so softly it’s barely audible: Is this your first retreat? Looking into her shiny eyes I respond ‘What’s a retreat?’ ‘Have you meditated before?’ ‘Hadn’t even heard of it before today’. Raising an eyebrow, she places a hand on my shoulder ‘You’ve landed in the right place, it’s my 3rd visit, it’s very special here’. Placing her finger to her lip it seems that’s the end of the chat as she leads me to the toilets. Whilst pointing out a mop and bucket, she shows me the toilet, which could also be described, quite correctly, as a hole in the ground. Each of the 3 ‘toilets’ has a small plastic, clip lid bucket next to it. Handing me a match, she proceeds to show me a stone made chimenea situated on a small grassy area, back up towards the centre. Through a game of charades (The most familiarity I’ve come across all day, I wish we could have carried on) I figure out that she wants me to empty those toilet bins and burn the contents inside the chimenea. O.K, I can do that. Well, I think I can, until I take the lid off the bins and realise that all toilet paper is placed in this small plastic bin. The smell knocks me backwards. This is disgusting, what is this, new girl gets the shit##t job, literally! Why the hell should I be doing this? I haven’t even gone to the loo yet. Oh god now I’m desperate, I’m going to have to use those loos. Using the toilet means squatting over the hole in the ground. The wooden doors enclosing each toilet leaves at least a 6 inch gap from the floor to the bottom of the door. Oh my god, can people see me? Raising my squat slightly, just in case, I glance around the small space for the toilet paper whilst doing my best to stay balanced and on my feet. The handwritten sign on the back of the door reads:
If you have brought your own toilet paper
please place it in the bin provided.
What?! Well, what am I supposed to use? Why would I think to bring my own toilet paper? Beside me are 2 plastic jugs sat underneath a tap. Dear god no. Oh this is just gross. Have I got to use my hand? Surely to God not. Dropping my head to my chest I close my eyes, I remember this is why in India they only eat with their right hand. Their left hand is used for….bottom wiping and feet cleaning. Oh god! On opening them again I realise there’s no where to run. I’ve got nowhere to go. When I eventually come out of the toilet, gagging, I empty each bin into the chimenea and gag again. Lightening the fire isn’t easy, the paper isn’t dry. This is surely hell. A small fire catches and I turn my back to look at the view. I wonder for a moment, what my breath is up to…travelling into my lungs hey? Mmmm wonder what happens to it when I look back at the paper burning, mmmm the breath holds itself. Turning away again, I take a long slow and gentle breath into my tummy, that feels better. Wish I’d accepted that offer of a snack, I think, it’s gonna be tomorrow before I eat. With that, whilst the chimenea takes care of the Westerners toilet paper, I pull the schedule out of my pocket.
04.45am Wake-up Gong
05:00am – 06.00am Guided Meditation
06.00am – 06.30am Tea
06.30am – 07.30am Mindfulness In Motion *(Self practice)
07.30am – 08.00am Breakfast
08.00am – 09.30am Working Meditation
09.30am – 11.00am Guided Meditation (standing/sitting/walking)
11.00am – 11.45am Teaching
12:00pm – 02.00pm Lunch, Reflection and Rest
02.00pm – 02.30pm Walking Meditation
02.30pm – 03.30pm Group Meditation
03.30pm – 04.30pm Herbal drink/Working Meditation
04.30pm – 05.30pm Group Meditation
06.00pm – 06.30pm Evening Snack
06.30pm – 09.00pm Chanting, Group Meditation
Oh my God, I’m meditating again in 10 minutes! Oh no! Up at 4.45am! You gotta be kidding me? Glancing up towards the meditation hall, making no effort to disguise the horror set across my face, I spot the monk that welcomed me just a few hours ago making his way back into the hall. Holy macaroni, this is going to be a long 2 weeks!