Meditation Retreat

On Saturday, my anniversary, I spent it at a Meditation Retreat.

Fine way to spend with your husband, right? Actually it probably was.

I came home so refreshed and relaxed and with a new outlook.

I had no idea as to what to expect except that there would be no talking all day. We were even supposed to get up and not say a word at home, but I did cheat a little and told my husband Happy Anniversary. I thought maybe that would be acceptable.

When I arrived at the retreat the mood was set. A sign on the door gave us directions to maintain silence and sit in the main room. Our instructor was already there in meditative mode and stance. It's amazing when people know they are to be still and quiet, when the expectations are set, they can be met. I believe this is food for thought for a lot of the cultural calamities we have today. Set those expectations and be persistent on that follow through, but this is a post topic for another day.

The instructor did all the talking, but yet that was minimal. She guided us through sitting, standing, yoga, and walking meditations. There were plenty of spaces in between her words.

In anticipation of the event I thought I would be restless, watching the clock (there was one in the room), but surprisingly I was calm, settled and accepting of my circumstances. I was there. I was in the moment.

The walking meditation surprised me the most. Literally we spent a half an hour walking back and forth  in a spot of ten to fifteen feet placing one foot down-shifting weight-lifting the opposite foot- placing it down. Our charge was to notice all sensations in our body as the body performed the task we all take for granted. When I really concentrated and changed terrain( cement vs grass) and went up an incline and down I was shocked at the power of our body mechanics. It may seem silly or over simplified, but when the goal is to concentrate and pay attention, it was powerful. I discovered that my mind had no room for random thoughts. There was no monkey mind. It was astonishing to me.

And then at the end of the day we had some short conversations about the experience and then we were let out into the world of noise and rush and traffic. And of course old habits return quite easily.

I did feel I learned several things. I will share two.

1) Being quiet and working to pop those thought bubbles that storm across our minds is exactly what we need to get over ourselves. We make up way too many stories, which in turn leads us to believing these stories. The only story we need to pay attention to is the one unfolding this very second. The rest is all conjecture.

That being said, it is not an easy task to complete. And just the practice alone takes considerable effort and perseverance and commitment. Which leads me to #2

2) In the time that my mind did wander on Saturday, mostly when I was eating lunch I allowed myself epiphany thoughts (are there any other kind?) And I thought it is so easy for monks/philosophers/spiritual leaders who close themselves off from the world to advise us mere mortals on meditation and contemplative thought.

When you remove yourself from traffic, the phone, a job with a boss and mandates and uncooperative colleagues, and children with needs, a spouse with needs, and every occurrence that exists for us daily I think we all could create some profound statements on living.

Using a monk as an example, he lives in isolation. His tasks are repetitive (no worrying about expectations or what to do next); his conversations are limited (reducing altercations or those senseless aiming to please thoughts); the outside world is practically nonexistent. He doesn't worry about terrorist plots, the stock market, Amber alters, etc.

And so he can think and think and think and write all these ardent nuggets to profess how a truly dedicated soul can live a life.

In isolation.

Because the truly, truly hard part is to take what one learns in those silent, quiet, pensive moments and transfer them to the noisy, chaotic world in which we live.

And that ladies and gentlemen is the extent of my most contemplative moment. In a nutshell, if I ever see a monk I will declare, "That's easy for you to say!"