Two weeks ago, I got back from a 10-day silent meditation retreat in the desert. I’ve been hoping to somehow crystalize the lessons since, so that I wouldn’t get back to LA and start raging over bad drivers or farmer’s market shoppers oblivious to personal space.
I didn’t expect it to, but the meditation retreat really changed me. It reinforced my values and sense of who I am.
Here’s a rundown: Ten days of 8-10 hours of daily silent meditation. No phone, no outside communication. The type of meditation taught was Vipassana, which came from the original Buddha in ancient India. This practice begun with a focus on air entering and exiting the nostrils. After a few days, it then progressed to a body scan meditation, where you perceive sensations on and within your body (e.g., the coolness of AC, tightness in the back, tingling from crossed legs). There is then the notion of equanimity — non-reactive evenness of the mind — and to neither avoid nor crave, because those create suffering. (Yes, I would agree.) No speaking, of course, with the exception of brief moments where the teacher would check up on students, asking whether they were able to perceive sensations. No eye contact with other students either, and ~ 35 men and 35 women separated. Two vegetarian meals a day. Some free time to walk or nap.
And what I came away with:
1. It’s hard to meditate that much.
I’m a frequently hyperactive person who’d rather stand than sit. I remember on day two, coming out of the meditation hall after the sixth hour of silent, cross-legged meditation. I was irritated, thinking, “This is too much meditation.”
Not just the physical element of it, but also the mental one. Without the typical external stimuli of life, the extended meditation becomes an experience of you only with yourself, or you “vs.” yourself and your thoughts.
For the first few days, a lot of my thoughts were angry ones. I ruminated on how awful my last employer treated me, mentally drafting the honest, scathing Glassdoor review where I’d tell all. As much as I knew I didn’t want to carry that resentment, that it wouldn’t serve me, I also knew I may as well accept those difficult feelings, process them, and always redirect attention back to breath.
It really helped. By the end, I felt a lot of the heaviness caused by anger had been processed. It didn’t consume my energy like before.
2. There is amazing nature in the desert.
When you carefully observe and bring your eye to tiny details, there’s an incredible richness in what can otherwise seem a sparse, harsh landscape. This was out in Twentynine Palms, near Joshua Tree.
The temperatures outside fell between the mid-80s (yes, even in the early AM) to low-100s, but I insisted on spending as much of my non-meditating time along an outdoor walking path. Whenever I looked down, I’d be delighted by the rich world of desert creatures.
I saw at least three species of ants: one small and black (the same kind you’ve probably seen lately); one larger and black; and one larger and red. These insects were busy! Constantly moving pebbles, tiny little leaves, and stalks of dried grass that I was sure would be too large to fit into the ant colony hole, but always did. You saw that it was a community… at their job… of serving the colony.
Another day, I swear I saw a bright red, red velvet mite dig its “friend,” who looked crushed, out of the desert sand. They crawled away, both beautiful. I was stunned at this act of seeming cooperation.
There were also lizards, rabbits, hummingbirds, ground squirrels, butterflies, and dragonflies. I marveled that they could survive in such a harsh place.
There were gorgeous thunderstorms that lit up the night sky, illuminating huge, puffy, heavy clouds in the distance with lightning, which cast a luminous pale orange hue. Another day, I turned to see a rainbow the very moment after I noticed the air was wet and thought, “Huh, I wonder if I’ll see a rainbow.” It felt like magic.
3. I’m quite perceptive of other people’s energy.
In the absence of speech, gestures, and written communication, I found I was still able to get a strong read on people.
“I don’t like their energy,” I’d think of someone who always looked frantic on the walking path. Or people who didn’t hold the door open for others, or who persistently open-mouth coughed in the meditation hall. Despite wearing a KN95, it was still wildly unsettling.
“I like their energy,” I’d notice of a few people who seemed content to just be, perhaps standing and looking out into the distance following an extended sit, compared to those who seemed restless or unsettled.
Naturally, in the spirit of not avoiding unfavorable elements, I reminded myself that everyone is on their own journey in life, and has inherited DNA and experienced a specific upbringing that makes them who they are.
Even though I’d silently made a mental list of those I did and didn’t like, by the final day, when we were allowed to talk, my heart opened to receiving all these people. I spoke with those I’d written off, noticing their good traits and particular wisdom. Learned that they’d gone through scary health issues, or divorces, or had just discovered they were expecting. I truly realized I couldn’t judge them.
As I handwrite a draft of this seated outside in the grass, I hear sounds of cranes building, children inquiring, a long haired German Shepherd panting. The crinkle of notebook paper as my pen makes a mark.
I know I’ll keep up the practice of meditation I learned from the retreat. And hopefully continue to become a truer, more integrated version of myself with each moment.