27
VIPASSANA MEDITATION RETREAT
1998
It snowed in the morning but cleared by the time Elizabeth and I left Calgary at 12:30 p.m. The radio warned of an icy drizzle, however the roads were dry. I was looking forward to time alone; although I wasn't sure what to expect, I was ready for an adventure. Not being used to crowds anymore, I wondered how I would fare. She convinced me by saying, "Don't worry about talking to anyone. It's a silent retreat. You don't have to socialize.”
Since Elizabeth was the cook, she wanted to arrive with enough time to set up the kitchen and prepare dinner for twenty people. This was her third retreat for Shirley, the leader of this event. Elizabeth was looking forward to some quiet hours but especially to a trip to Maui for a month in the sun when it was over. We unloaded pots and pans, groceries and our belongings from her Honda Civic, which was crammed full, and I helped her organize the kitchen, then transferred our things to our room, the first in the long hallway of the dormitory. People arrived throughout the afternoon. Dinner was ready at 5:30 p.m.
Shirley introduced Elizabeth to the group and she explained the dishes - zucchini pie, vegetable chowder, salad with a French or vinaigrette dressing, flax rolls and raw butter. Everything was organic, which made me happy, and I had two portions of phenomenal food while talking with the people at my table, most of whom had been to a retreat before. The man next to me said he saw where my daughter got her good looks which made me uncomfortable, but I thanked him anyway for the compliment. He also left his soup bowl on the table and his chair out when he walked away. Not a mindful thing to do but we were here to learn about mindfulness. How mindful was I?
After dinner we gathered in the living room, a spacious area with three couches facing a freestanding fireplace, full-length windows all around, and a small couch and two chairs in the corner for intimate conversation. Shirley asked us to intro- duce ourselves and that familiar frightening feeling welled up in me when I was confronted with having to talk about myself in a group. I was shy, easily embarrassed, prone to feelings of intimidation, but was given a way out. Shirley talked about Elizabeth, said I was her mother, and we had written a cookbook together. When it came around to me, I said, "I guess my claim to fame is being Elizabeth's mother," at which everybody laughed. I added that I had meditated off and on for five years, more off than on, and said I'd like to be able to do it more often. I was relieved when the attention of the group turned to the next person. Shirley explained the rules and the schedule of events, and then we retired to the meditation building about fifty yards away. The six-day silence had begun.
Most of the participants had their spots picked out. I chose an empty area at the back of the room where I placed my pillow while everybody else was pretty much decked out with either meditation stools or special cushions. Shirley and Anne, her helper, sat facing us, each on one side of a low, small table that held incense, a vase of yellow and red carnations to show the impermanence of things, Tibetan bells, and a small statue of the Buddha. She asked us to settle down, backs straight, shoulders down, head supported well, eyes focused four feet in front, drop our lids, relax our jaws, take three deep breaths and feel the rising and falling of our abdomens. She began with a loving kindness meditation. We were to picture a lotus in our heart chakra, open it petal by petal and see a light that would infuse our chest area and spread through our bodies, then spread to the other people in the room, to our parents, families, friends, people we felt neutral about, to those with whom we had problems, to the rest of Canada, the world, the planet, the universe and all the universes … loving kindness to all (repeated three times), may all be well and happy (repeated three times), and then draw the light back to ourselves into the open lotus and close the petals. The end of the half-hour was signaled by the tinkle of Tibetan bells, and we walked mindfully back to the main building under a starry sky.
I had a cup of tea in front of the crackling fire and because silence had begun, wrote a note to Shirley asking where I could do some yoga. Any questions were to be written on pieces of paper provided and dropped into a small basket. In the evening talk she would give her answers to the group. I returned to my room, un- dressed and climbed into my sleeping bag. It was going to be a difficult night; it always was without Steve. I wouldn't be able to be here without Elizabeth.
On the second day the tinkle of the bell awoke me at 5:30 a.m. I had tossed and turned most of the night because of a stuffed nose from the butter on the bread since I didn't eat dairy anymore. I dressed quietly in a long sleeve T-shirt and sweat pants, trying not to disturb Elizabeth, who didn't have to get up for another hour, and went to the washroom, moving deliberately, not looking at anyone I passed in the hall. You felt like you had to acknowledge people but we weren't there to acknowledge anyone but ourselves. Back in the bedroom I dressed in layers of wool and down, then softly closed the door behind me.
It had snowed lightly during the night and walking mindfully to the meditation building in the darkness was like moving through crystallized air. While meditating, tears fell gradually and consistently down my cheeks, dropping onto my lap. Where did they come from? I wasn't crying nor was I thinking of anything, trying hard to empty my mind and label my thoughts. My legs fell asleep, a sharp pain between my shoulders persisted, and I wanted to move but struggled not to. Suddenly the tinkle of bells denoted the end of the thirty-minute session and we dropped into the child's pose to relax. I was uncomfortable and, with five more days of this to come, somewhat apprehensive. Irene was going to instruct us in some yoga for the next hour. The stretches felt luxurious in the candle-lit room and the incense smelled sweet and Middle Eastern. We then walked to the dining room for breakfast - hot oatmeal and a bagel - followed by chores. I was assigned to the kitchen because, as Shirley remarked, Elizabeth and I were a good team, so I didn't have to do the vacuuming or bathroom cleanup for which I was most thank- ful. Elizabeth, in very few words, described what had to be done and I went about my work grateful to be near her. I scrubbed and sliced tons of carrots and potatoes and was done at 9:30 with a few minutes left to sit by the fire. Shirley called my name and asked me to sit with her and Anne. They asked how I was doing and I told them about the tears. It was natural, they said, a release of repressed emotions. Shirley had cried for years. Feelings surfaced as we relaxed, blocks were dissolving, barriers coming down. Is that what it took, I wondered, just to slow down for things to surface? I was all for it.
At 10:00 a.m. the chimes signaled the next two-hour meditation - sitting, lying, walking and standing. I was still experiencing pain between my shoulder blades and my legs and feet had pins and needles. The lying meditation after sitting for thirty minutes almost put me to sleep. We then dressed for outdoors and the walking meditation. I welcomed the cold air, warm under five layers of clothing. We stood in one spot for 5-7 deep breaths, proceeded to walk by lifting our foot in slow motion while repeating the word "lifting" in our minds, then moving our foot forward while silently repeating the word "moving," then placing our foot on the ground while silently repeating "placing" for 10-15 feet, repeating the words three times, with our eyes looking straight ahead. It seemed fairly easy - lifting, moving, placing, lifting, moving, placing. My balance took a while to adjust and then I was off. I chose fifteen feet of grass near the dormitory building at the edge of a meadow surrounded by huge trees. At the end of our space we had to stand still for 5-7 breaths, silently repeat the word "intending" (for intending to turn), and repeat the word "turning" as we turned to go back the other way. It slowed you down. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the others gliding slowly across the meadow, lifting, moving, placing. I liked this because I liked to walk and be outside. When the chimes rang I turned to see if the lady behind the building had heard the signal and then realized she would eventually see all of us h