My Spring Break Saga: Suffering in San Salvador, A Personal Journey
During Spring break of 2006, many UPEACE students found themselves basking in the glorious sunshine on one of the many spectacular beaches in Costa Rica, watching monkeys glide from tree to palm tree in the adjoining national parks, while at the same time other students were relaxing in luxurious natural hot springs, sipping piña coladas and taking in the incredible firework-like display atop Volcano Arenal. I found myself in a “Sacred heart of Mary” missionary home in a bad part of San Salvador, (El Salvador), tormented with pain, exercise deprived and practically starved! In other words, I took part in an eleven day Vipassana meditation course, meditating from 4:30 am until 9:00pm everyday. Surprisingly, I have not yet revealed the most astonishing part of the story: the thirty of us participating in this activity did so in complete and total silence. I did not even wish my roommate, “Happy birthday”, as I had no idea it was her birthday, and in any case, we were not allowed to look at each other, let alone exchange greetings.
Call me a masochist, as I chose this option for myself knowing full well that it would be difficult, (yet I had no idea just how excruciating I would find it). Call me a dedicated student, as I underwent this seemingly self-flagellating exercise to gain insight for my thesis which examines how prisons are using meditation to transform inmates and to explore if and how this might apply to domestic violence batterers. Or, rather, call me human who, like many others have done for millennium, was simply searching for a way to end suffering in my life and attain a state of blissful inner-peace.
Ironically, in many ways the activity resembled prison: men and women were separated at all times, we were allowed to walk in the courtyard after meals (the basketball court and garden area were divided into two distinct sections for men and women), we shared a bare room with a roommate, we had to do chores such as clean the bathroom and sweep the hallways, we were given only a small portion of vegetarian food for each meal, and we were only allowed a piece of fruit as our dinner. Since speaking and touching each other were not allowed, there was no jovial camaraderie. On the contrary, most participants looked somber and unapproachable.
During meditation we were allowed to sit on cushions, which, at first were very comfortable. However, after 10 minutes in the same position I would feel the urge to shift positions, after 30 minutes my legs had commonly fallen asleep, and general pain has slowly set in, after 45 minutes the sensations were tantamount to my final ascent up Mount Kilimanjaro last summer, I was practically screaming out in agony, felt feverish, dizzy, nauseous, and even insane! The worst part was not even the piercing pain, but the insufferable itch inflicted by the evening's blood— thirsty mosquitoes.
Imagine, you sit down on your cushion to begin a peaceful hour or two of meditating...you breathe in...ahhh...then it hits you and you cry out in despair and disbelief as you realize you forgot to put on your trusty mosquito repellent! You anxiously wait, hoping they will not realize this immense oversight, you begin to get comfortable and start watching your breath again. Not long after, you feel the first mosquito penetrating your vulnerable, bare ankle. Since no movement is allowed, you know you will not be able to swat the pesky insect away. You try adjusting your ankle so it is not obvious you are moving, but it is too late, the mosquito has prevailed. The next fifteen minutes are spent observing the itching sensation while trying to not have the craving to scratch your skin off. Eventually, the itching subsides, for, as S.N. Goenka explains, “no itch is eternal.” But the mosquito is still hungry, or perhaps he invites his friends for the grand feast, and soon you are quietly observing eight different mosquito bites, producing sensations that are akin to torture.
The physical pain was, of course, doubled by the mental anguish that accompanied it, “Why am I doing this to myself?”, “I am in pain!”, “This is not natural...”, etc. It occurred to me that instead of eradicating suffering from my life I was greatly increasing it. Suddenly, I too, wanted to be sunning at the beach, treating my body to a hot sulfur dip, or be anywhere but at the “Sacred heart of Mary” missionary house in south-central San Salvador. Even if I appeared to remain calm and silent it was merely a facade, during the majority of the first few days an inner voice incessantly screamed out, “I can't do this! Why did I choose to come here? Why? Why? Why?”
Inconsistent to the impression I may be giving that the Vipassana course was completely intolerable, I did, eventually, come to thoroughly enjoy the time I spent meditating. Most of the time I felt refreshingly alive with the realization that every cell in my body is continuously vibrating. Moreover, it enabled me to cultivate patience, to learn how to sit with pain, to clearly see how the mind exaggerates pain, and how through observation we can transcend our pain and suffering. Through watching my emotions I began to physically understand how we feel emotions in our body. By the end of the course I felt tremendously calm and realized how much negativity poisons our thoughts, how much senseless chatter clouds our minds, and how these materialize in our conversations with others.
With a tinge of embarrassment, I will admit that I expected to come out of this experience totally transformed, a modern day Buddha, or at least close to sainthood. Though I may not be fully “awakened” as of yet, I can honestly say that I am one step closer because I am on the right path. Although I think that path can take many different forms, I am convinced that it must consist of self-observation and awareness coupled with dedication to the practice and adherence to moral guidelines. In that case, there is still hope that I can end suffering in my life. And if there is hope for me, then there is hope for anyone.