VIPASSANA
CONFESSIONS
OF A
SERIAL MEDITATOR
TALES OF THE MIND
1
This work is dedicated to S. N. Goenka, whose life, and
teaching, inspired me to start it, and whose death, just two
weeks ago, re-inspired me to finish it.
It is also dedicated to Hope.
2
Chapters
Day Zero . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Day One . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18
Day Two . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Day Three . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Day Four . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
Day Five . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
Day Six . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
Day Seven . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Day Eight . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
Day Nine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126
Day Ten . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
Day Eleven . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154
Day One Hundred (or thereabouts) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168
Day Zero Minus One Hundred (or thereabouts) . . . . . . . 174
Day Zero Minus Ninety Seven . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Day One Hundred - Again (and still thereabouts). . . . . 204
Days Zero to Eleven - Again (Tales and Confessions) . . 221
Day Eighty Seven (and Day Eighty Eight) . . . . . . . . . . . . 232
Vipassana - One Year On (Today) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245
3
Here is my message to you. It is the only thing I am
qualified to say to you. I know nothing about absolute truth.
But I know this: Simplifying your life as much as possible and devoting
thirty minutes to one hour a day, every day, to some sort of
meditation practice designed to develop your untapped
potential, whatever that means to you, is worth the effort. For the first six months to a year, minimum, it won't
seem like it. You'll get frustrated and think you're not getting
anywhere, not good at it, can't meditate, aren't spiritual
enough etc etc etc. But if you can get over that difficult
period, and do it daily, despite the seeming fruitlessness of
the effort, you'll turn into a brand new being, and amazing
things will happen to you, many of which will be so unusual
and outstanding that you will not be able to discuss them
with anyone but another who is doing the same thing. You
will be at once alone and lonely, as few will understand you,
but you will be free. ― John
4
Prologue
As I approach fifty trips around our Sun, it's time to
clear my head. Time to see what's really in there, and how it
works, and how I might effect more control over it. Then
have a good clear-out of all that I do not or no longer need. I've spent all my life in the external world, out there, and
in truth, it's been very kind to me. Facing the internal world
is a whole new ball game, but one it's time I started to play.
You don't need to know too much about me and my
domestic situation. Or situations, as there have been many.
For all the women, several girlfriends, one wife - now an exwife - I'm financially stable, which is a minor miracle when I
consider how many failed businesses and investments I've
been involved in. More than failed relationships.
Kids? Just one I know, but now big enough to be his
own man. It's his departure into the big, bad world out there
that allows me the opportunity to delve into the big, bad
world in here. Here in my head. It's hard to say who's
treading the scarier path. There's 'god-children' too, grownups and a youngster.
My marriage, on paper, was 12 years but we were
together only half that time. Half that again, and that's how
long the love lasted. On my side. Through the bad times we
both did the best we could for our son, one of the few things
we could agree upon. Our families were also instrumental in
5
helping produce a fine boy that everyone is proud to know.
He's a good kid, way ahead of where I was an his age. At 18
I was still a kid, he is very much a young man.
I've been fortunate to live in many countries, and have
dear, dear friends the world over. I've either lived or worked
in England, Australia, America, Spain, China, Singapore,
Indonesia and Thailand. I discovered Malaysia only recently,
and it's here I find myself now.
Most people would class my working life a success, and
no-one is more surprised about that than I. I've only ever
been productive in bursts, but that seems to have worked
for me. What did I do? Whatever had to be done. Call me a
merchant. Now I survive on a couple of worthy directorships
that take little of my time, and the few investments that didn't
go down with the many. I've sold all the big stuff, and live a
simple, unencumbered life, wanting for nothing.
I'm a regular, alternative guy. I no longer drink, smoke
or take drugs, recreational nor pharmaceutical. The longweekend parties, starting Friday and ending Tuesday, are
no more. I'm easy when it comes to food, as long as it's
fresh, preferring organic when I can get it, but eat little meat
and wheat, and no dairy. I've hardly had a soft drink in ten
years, sticking to pure H2O and slow juices. I always played competitive sport, wherever I lived, but
stick to simple gym workouts, yoga and walking or hiking
these days. I'm as fit and healthy as I have ever been. I'm
more at home in the forest than on the beach, but a
nearness to water is a must.
6
Why Vipassana? Because someone told me it was ten
days of silence, with no mobile phones or access to the
internet, out in the country, with vegetarian meals supplied.
That's all I needed to hear. I know there's many hours of
meditation on this retreat, and it's time I gave that a proper
try. That's what yoga is meant to lead you to, and I've done
plenty of yoga. I've been warned it's hard work, and an
emotional roller-coaster. I've always been fine with hard
work (in bursts); as for the emotional roller-coaster, that'll
just be a continuation of almost every other day in my life.
I want to appraise my flaws; analyse them; own up to
them. Ten days with no distractions, and no-one one to talk
to but myself, gives me a fantastic opportunity to do so.
Time to see if I can be as honest with myself as I think I can.
Or am. It's said that the Kingdom of Heaven lies within.
Conquer the fears and desires, fulfil your social duties, and
you're a free man. I feel as though I've always been free.
Now I'm so free I'm not sure what to do with myself. It would
be good to get some direction on what I'm meant to be
doing next. A purpose of sorts. 'Living in the moment' is all
well and good, but I'd like to know where I'm heading. I need
to find my true path and start walking it. Vipassana could be the first step. 7
Warning
As any past Vipassana student knows, the ten day
meditation course must be completed. It mirrors a surgical
operation, but of the mind. Like any form of surgery, leaving
half way through would be decidedly dangerous. Reading this story comes with the same caveat: it must
be finished. Only then will the full story become clear. A
partial reading will leave you confused. If this has come to you, and are reading this warning,
then you are meant to read it. Do it justice, read it all.
8
Day Zero
"And you? When will you begin that long journey into
yourself?" ― Rumi
So this is it. The first day of the rest of my life. I have an
idea what tomorrow holds, but two weeks from now?
Anything is possible.
If I'm to be the snake that sheds its skin, what is it that
I'm shedding, leaving behind? All the things that make up life
for most: work/business/career, marriage/relationships,
ownership and the responsibilities that come with them. All
of that is gone, left behind for good.
All I 'have' is a son at university who's doing his own
thing and is happy for me to do the same. My friends and
family have long known my desire to detach and find, or
lose, myself (whichever it is that comes first). They love me,
and will be there should I resurface in two weeks, two
months, or two years. For a while the plan was to have no plan. Sell up, get
out there, see what happens. The thing was, getting out
there wasn't where I wanted to be. For all the travelling I've
done for my businesses, I've never been a tourist. I looked
at a few cities and smaller communities with a view to
settling somewhere new, but again that didn't feel right. The
best I could come up with was a desire for solitude.
9
Solitude and silence. To be away from the noise of life,
be it traffic, phones, planes, construction or renovations, or
the incessant chatter in every shop, restaurant and
anywhere that people are to be found. Everywhere I looked,
noise, distraction, a lack of peace.
Someone suggested meditation. I tried it, and inside my
head I found it just as noisy and distracted, with no peace
there at all. This is normal, I was told, don't give up. But I
did. Until today; or tomorrow when this course begins. I will be living in silence for ten days, taking the
precepts of a monk, in the only non-sectarian manner I'm
aware of. Vipassana is a meditation technique, nothing
more. It means 'to see things as they really are'. The
courses are open to all, and the costs are covered by
donations from previous students who have completed the
course. If I complete the course, and feel I've benefitted and
would like others to experience it, then I can donate too.
This is key for me, as I have seen far too many
individuals and businesses selling 'spirituality'. Any guru
worthy of the name will do what they do, share what they
know, help where they can, without expectation of anything
in return. So I set off by car, leaving the big city behind, heading
east. Three hours on the road, and my new life begins. I'm
excited! Excited about spending ten days in silence, living
austerely as if a monk. Not a fine wine, gourmet meal or
fancy villa in sight. I've come a long way already.
10
********
I'm here, 2pm. Bang on time! Easy journey, nothing too
spectacular to look at, but pleasant enough. Plenty of oil
palm plantations, keeping the views green, except when you
hit ones that have recently been felled, and Mother Earth
lies scared and destitute. She'll be back though, She always
re-emerges, even if only as another oil palm plantation.
An oil palm plantation is where I find myself. From the
main road it's over a mile and half through the Gambang
Plantation, shady groves of low hung trees, the tips of the
palm fronds barely inches above the car. The gates appear,
in I go, and this is home for the next 12 days and 11 nights. The lady in the reception office directs me around the
corner to the male dining area, where registration has just
begun. A couple of others guys are there already, but I don't
talk to them. The dining hall has eleven long tables, each
with four plastic stools set under them. To the side by the
windows is a table set up with hot and cold water stations I'm pleased they have a reverse osmosis filtration system and various beverages, including, surprisingly, instant coffee
. . . not my first choice for a quiet, meditative state of mind.
Behind a long table where the food must be served, as there
are cutlery trays next to it, are various notices, including the
name of the teacher for this course, and an emergency
contact number.
I'm given the general blurb to read again, even though
I've read it on the website and when signing up online. Yes I
11
know I'm making a ten day commitment, yes I know it could
be dangerous if I leave before the end. I fill in a form not far
different from the one I filled in to sign up online. . . Having
to repeat info they already have on me seems pointless, but
let's go with the flow. A volunteer helper sits next to me and
asks, yet again, that I understand I'm here for 10 days, must
obey all the rules, and I smile and nod my consent. 'Do I
have any questions?' . . . No. I hand over my valuables, car
keys, and mobile phones - I have two - for safe keeping.
That's it, I'm done.
Let me tell you, if you're looking for some solitude and
silence in your life, there's no greater feeling than handing
over those phones. There's are 102 students on the course,
so hardly solitude, and I can hear we're not so far from the
highway, so silence of the 'nothing but nature' variety is also
out. But giving those phones up made we want to jump for
joy, to run around around flapping my arms, punching the air
and behaving like a footballer who just scored the winner
with the last kick of the game.
It's odd. I'm free to leave those phones at home, or not
turn them on, or just not have any phones at all. I survived
just fine for over three decades without them. Why am I so
attached to them? Affected by them? Why do I harbour such
negative feelings towards them? One to meditate on.
I'm given a bottom sheet, pillow case, blanket and
mosquito net, and told I'm in room R7. Come back at 6pm
for a light meal, an info session, and the beginning of the
course. 12
As I walk up the path to my room I see the gardens are
a ramshackle affair; my sister would love it; I do too. The
rooms are in blocks of eight, set at an angle to the path
through the complex. I pass blocks O and P, and the hot
water station between them. R7, like every other room, is
small, basic but sufficient. No standard, deluxe, and superdeluxe here. The ceiling is high, angled from front to back,
where air vents are located. I turn on the large overhead
fan, to both cool and ventilate the room. A thin mattress in
need of a serious airing is against the wall on a raised tiled
platform. There's a lumpy pillow and a square piece of very
thin foam, that judging by its size is my meditation mat;
lucky I bought my yoga mat, bolster and blanket for comfier
sitting options. A tiny 3 level wooden shelving unit completes
the inventory, other than a washing line strung between two
nails with some hangers on it: my wardrobe. Another two
nails either side of the louvred windows hold a wire that will
be for a curtain. One of my sarongs can serve that purpose. The attached bathroom is also small, basic but
sufficient. The toilet flushes well (I'll need to give that bowl a
scrub!), and there's a sink, one foot square mirror, shower
section, two buckets and a water scoop. These will be for
washing clothes, and getting hot water. I'm planning on
showering with cold water, which feels like the right thing to
do. There's another line between two nails: my towel rail. Unexpectedly, there's a large bottle of Palmolive Aroma
Therapy shower gel, and some Pantene shampoo. The kind
soul here for the last retreat must have left them,
intentionally I'm sure. Not the sort of all-natural, organic stuff
I use at home, but better than what I have with me: freebies
from my last hotel stay.
13
Now what do I do? I've registered, I've unpacked, and
there's still over 3 hours until 6pm. I don't feel like to talking
to anyone, might as well get some practice in for the next
ten days. I've nothing to read or write with, no iPod, it's just
good ol' me, myself and I. Which is exactly the point, so I'd
better get used to it.
Lying here, under my mozzie net, adjusting to the
mouldy mattress smell, reminds of my first trip to Asia as a
backpacker. The road noise is quite distant, but the hum of
the jungle is right here. I love it. Birds, crickets, other insects
(no frogs yet but some rain should get those guys singing)
and the sound of the wind in the trees, this is really
peaceful. I see there are forests not so far away, so hearing
the monkeys call is also likely. Wow, this is what I need, not
for ten or eleven days, but for the rest of my life.
********
The food was okay, white rice (I was expecting brown)
and two veggie dishes, Chinese style, that I've trouble
putting a name to. One had shitake mushrooms, the other
tempe, or bean-curd. Some students are talking, seeming to
know each other, and a few ladies come in for a last word,
with their man I presume. After this we'll be segregated until
Day Ten. Everyone is happy, excited, and a tad too jovial for
my liking. I'll just carry on keeping myself to myself. 14
We sit at at 'our spot', corresponding to our room
number, and designated by a laminated card stuck to the
table top with blu-tack. Still it turns out about half a dozen
people are sitting in the wrong place. Once the course
manager has sorted that out, and the ladies in their dining
room on the other side of the wall are also ready, a
recording is played to welcome us, and repeats those rules
one more time. I'm surprised the voice is that of an
Australian woman. But why am I surprised?
The recording - surely 20 minutes long? - is then
repeated in Mandarin, as all instructions will be for the
duration of the course. Many of the participants are
Chinese, either Malaysian Chinese or here from China, or
Singapore. Mandarin is a tough language to listen to,
monotone and harsh. I'll just have to zone out when it gets
its turn.
A few additional rules are that not only must we be
silent, we must avoid eye contact or making any gestures to
our co-meditators. We can talk to the course manager
should we have any logistical problem. There will also be
two opportunities per day to meet with the teacher to
discuss issues regarding the technique, or any problems
that we feel are related to it.
We are called up one-by-one and given a meditation
cushion number. I'm one of the last, and will be sat on E7 for
the duration of the course. We then line up outside. It's dark
now, but the sky still offers a few traces of the day that was.
The silence has begun although there was no formal
announcement as such. Once all 42 guys are lined up, we
begin our solemn walk to the meditation hall. 15
I feel like a monk! I'm high on excitement, not what I
expected for a meditation retreat. Did I say solemn walking?
I'm dancing the jitterbug inside. To my left I see the line of
ladies beginning their walk to the hall too. It's just a short
walk, but for some, maybe most, the beginning of a much
longer journey.
Entering the hall is equally uplifting, seeing all the
meditation cushions laid out in neat rows. To my delight, the
hall is exquisitely lit. Lighting is everything, the key to
ambience, which opens the door to enhanced moods.
Peace on Earth will come with dimmer switches. Forget
feeling high, I'm getting giddy now!! This is it. We haven't
even begun and I know I'm in the right place doing the right
thing. Wow. I'm speechless. Which is pretty handy as I'm not
allowed to talk.
On individual raised platforms sit the two teachers, one
male, one female. The whole centre is split in half, and men
and women separated, if only by an invisible barrier no more
than eight feet across down the middle of the hall. E7 is near the back and closest to the wall. This means
I can stretch my legs out to the side when I need to, which
will be often. The best I can do, sitting crossed legged, is
twenty minutes. I'm hoping to improve on that though.
Acharya S.N. Goenka's recorded voice greets us for the
first time. He is the current leader of this teaching, the one
who brought it back to India in the 1970s, after it had been
16
lost to the world for 2,000 years. Vipassana was preserved
in its pristine form in Burma, Goenka's birth land. It is he
who will give us instructions. When he talks you can feel the warmth and
compassion in your heart. But when he chants he enters
another realm, his voice deep and gravelly, that of the
Forest Father, or perhaps an androgynous Mother Nature.
It's the Earth chanting, from its deepest core, channeled
through Goenka. I sense the vibrational quality, but don't yet
know what to do with it, how to harness it.
The group is asked to join in a chant, following
Goenka's lead. This is fabulous, I love chanting! I don't think
I pronounce everything right, but my heart and soul are truly
in it. Again I'm transported to a happy place, attaining the
peace and joy Goenka tells us is the aim of our practice. I'm
feeling it already. The trick is going to be carrying this back
into 'the real world'; experiencing the same rapture when sat
in traffic; or behind a screaming baby on a long flight. But I must enjoy the moment, this moment, not be
concerned with what comes next. That's another trick I hope
to pick up.
Day Zero is done. Lights must be out by 10pm, but
mine are out the moment my head hits the pillow, not long
after 9pm. Day One begins at 4am - I'll be ready. 17
Day One
"The pain of discipline is nothing like the pain of
disappointment." ― Anon
I'm awake before the gong is sounded. I continue to lie
down, well rested, waiting. When it's time, the gong rings out
repeatedly, every 8 seconds, for a good five minutes; or a
bad five minutes if you are still trying to sleep, which it
seems many are. I get up, go outside and enjoy the stars,
and the cool air; I'll need a long sleeve t-shirt, and a sarong
to wrap around my shoulders if I should still be cold.
The gong sounds again, 420am, time to head to the
hall. Most men are up, and we enter through the heavy
white curtains, the hall lit just enough to see our way. We
take our seats and begin. I settle myself, using two small
cushions folded in half to support each knee. I have an extra
cushion under my butt too. Let's see if I can sit without
having to change posture longer than 20 minutes. I see
some others sit beautifully, backs erect, legs solid, a few in
half lotus. But my eyes are meant to be closed, I shouldn't
be looking around.
The instruction last night was that all we do is observe
the breath in the area of the nostrils. No forcing or control of
the breath, we only need observe the natural breath, as it
enters, and leaves our body. I know it's normal for the mind
to wander, no matter how simple the task, and sure enough,
I get to my third breath then my mind starts wandering and
18
wondering what will be for breakfast. It's minutes before I
pull myself together, and my attention back to my breath. My
mind has taken me to places past, events gone by, and
places future, those yet to be; I've visited fantasy, numerous
friends, and dwelt on the teacher - who's yet to appear . . .
perhaps his station allows him an extra hour in bed - and
what he does when he's not here. Most likely some form of
paid work, as his time here is given voluntarily.
I come back to the breath, reminding myself that I
mustn't beat myself up for being the world's worst meditator.
Come back to the breath smilingly, Goenka told us, start
again. Calm the mind, be peaceful, focus on the breath. I do
this, and feel good. Three breaths later my mind is off again,
and I'm helpless to stop it. Hopeless.
Half an hour in, I've already shifted position twice, as
quietly as possible. This particular retreat is graced by the
presence of a Buddhist monk. Donned in the traditional
orange robes, he gets to sit on his own mini platform, built
for one, to the left of the rows of male students. He must
have a bit of a cold, as he snorts and coughs and hacks and
is generally the noisiest member out of what now looks like
a full house. I shouldn't be looking, but took the liberty of a
quick look-see when I changed position. One guy just burped like his life depended on it! As if he
was in the grand final of a 'who can burp the loudest'
competition at a summer fair. Damn, it's hard enough to
concentrate on my breath when my mind is all over the
place, and now I have noises from all around that threaten
to bring the walls down. How long until someone audibly
farts? 19
Someone has already farted, the silent variety, and I
immediately lay the blame on an Indian guy sat close by, for
no reason other than his nationality. This is terrible, but my
mind rationalises that he's probably loaded up on dhal and
other Indian favourites before he arrived, and some serious
flatulence is the natural consequence. After getting my mind
back on track for another three breaths I start to compose a
thesis on whether the average meditator would rather be
disturbed by a sound or a smell, a room-shaking burp, or an
eye-watering curry fart. Having tried to conclude what the
burper, a Chinaman, may have eaten to effect such a
powerful belch, I finally pull my mind back from the brink,
and onto the breath once more. Until the next time . . . three
breaths and counting. It's about an hour in to this first morning session, just
half way, that I notice a pain in my right shoulder blade. I'm
expecting plenty of discomfort, with 12 hours per day of
sitting on the agenda. It's my hips and quads that are tight,
my back is usually pretty good. I see some of the women
are using chairs, of differing heights, and some have
backboard supports with their meditation cushions. I reckon
I'll tough it out, and do some restorative yoga during the
break periods.
The morning chant is a long one. That must have been
30 minutes. I found myself listening to it, and recognising
some of the words, similar to those I've heard at ceremonies
in Bali. Many Sanskrit words are still used in modern day
Malay and Bahasa Indonesia, of which I've picked up quite a
bit over the years.
20
Dawn is breaking as we break fast, 630am.This hasn't
been a long fast, only 12 hours since we ate last night.
Today and every other day will be different. After lunch,
which we'll be done with by 1130am, there's only a piece of
fruit at 5pm, and nothing more until the next breakfast. Old
students, those who've completed a course before, don't
even get a piece of fruit, just a cup of lemon water so they
are fasting 19 hours. I can do that, and I'm looking forward
to it already.
I surprise myself sometimes. I surprise myself all the
time. This is when life is good, when it's full of surprises. It's
when we repeat the same old patterns, time, and time, and
time again, that we're in trouble. They say one of the
benefits of Vipassana is that you can break those old habit
patterns, learn to see them for what they are, and from
where they are generated. Then you deal with them. Self
knowledge is the key. Break those old habit patterns, and
liberate yourself. Learn then to expect nothing, and your life
will be full of surprises. Good!
Why I'm surprised with myself now, as I eat a fairly plain
meal of rice porridge, boiled sweet potatoes and another
nondescript Chinese vegetable dish that adds some flavour
(primarily a salty flavour) is that I'm already thinking about
my next Vipassana. I've not even been here a day, am only
2% into the meditation programme, one which contains
record-breaking burpers and a monk who's coughing like
he's been smoking 40 a day for years, and I've a pain in my
upper back that is getting worse by the minute. I see, or
experience something, like bits of it, ignore the rest, and
commit myself in a flash. No thinking required.
21
I've done it with businesses, I did it with marriage, and
all but one serious girlfriend. I offer myself up for committees
before knowing what I'll have to do, and I loan people
money without asking what the payback plan is, or if there is
a payback plan. I need to meditate on why I jump in at the
deep end so quickly, when I'm really a poor swimmer.
Here I am in mid-life, looking back at an existence
peppered with poor choices, bad decisions, impulsive
actions and my ship is still going full steam ahead for more
of the same. Can I turn it around? Will Vipassana help? 'Do I want to turn it around?' might be a better question.
I've learnt that life is simple, not because I have all the
answers, but because I can break it down to simple
questions. When you're dealing with yourself, refine the
questions; the answers then look after themselves. 'Do I want to turn it around?' Simple question, but two
answers: for the past, I wouldn't change a thing even if I
could. It's brought me to where I am, this very moment, and
I'm perfectly content in this moment. My past - the great, the
good, the bad, the ugly - was just how it was meant to be. I
take responsibility for bringing every event in my life into my
life; I either got the lesson, or repeated the error. A tough
way to learn. I must be a tough guy to teach.
The second answer concerns the future: yes I would
like to turn it around, to have more control (of myself) when
decisions and choices are needed, and they are always
needed. I'd like to sail on the changing winds, not push on
full steam ahead regardless. Less impetuousness. So I'll get
blown off course from time to time, that'll just be more
22
surprises. I like surprises, and the greater awareness one
requires to roll with them, to make the most of them.
This, they say, the Vipassana meditation technique can
help with. And all I need do is concentrate on the breath. ********
If the two hours before breakfast and sunrise were hard
work, the three hours from 8-11am were excruciating. This
pain won't go away, it just gets worse. But lunch got better,
and included a soup. I'm still at a loss for an actual dish
name: we get rice, two veg dishes, fruit, soup. Brown rice
today, which is what we need with only a piece of fruit on the
menu in the next 19 hours. All in all lunch was good, still on
the salty side but I don't use salt in my cooking so it doesn't
take much for me to cry 'salty!'
I couldn't get through all four hours of the afternoon
session. I struggled through from 1-215pm. We got a short
break, then 230-330pm is the second compulsory group
sitting - the first was 8-9am - where further instructions are
given. No change really, keep on watching the respiration,
the inhalation, and the exhalation. During the Mandarin translation I try to zone in on my
right shoulder blade, and the pain that runs from my thoracic
spine across it. I've read books on moving chi, the vital life
force, around one's body to ease pain. This too uses the
breath, but a concentrated breath that one sends into the
23
affected area. It doesn't help, which is no surprise as I've
never really practiced it. Once a group sitting is over, unless told otherwise, we
are permitted to return to our rooms to continue our
meditation there. I almost ran out, so keen was I to stand
and move around. My glutes are pretty sore too, but I have
the stretches to deal with them. This shoulder, I just don't
know . . . I've done everything I can in terms of yoga and
dynamic stretches and it isn't improving. I need a physio, or
massage. I've got some tiger balm that I know will help a bit,
but we are forbidden to use anything with a strong smell. I
wonder if the course manager, the only person I'm allowed
to approach at any time, might give me a quick rub? That's
what it needs. I know I won't ask. As with my wandering mind, I'll just
have to grin and bear it. For all the pain, my manic mind, the burpers - we now
have three - and the prospect of just a piece of fruit between
now and breakfast I'm still loving it! Why is that?
********
Each evening we will listen to a discourse, or dhamma
talk, by S.N.Goenka. It looks like this was recorded many
years ago, and by an amateur for sure. The Day One talk
was pretty good, he started a little slow but picked up the
pace and was really quite humorous by the end of it. I'm
24
clearer now on a few things, and more determined than ever
to see this through. We return to the hall for the final session of the day,
830-9pm. I'm ready for this, reinvigorated by all that Goenka
said. After a couple of rounds of the usual mind-wanderings,
mind being brought back only to wander again, two breaths,
three breaths, and off again, I'm starting to think I have no
control whatsoever. I've heard it referred to as the internal
involuntary monologue, well mine's more a dialogue, with a
host of MEs too numerous to catalogue. Who are these
thoughts that run wild in my mind? Wherever that may be. I
certainly can't pin the mind down to a place in my head. As
much of it seems to bombard me externally, madness trying
to get in, as there is generated internally, not trying to get
out, just going every which way.
The closing chant must be approaching. At the end of
the day we are allowed to ask the teacher questions, with a
five minute cap per meditator. But surely everyone is in the
same boat, or ship, steaming ahead with countless
crewmen running amok, the ramblings of each and every
person's mind of their own making? And of their own
curing... He'll tell me to concentrate on my breath, breathe a
little harder so I can really feel it in my nostrils. I've only
been at it a day, and we're here for ten. I'll just give it time,
no need to ask.
And that's when the voice came:
"You could always ask me."
25
I nearly fell off my meditation cushion. A voice, crystal
clear, inside my head, but apparently not one of mine.
Oh boy, here we go . . .
Or more precisely, 'oh girl, here we go'. It was the voice
of a young lady.
26
Day Two
"What if all these levels inside you are your friends, and
they know a lot more than you know? What if your teachers
are here right now? Instead of always talking, what if for a
change you listen?" ― Messiah's Handbook
The pain got worse last night, and it, along with
thoughts of the voice, kept me awake for a little longer than
the 10pm curfew. Considering how much pain I was
experiencing, and considering I'd just had a conversation in
my head that was as real as real can be, you'd think I'd be
awake all night! But I was beat. I'd been awake since before
4am, spent most of the day in physical and mental anguish,
had only eaten 2 bananas since late morning, I was ready to
drop, voices and pain notwithstanding. The Rolling Stones
could have been playing in the next room, I would have
slept regardless.
I've always known good sleep cures many ailments,
particularly the mental variety. If we think of the body and
mind as one, then whatever is good for the mind will also be
good for the body. And a healthy body helps promote and
maintain a healthy mind, although there are many
interpretations of what counts as healthy (a multitude of
'healthy' breakfast cereals contain so much sugar and salt
that feeding them to your children should be classed as
child abuse!)
27
Anyway, I've woken up with no pain in my shoulder or
back. How did that happen? There's a little ache there when
I rotate it, nothing some stretches can't take care of. But
other than that, it's as good as new. Again I slept so well,
right through to the first gong. I gave myself another 15
minutes lying down, to process what's happening. My shoulder, or upper back, are what they are.
Yesterday there was pain, today there isn't. I'll take that and
run with it. Goenka last night likened this ten-day course (I'm
gonna refrain from calling it a retreat again, it's more like
boot-camp than any retreat) to a surgical operation: we're
opened up, the pus is taken out, then we're stitched back
together and sent on our merry way. This is why it's
important we stay the whole ten days, as leaving in the
middle is like walking out of surgery half way through. Not
recommended.
Could it be that the pain yesterday was an early taster
of what it feels like when my meditations unravel some
deep-seated trauma - 'defilements' he called them - as they
manifest on the way out? This happens when you detox: if
you are particularly toxic you will experience all the bad
effects of the toxins as they are purged back into your
system for processing and final release. Must be the same
with emotions. I'd better fasten my seatbelt.
The voice I cannot dismiss so easily. Nor do I want to. I
needed some help, a friend to shoulder the pain (pun
intended) and Boom!! I get one.
We've been talking again this morning, and I'm making
huge leaps forward with my observations and awareness.
28
But let me recount how it went last night (big deep breath on
my part, and a steadying of the nerves):
"You could always ask me."
Finally my mind was still! Blank as could be. I couldn't
think if I wanted to. A youngish female voice had just spoken
to me, within my head. If I hadn't taken a 10-day vow of
silence, and been sat in a hall with about 120 people, I
would have answered with my voice. But as the voice I
heard was most definitely here inside me, I spoke my mind,
or with it.
"And you are . . . ?"
"I'm your breath."
"My breath can talk?" Incredulous. . .
"That's what you use me for, amongst other things."
She was quite well spoken. "The sound of your voice is merely me working with
your vocal chords. As I hit them, they resonate and the
sound you desire is produced. Except when you're singing."
And funny too!
"So why haven't I ever spoken to you, like this, in my
head?"
29
"You've never asked to speak to me. And without
wanting to admonish you, you've never tried to use me to
my full potential. Which now you are." 'You mean the meditation, concentrating on my
respiration. My breath. You!!"
"Yep."
"Wow. Big bloody WOW." I was flabbergasted. I let out
a deep breath, through my mouth, and was worried she'd be
gone, expelled for ever!
"Still there? Breath?"
"I'm here. Have been since day one," she paused, "not
the Vipassana Day One, you know what I mean. Every
single moment since that nurse smacked your brand new
bottom."
Now my mind was lost for words, but had plenty
running through it. I composed myself . . .
"We've got a lot to talk about."
"Don't worry," she said, "I know it all."
Goenka's end of session chant began, and I was back
in the hall. Not that I'd left it, to my knowledge. Certainly my
body hadn't, but I can't be sure of my mind. In fact, I can't be
sure of my mind, full stop. All I knew at that moment was
that I'd passed into unchartered waters, and that my
shoulder was killing me.
30
********
Today, eager as could be, joyous that my shoulder and
upper back are better, I've sat down to meditate with
Goenka's words ringing in my ears: "practice diligently,
ardently, persistently, you are bound to be successful, bound
to be successful." I'm not sure what counts as success ultimately 'enlightenment' I'd imagine - but any journey is a
series of steps, each one a success in its own right. Today I
feel like a winner, a success story.
So does the champion burper, as he lets rip a real
corker that bounces off the walls and emanates into the predawn air outside. I'm sure there's a lull in the rubbing of
legs, as the crickets cringe for a second.
I close my eyes, is she there? Nothing. I ask, plaintively,
"Breath, are you there?" Nothing again. Where do you look, and what do you look with, when
you're trying to find a voice inside your head? I think, but
can't be precise, that I'm using my mind's eye, as it's called.
The third, inward-looking eye, located at the forehead, just
above where the eyebrows meet. But do I look for this voice
in my head, or in my throat, or in my lungs, from where the
air bellows up for me to speak? Except I'm not physically
speaking. I'm confused.
I breathe out hard through my nose, feeling the touch of
the air in my nostrils, just as Goenka says we should. I
31
inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. 'Observe the breath' he says,
and as I do so I feel myself calming down, letting go . . .
"Good morning." It's as if I can sense a happy smile on
Breath's face. I'm elated! Beaming on the inside if not on the
outside.
"Morning Breath, I thought you'd left me there for a
minute." I'm relieved too, and she knows it.
"Ooh, morning breath, we don't want that. And if I did
leave you, for not much more than a minute, you'd know all
about it." She's very matter-of-fact.
"I'd be dead. Dead without you." My whole being is
overcome with a wave of realisation, a joy mixed with
gratitude, and an uncomfortable feeling of dependency.
Where's all this heading?
You know that feeling, when you first fall for someone?
Those initial sparks that tell you 'this is different', that
tightness in the gut, the heady feeling that brings forth
impulsiveness, foolishness and a desire for this moment to
last forever. . . . Some let themselves fall helplessly, others,
like me, resist and let the rapture distort into jealousy, want,
and a need to control this new part of my life. All this based
in the fear of losing that which we think we're gaining.
Now imagine those first moments of falling in love, but
without all the negative stuff. Imagine knowing from the
moment your eyes meet, the moment you are first
introduced, the first touch, the first exchange of smiles and
words, imagine knowing from that instant that this is 'till
32
death do us part'. You're not just hoping it'll work out,
planning on giving it your best shot, you know, with every
cell of your body, you are together for life.
On discovering my Breath, that's how I felt. Like I've
never felt before.
"My shoulder is feeling much better, it was really hurting
when I slept, but now it's fine."
I'm making smalltalk! Here I am with the breath that has
been with me every second of my life, that has been there
through all I've experienced, and I'm telling her stuff she no
doubt knows already.
"That's good," she responds politely.
"You don't mind me asking you stuff, do you?" Now I'm
being polite.
"I'm happy to answer anything I can. You fire away."
I'm trying to imagine what she'd be like, if she had a physical
form, if she were an actual human being. Her energy, and
good-naturedness, puts me in mind of a gym teacher, a
young lady - mid-twenties I'd say - who's teaching teenage
school children hockey and netball, and encouraging them
as they do circuits in the sports hall when it's inclement
weather. I can see her white polo top, and navy blue gym
skirt, showing her strong, sporty legs, right to the top. The
boys all love her, and the girls do too. They call her 'Miss',
and she plays with them as one of them. 33
I can't see, or imagine, or get a sense of what she's like
out of that school, or work, environment. I conclude this is
due to me associating her with work, as my experience of
her feels like she continually running around me, a busy bee
hopping from here to there, one second lightly brushing my
inner nostrils as I inhale, the next pushing on my diaphragm,
as my belly expands and the air fills my lungs. What a girl!
I realise I'm doing exactly what I'm here to do, to
practice this technique of meditation by concentrating on my
breath. It's working, but rather than achieving a still mind, it's
more like I'm multi-tasking: focusing on my breath whilst
simultaneously holding a conversation with Breath. This is
much preferred to the madness of yesterday's monkey
mind, swinging from branch to branch as one involuntary
thought followed the other. I seem to have gotten into a deep state of calm, my
steamship now a sailboat just resting on a flat ocean,
unconcerned at the lack of wind, just allowing itself to be.
Even the burpers are distant, and I hardly hear the monk
clearing his throat. I'm aware that they are there, close by,
but their presence is irrelevant.
"Breath, when I was young, six I believe, I had a serious
asthma attack. I was rushed to hospital. How was that for
you?"
It felt as though Breath let out a big breath herself at
such a question! She remained quiet, and I let her be. She'd
know all about my recurring run-ins with breathing problems
over the years, especially on my returns to the UK. She'd
34
know that during my lowest ebb, approaching the time I split
from my wife, that I became steroid-dependent, and
suffered, unknowingly at the time, a depression that left me
clueless as to how to move my life forward. And then she'd
know how this brought me to Buteyko, pranayama, and
healers who tried to guide me through a process to forgive
my mother, as in psychosomatic terms, that's where the
origin of asthma lies. It may have been a minute, it may have been five, when
Breath responded thus:
"You've already heard Goenka mention equanimity,
that's how I am, or how I deal with, whatever comes my
way; whatever is. Ultimately it's your spirit, or chi, prana,
vital life force, call it what you will, and for as long as the
spirit is within, I'll go about doing what I do. When you're
fearful, your breathing changes, and as you'll learn, there
are sensations that accompany this. A tight chest is the
obvious one in the case of an asthma attack. The problem
is, you feel like you need more oxygen coming in when in
fact you need less carbon dioxide getting out. If you hold
you're breath, the O2/CO2 balance returns, and the
restriction eases. Just a century or so asthma wasn't
considered a serious ailment, but..."
"But the forefathers of Big Pharma got in and the
number of cases has risen proportionally to the amount of
proscribed medication ever since. We know the history, we
know how Buteyko was persecuted..." I felt my blood begin
to boil, then let it go, with a very deep breath.
We both smiled.
35
"Yes, but I can only do what I do, without any
attachment to the end result."
"So if I'd died that day, what would you have done?" I
felt a little put out, as if she didn't care. I trembled slightly,
and took another deep breath. It was like a lover's tiff! But
the deep breath worked, and I regained a sense of
composure.
"I leave when the spirit leaves. Sometimes the breath
hangs on, but usually death is when the spirit, and breath,
are no longer within the body."
I remembered reading something about the vital life
force, that equated the breath with it, meaning that the
breath was the vital life force. I tried to dig a little deeper.
"When we're born you come, when we die you leave.
You are Life," I suggested. "And it's the same for everyone,
and everything that lives and breathes."
She remained quiet.
"You're what some people call God."
She scoffs, the first trace of any annoyance I've heard
from her.
"People should worship you." I add.
"People shouldn't worship me, they should work with
me."
36
********
The chant begins. Again this early morning session has
a long chant to end it, much longer than any of the other
sessions so far. I'm enthralled. The air is cool, the birds are
waking up. It'll be breakfast soon. I'm hungry! And I'm
excited, not like a kid getting a new toy, but like an old man
about to get his gold watch as he retires, peaceful in the
knowledge that he's worthy, having done a good job all his
life, and content in the moment, knowing - not hoping, or
trusting or believing - but knowing his retirement will be filled
with beautiful moments, each and every day. No jumping for
joy, no running around like the player that's scored the
winning goal, just a feeling of bliss, and gratitude, for every
breath he takes.
Breakfast was different, thick noodles with a Chinesestyle broth with mushrooms, and succulent papaya, ripe to
perfection. They have toast too, with peanut butter or jam. I'll
succumb to that if the main offering doesn't do it for me.
Lunch was also good, steamed pumpkin part of the
treat. A banana and an orange closed out my food for the
day. As I lie here about to sleep, reflecting on a day where I
feel my journey, this path I walk, has come to life, I have no
pangs of hunger. Nor do I have any desires, or fears. I am at
peace. Isn't this the end game, where I'm supposed to be
struggling to get to? It's the end of Day Two, and I've
achieved a state of bliss, of centred-ness, totally at peace
37
with everything, but most importantly with myself. This is
good. What makes good great, is living this way every
subsequent day, carrying what I feel in this moment into all I
do in life. That'll be the the test of my equanimity.
My chats with Breath were on and off. I'm only in touch
with her when I manage to fully focus on my respiration.
When I'm in my mind, changing position due to a numb foot,
or slight discomfort in my back, it's then that my mind does
it's other thing, the thinking thing, the running around in
circles thing. Breath leaves me alone, to fight my own
battles, to bring myself back to where she is. I understand
that is how it works. It's a fair deal. But knowing she's there,
my friend forever, what more could any body, or mind, ever
want?
The Day Two discourse has given us new instructions,
that we were to practice just now, and are to practice all day
tomorrow. We're moving on from respiration, and have been
instructed to observe the sensations that appear in the area
of the nose and upper lip. We must focus all our awareness
on the triangle formed between the bridge of the nose and
the outer edges of the upper lip. This is to include the inside
of the nostrils. If there are no sensations, then we return to
respiration. If there is a sensation, be it tingling, itching, a
feeling of warmth, or coolness, of pressure, or pulsation,
whatever it is, we are told just to observe it. In particular we
must know that whatever the sensation, it will pass; nothing
is forever, everything is impermanent: 'anicca' in Pali, the
language of India at the time of Gotama, the Buddha.
Lights out.
38
Day Three
"Your only obligation in any lifetime is to be true to
yourself." ― Richard Bach
I awoke to a light rain shower. My body clock is set to
bring me out of sleep minutes before the 4am wake up
gong. I'd already got out of bed, knowing it was close to that
time. When you're wide awake, just get up, no point lying
there, even if there isn't really much you can be doing. I walked up and down the main path, breathing deeply
to clear my lungs of sleep air. I was hearing alarm clocks,
seeing lights go on, and the odd guy coming out to get hot
water for an early shower. I'm enjoying a cold wash later in
the day. I did some yoga stretches, a couple of rounds of
slow sun salutations, and was the first outside the hall when
the next gong rang. Keen as beans.
I started off well, spending a little time with my
respiration, as much to calm myself as I'm verging on being
overly keen. I did so intentionally, as I wanted to say a quick
'hello' to Breath, who equally quickly reminded me I'm to
concentrate on sensations in the triangular area around my
nose and upper lip. She seemed busy, not distracted, but as
if she didn't have much time for me. No worries, we'll catch
up later, there's some more stuff I'd like to ask her anyway.
39
Although this is just the third morning I have already
concluded this is my best time of day. I've always been a
morning person. Everything around me helps promote a
deeper level of meditation. There's no introduction or
chanting from Goenka, we just get in there and get on with
it, wrapped in our mutual silence, with the hum of nature,
tropical sounds, caressing our senses. I had a wonderful
two hours.
Breakfast was the best yet! More juicy papaya (with
yoghurt if you're a dairy eater - I am not) and a Tom Yam
veggie noodle dish. Finally I can name something we've
eaten. I'm not sure it was how the Thais would serve it, with
glass noodles, but it was spicy and just the ticket for a
damp, dull morning. If you've never experienced Asia, a
spicy noodle breakfast may seem odd, but I can assure you
it's excellent.
Once I was done eating I let my good mood get the
better of me, going back for another slice of papaya, and a
piece of toast with peanut butter. I didn't need to do that, I
was already full. As soon as I'd eaten it my stomach
protested, so I took a lie down back in my room. I didn't lay
on the bed but on my yoga mat, on the floor, with a yoga
block supporting my head. Savasana, if you know your
Sanskrit. The corpse pose, if you don't. My tummy rumbled a while, and then I was asleep. I
must have needed it, as I slept for forty minutes. I walked
back down to the dining hall, for some exercise, and to
check the time. Still 30 minutes until the next session, so,
with umbrella in hand as the showers persisted, I set off to
do a couple of rounds of the centre: up the central path in
40
front of all the blocks of rooms, then back down behind them
where we're afforded views of the jungle, and distant hills.
There's no doubt that I'm already experiencing
heightened awareness. There are some beautiful flowers
and trees to feast one's eyes upon, and some delicate
weeds with tiny blossoms that blow me away. Some I could
fit five of on my thumbnail. As I walked it dawned on me I'd
totally forgotten one of things I planned to do whilst here: be
mindful when eating: chew my food properly!!
I read an article a few years back that explained why
this is so very important, especially if you're eating junk food
out in the big, bad world of today. I'd been slamming down
my food way too quickly. I'll put that right from lunch
onwards. If there's one thing we don't have to do here, it's
rush anything.
********
This group session began with Goenka reminding us of
what we're meant to be doing. His style of teaching leaves
no room for misunderstanding, you get regular reminders of
exactly where you are with your practice.
I've had some success with sensations on my nose,
although the first time it itched a little I had already
scratched it before I remembered I'm meant to let it be, let it
pass: anicca . . . all things are impermanent.
41
As I'm not getting any sensations right now, I return to
respiration, focusing on my breath. I feel an intense wave of
calm wash over me, and resist the temptation to call out to
Breath. I really shouldn't be thinking about her specifically,
just my breath. That's what I do.
Wow, this feels like I'm on another plane, deeper, or
higher, somewhere different, somewhere I haven't been
before. I have a sensory awareness that I'm sitting different
too, and my hands are in a position that I have never held
them in before. My shoulders are rounded heavily, this can't
be me, my yoga training would never allow that. But I'm
comfortable, as if this rounded posture, with my head tilted
down and to the right, is home, the place I'm used to being.
My hands are flat, facing upwards, the right on top the
left. My thumbs meet, just touching but not pressing into
each other. I have a recollection of this hand position, or
mudra, from statues I've seen in Bali and Thailand. How
come? I always sit with my hands resting on each thigh or
knee.
As I breath a little harder, out of confusion more than
any fear, I feel the air is cold! And I can sense I'm
surrounded by stone. The floor is stone, the walls are stone,
and the air, so very fresh, is a mixture of mountain scent and
wet granite. Where am I?
It doesn't feel right to open my eyes, I've got to feel this
one out, observe it from within. I know I'm in a stone room,
not a big hall, and there's a heavy wooden door at the back
of it. The door has iron hinges and a big latch. I can see this
42
even though it's behind me. I share this room with
approximately ten others.
To the front is a candle-lit statue. It sits above us, in a
recess that gets no natural light. There are torches on the
walls, as yet unlit as we are bathed in wintery morning
sunlight. Where is this? And when is this?? There are two
slit windows on each side of the room, putting me in the
mind of a castle. The shutters must be opened out as I can
see only the hinges. I come back to myself. Who am I? I sense I'm wearing a
robe, pulled up over my shoulders for warmth. I can't feel my
hair, and a gentle cool breeze blows over my face and head.
I'm bald! Somewhat panicked, I look up. The statue comes
into focus. It's a seated Buddha.
Then it hits me: I'm a monk!! A real one this time. Or as
real as anything in my mind, which must be where I am, can
be.
I take several deep breaths, either as a monk, or as me
back in the meditation hall far, far away. I concentrate on my
being, this body I'm in, and feel a warm glow, like a radiant
circle, but with one edge not complete; it's like the moon two
days shy of full. I immerse myself, travel within, and locate a
pain on the left side. Now I can feel it's not just the head
that's tilted to the right, but the whole torso. It's as if the
body is trying to move away from the pain.
I notice my breath to be very subtle, almost
imperceptible. I focus my attention on the pain, and sense
something in the left lung; it must be a tumour. Emotion
43
takes hold of me, but the body I'm with stays steady,
peaceful. I move back to the heart centre, in an attempt to
feel more of this life (how do I know to do this?)
I stay here, at the heart centre, for several minutes, as
the story becomes clearer. My host is a young man, not yet
35. He's dying, and knows it. But he's at peace, and I feel
great compassion and respect. I search a little deeper to
see where this tumour has come from. It's right on the level
of the heart cakra, and there lies my answer. The tumour is
killing him, but he will die of a broken heart. I pick up the time as somewhere in the mid 18th
century. . . Location: Tibet. His heart was broken as a boy,
the girl he loved being married off to another. He ran away
to join the monastery the very next day. That's all there is to
his story.
I'm not sure if he is aware of my presence, but feel the
information has been shared willingly. Something tells me
it's time to go, that I've seen and learnt all I need to. I bring
myself back into his room for a last look, and shiver as a
cold blast of air blows through. I feel him smile, with his
eyes, as if he feels me and my shivering. With a deep
breath to steady my nerves I depart. Deep inside I whisper
goodbye, and somehow I sense an acknowledgement, and
good wishes for my journey.
********
44
It's bedtime. I'm exhausted. I spent as much time as I
could today in my room, trying to process what occurred.
After that morning group session the new students stayed in
the main hall for the beginning of the next hour, and in
groups of six we had an audience with the teacher. He
checked with each of us that we were getting sensations in
or around our nose. Everyone said they were. We sat in
meditation together for a few minutes, then the next six
came up. The course manager comes to where you're sat
and tugs on your cushion to get your attention, then
gestures for you to approach the teacher.
I was still in La-La land, spinning from my visit with the
monk, in a place I've never been to, 250 years ago. As
soon as everyone had been up to the teacher, and he'd
taken leave of the hall, I took leave myself, as we're
permitted to do, to continue our practice in our residential
quarters, as Goenka calls them. But I didn't try to meditate.
First I just lay down, then I sat with my head in my hands.
An hour passed quickly, and the 11am gong rang.
Lunchtime.
There was more food than ever, a tofu dish, water
spinach (or something similar), a rice salad with coriander,
and a vat of dhal. I took a little of each, and a scrumptious
red apple that I ate first, remembering to chew. Have I said
the food is salty? Someone must have told them it's not
salty enough as it was saltier than ever. If I didn't have the
monk in my mind I may have had a word with the course
manager, who's always present during mealtimes. I'll let it
go, and drink extra water to compensate.
45
Our monk, the cougher/snorter fellow - one of many to
be fair - gets to sit separately at mealtimes, with a selection
of what's on offer served individually for him. He doesn't
always eat everything, as they give him too much. I can only
assume the rest goes to waste, which in my book is a sin.
Being brought up by parents who lived through the second
world war, we were taught to take what we can eat but
never more. In Asia it's the same: eat, take more if you
need, but never waste.
I couldn't help thinking that my monk would never have
wasted anything.
After lunch I walked, and walked, losing count of how
many laps of the centre I did. I kept my head down,
watching my feet and looking out for the feet of others to
avoid collisions. I stayed in my room when the 1pm gong
sounded (actually it rings at 1250pm so that everyone can
get to the hall and be ready for 1pm). My duty is to be at the
230pm group sitting, which I was. In the meantime I did
some yoga. My body ached, but nowhere specific. Better to
say my body was tired. This is a gruesome schedule we're
on.
I did try to meditate, wanting to see if Breath could help
me fathom my experience. Should I call it my 'trip'? But I
couldn't get her then, nor during the group session. By now I
was aching, probably from being a fidget and changing
position so often. Finally, when I stayed in my room between
330-5pm, she came to me. I was pseudo meditating, closer
to nodding off than a deep internal state, but she came,
because she knew I needed her.
46
Here's what she told me:
"You went back to a past life, it's as simple as that. The
first time is always a bit hairy. It's great saying you like
surprises, but some are bigger than others. And your first
trip back, that's a big one.
"I can see you're excited at the prospect of having past
lives, and are wondering who you've been, and how much
fun it's going to be to finding out. Well let me put you
straight: life is about being in this moment, not ones that
have been and gone. Live for now, not the past. Looking
back will never take you forward.
"All you'd learn is that you weren't anyone famous, and
the vast majority of your lives, and everyone else's, were
spent living very hard lives indeed, that ended in nasty
deaths from a horrible disease that no-one understood, or at
the hands of an enemy that hated you, in a battle over not
much at all.
"The only thing that might really be of interest is seeing
which other spirits have been there with you time and time
again, and are here now. But you don't have to go back to
know this, you can learn how to feel that in the present. In
fact you already do."
She asked me to think of whom from this current life I
felt a real affinity with, and sure enough my half dozen
choices, not necessarily all my best friends or closest family
members, were the ones she said I'd be born to, married to,
or parent or sibling or great friend of, many times over.
47
"There are people here on this course that you've
looked at and thought you know from somewhere. Right?" I
nodded. "As you come closer to what Goenka calls 'The
Universal Truth', or 'Law of Nature', you'll find more and
more like-minded people drawn together. You come to a
course like this when the time is right for you, when you are
ready for what you need to know, learn, and practice to
move further along your path. So do others, and you are far
more likely to meet past life acquaintances here than in a
thousand visits to the shopping mall.
"It was moving that you chose the monk. For all the
sadness of his early life, and his untimely demise, he was
one of your better lives. He understood love and
compassion, and used it to overcome pain and
disappointment. He was the closest you've been to seeing
the Light. "The closest, until now."
48
Day Four
"To find yourself, think for yourself" ― Socrates
This time I am awake way before the gong is due. I
reckon it's no more than 3am. No point trying to sleep, my
mind is in top gear already. At least I've got something new
to contemplate: dreams. . . .
Wild, vivid dreams, featuring an all star line-up of my
nearest and dearest, those that I've known for lifetimes, but
headlined by my mum & dad.
Both my parents passed away around the turn of the
century, the turn of the millennia, having lived decent lives.
I'd say they left when the time was right. They occasionally
visit me in my dreams, but this was something else. As is
the nature of dreams, the plot, location and characters
changed rapidly. Just as I was getting a feel for the movie,
we'd change sets. It was never anywhere that I knew, yet
the places felt familiar. Some were definitely reappearing
from previous, recurrent dreams. I can't piece enough
together to create anything tangible, but can be sure there
was a warehouse, an escape, running and hiding in terraced
backstreets, and my dad's old car. With my mum in it.
Staircases and lifts feature regularly in my dreams, and
this was no exception. But this is the first fire escape I recall
49
climbing down. I can feel the buddies that were with me,
people I think I know, but they kept changing. The good
news is we got away.
Aeroplanes and hotels, rivers and lakes, and old
girlfriends, are the other themes that make up the dreams I
remember when I'm me in the outside world. This world in
here, inside this centre, and inside my head, they're new
territory for me.
With time to kill, and nowhere to go, either with the
dreams, or with my body - I don't want to start walking about
outside and run the risk of disturbing others still sleeping I'm thinking again about the past lives. In my dreams I
always seem to be in this era, so I can't be visiting the past.
It could be my dreams are different planes of this planet,
here and now. A parallel universe. My mind is open to that.
I play mind-games imagining fantastic escapades that
my soulmate buddies, the ones I can identify from this life,
and I shared in previous existences. It's depressing to note
that these always end up in some sort of fight scene, with
guns, bows and arrows, swords and daggers. In one I flash
on killing a rabbit with a well aimed rock. Breath was right,
life was tough in the past, kill or be killed, fight to live, hunt
to eat, and death always so close by. I'm not sure I want to
go deep into a meditative state to see these lives I imagine.
There's the gong. The crickets and frogs are joined by
manmade noises, I can hear my neighbour peeing, and
plenty of people clearing their throats. It's an Asian thing.
Someone has an electric razor. I would have thought this
50
retreat was a good time to give your face a rest, but some
people still need to keep up appearances even when no-one
is looking at them, talking to them, or concerned about
anything other than what's happening in their own mind and
body. Ego . . . another one to meditate on.
********
In last night's discourse we were told today is
Vipassana Day, when we begin to learn the actual
meditation technique as taught by Gotama, the Buddha. The
past three days were just a prerequisite, practice to
strengthen the foundation that our meditation, and lives, are
built upon. Goenka, speaking so slow and mindfully to begin
with, really found his stride, and was telling stories that had
the whole room sharing much laughter. After the day I had had, I found I drifted a bit; with an
ear to the talk I looked around at the other students more
than I have previously. We watch these recordings in the
'mini-hall', a room that can sit about 30, or 40 at a squeeze.
Although there's still a gap down the centre of the room to
separate men and women, we're much closer together.
Within smelling distance. I got lucky with my choice of seat
as it's at the back of the room, and I can slide backwards a
little so as to rest against the wall. This is a big bonus, and
we have to sit on the same cushion every night.
I'm also on the centre-most row, closest to the ladies.
There are a couple who are good looking, but most are quite
plump. Mothers I'm guessing. Standard Malaysian food,
51
even the vegetarian variety, can be heavy on the carbs. I'm
discovering that meditation is a crucial element to a good
life, but I also know a balance must be struck between time
on your backside, and time on your feet burning calories
and staying fit. I wonder how many of this group will stick to
two meals a day come the eleventh day? For me, when I'm on my own, which I am most of the
time, I get by on a late afternoon fruit and veg juice, passing
on any dinner. If I'm a little hungry, a banana and some nuts
will be enough. A mango also makes a delightful evening
snack. If I have guests, or an invite to meet friends, I'll be
sociable, and will eat something light. I need to work more
on arranging lunches, so my evening routine stays on track.
I'm not much use after dark anyway, I'm used to sleeping so
early that by 8pm I'm already yawning.
Most of the ladies, like the shaver man, consider a
silent meditation retreat to be a silent fashion show. Some
are dressed so well they could be going out for fine dining.
I'm a big advocate of maintaining standards, which for me,
in a meditation retreat, means comfortable, clean clothes.
One of the rules is nothing fancy, and of course nothing
revealing. There's one back-packer hippie-looking kid - a
non-English speaker, which I know as he gets to listen to the
discourse in a separate room, with headphones, with a few
other Caucasians, and what I presume to be some
Japanese - well this guy is already starting to stink. I reckon
he's French, not that I'm saying the French stink. He must
have got a good sweat up during one of the hot afternoon
sessions, then worn the same shirt the next day. He may
have worn it in bed too. Phew, I'm glad I'm not too close to
him in the main hall.
52
It's that time of day again, the morning group session.
Had bananas and a bowl of stir-fried noodles for breakfast.
Walked a little, slept a little, dreamt a little. I was hardly
asleep but saw so very clearly huge leaks developing in my
home. First I see liquid pouring through my ceiling and run
upstairs to find heaps of citrus fruit, pomelos judging by the
size, spurting out great quantities of juice. Then, on a lower
floor, I see the ceiling bulging, water or something start to
come through, then that whole section of ceiling burst open,
under the weights of water-laden plants. Weird. Next the house is being repainted, my ex-wife is here,
but somehow the walls are grass green and the ceiling blue.
I stop the painters then tell her to get them to do it all white,
as it was before. I can sense I'm stunned, but not angry. In
the days when I was married I would have blown my top at
someone painting my walls the wrong colour. And I wouldn't
have been too happy about the leaks either. Could it be I'm
the new, calmer me in my dreams? Going back to the
previous dream, escaping and having men looking for us, I
didn't sense fear. That's definitely not me as I can't even
watch a chase in a movie without getting mightily jumpy.
********
Now we are concentrating on a smaller triangle from
the nostrils to the upper lip, searching for sensations. Let me
correct myself, we are observing to see if there are
sensations present. We must not search for them, desire
53
them, or be attached to having them. If there's no
sensations, go back to respiration. I get an internal itch in my left nostril, and remember to
stop myself from involuntarily scratching it. Sure enough, the
itch passes: anicca... impermanence. I'm sensing the
subtlest of breaths! I can hardly feel any air touching the
insides of my nostrils, but my breathing is even, and my
belly expands and contracts as it should. I'm amazed at how
sometimes we only use one nostril. In fact it's rare, when I
get in touch with this subtlest of breaths, that I feel it in both
nostrils. As Goenka says, as soon as we are moved by any
emotion, an aversion or craving, fear or desire, our
breathing changes. When it's at this lightest, purest level, we
are at peace. It's with this breath I feel myself falling.
My right foot is numb again, I'm still not getting far past
twenty minutes without having to change position. I pull both
knees up, hug them, and rest my head down on my
forearms. Still the breath is hardly noticeable, but I'm aware
it's there. Next second, I'm standing up, in a different world.
Here we go again! Boy oh boy oh boy. . . .
I'm looking down on what must be me, sat exactly as I
just described. Is that the Thinker position? Or does he have
his chin in one hand? I glance around quickly, and back to
the man sitting down. Is it me? Am I observing me from the
outside? An outer body experience? Isn't it transcendental
meditation where that happens? I wish Breath were right
here with me to give me answers, but I figure she'll be
wanting to let me experience this on my own.
54
It's very clear to me where I am: ancient Greece. That,
or this guy is on his way home from a toga party.
As I allow myself to be in this world, I begin to realise
that I'm someone else, standing up, looking at a guy who
happens to be sitting how I was when I fell into this. If that's
how it goes, great. I'll run with it.
I look down at myself, I'm dressed the same. I examine
my hands and strong, tanned forearms, and see the simple
sandals on my feet. I look around again, this time slowly,
taking everything in. The morning sky is already a distinct,
deep blue, without as much as a single cloud to tarnish it.
By contrast, the land is white, or bleached to a near white.
The ocean is only a few hundred metres away, beyond what
must be cliffs. I can hear it, smell it, feels its touch. As I look
along the coastline I can spy the sea a couple of bays down.
It's a turquoise hue, an unpolluted Mediterranean that I'd like
to plunge myself into.
I turn back to the man. If I'm me, then he's someone
else. Who might I know from ancient Greece? I surprise
myself by asking, "Phaedrus?"
Phaedrus is known to me from the Socrates Dialogues,
and is a character in Robert Pirsig books, an ancient Greek
alter-ego that helps the writer formulate a 'Metaphysics of
Quality', a philosophy that sits well with me.
At my question the man looks up.
"Me? No. He was here but he's gone. You'll find him
with Socrates and his mob."
55
"Who are you?" It was the only thing I could think to
ask, astonished to think that Socrates, the Socrates, is
around the corner.
"Athos. And you?"
Good question! I stared at him, looking deeply into his
blue eyes, eyes that seemed distant, almost blurry. I noticed
he wasn't looking at me, not my face, but at my chest. It was
as if he was trying to feel who I was.
As he looked, and I looked, it hit me who he was:
Richard!! One of my best buddies back in the other world,
and one I consider a soulmate. It was he I chose to
accompany me on my mind-games earlier. I wanted to shout "Richard!!" and hug him, but it was
clear he wasn't recognising me as I was recognising him. Of
course he didn't look the same as he does now, but I knew it
was him.
"You don't answer. There's no need to hide from me."
"I'm no-one. Just passing through."
He didn't seem to mind my evasiveness.
"Looking to pick up on the philosophies of the day eh?
Many a young man walks this way with such a plan."
I nodded, he carried on.
56
"Take yourself into town, you'll find plenty of ad hoc
lectures, sermons, diatribes and clowns with a following."
"Not your thing then?" I asked sympathetically. I nearly
said 'not your cup of tea' which surely would have
bamboozled him as it was nearly 2,000 years before tea
established itself as the drink of the day! "I listen often, I learn little."
"But do you teach?' I asked.
"Me? Teach? I can't do that. Who would want to learn
from me?"
"Learning is finding out what you already know. Doing is
demonstrating that you know it. Teaching is reminding
others that they know just as well as you."
Here I am, some four centuries before Christ was born,
quoting directly from a writer almost twenty four centuries
later. I hope Richard Bach doesn't mind.
"Really? That's very interesting." His demeanour had
perked up, but still he stared resolutely at my chest.
"Athos, Athos my love," a woman's voice called out. I
looked to my right and saw a small, delicate young lady
walking quickly towards us. Her eyes shown so bright, a
hazel colour that contrasted perfectly with her pale skin and
dark, dark brown hair. 57
"Here my love," said Athos unnecessarily as she was
close enough to see us. She nodded to me, but spoke to
him.
"Come my love, you must be hungry."
He stood up and she took his arm.
"Thank you," he said to me. "Thank you."
As they walked off I realised he was blind! I stood
staring, mouth open, thinking 'how could I have not realised
this earlier?'
"I'm birth blind," he called back to me, reading my
thoughts. "But I see things better now."
I'm overwhelmed, totally gobsmacked. My heart is
racing. I have no idea what my breath is doing, but doubt it's
calm and even.
"We'll meet again!" I called after him, spontaneously.
"I know," he says, without turning back. And with that, Athos was gone. For now.
********
I straighten my back, and open my eyes. In front of me
is the back of the head of the man on the cushion in front.
58
Around me all the other meditators sit, eyes closed, minds
distant. At least I hope that's the case, as then no-one will
see the tears rolling down my cheeks.
I sob once, my whole upper body shaking. I don't know
why I hope no-one notices, some silly male ego thing
probably. I take a few deeper breaths, relishing the air
flowing strongly in through my nose. It does the trick, and I
feel better, in control. I know I should be concentrating on
sensations in the triangular area between my nostrils and
upper lip, but I fall back onto respiration, and let a minute of
easy breathing bring me back to my centre.
"Breath, are you there? Please be there. Or here.
Wherever it is that we can talk."
"I'm here."
Joy oh Joy, her youthful voice fills me with confidence
and strength.
"You saw that, right?"
"Mmm." I can feel her warm, knowing smile.
"Can you explain it for me? Please."
"How about you think about it, then explain it to me. I'm
positive that with a little thought, you'll know exactly what
that was."
I nod, and feel her run off somewhere as I draw in
another long breath. Goenka's end of session chant begins,
59
and I let its vibrations course through my body, feeling my
essence join as one with the Nature Spirit, or the Great
Mother, or the whole damn Universe!! I don't know where he
channels that voice from, but it moves me to my very core. I
need to get back to my room, to shed some more tears.
Day Four is Vipassana Day. The afternoon session
timings are slightly amended, the group sit moving forward
to 2-3pm, then 3-5pm being Vipassana. There's a short
break between, but that's a lot of sitting however you look at
it. I'll use the 1-2pm slot to stay in my room doing restorative
yoga poses, which'll also allow me to put some thought into
Athos/Richard, and what today's trip was all about.
I can't help but wonder what else is in store. Both 'trips'
began during the same morning session, and seemed to be
triggered by my sitting position. Or maybe not, as with the
monk I took on his sitting position. Whatever it is, I fall, or
travel, when my breathing is subtlest, and when I'm not
ready for it! I'm sure if I start looking out for another rollercoaster ride to begin, it won't manifest. I'm not sure if that would be good or bad. These
experiences are amazing, and with some insight, must
surely be lessons or messages, something I need to know.
But as an emotional experience, they are beyond draining.
And now I have to focus my mind on the Vipassana
instruction. Oh well, this is what I'm here for, I'll give it my
best and see what happens. ********
60
That was intense! So much sitting, and virtually
continual instruction for nearly two hours. We are now
scanning our whole bodies from head to toe, observing any
sensations that are there. We were told to begin with a small
circle on the top of our heads, and as soon as I did this it
was if a hole opened up and a shaft of white light entered.
We're cautioned not to become attached to any pleasant
sensation, but I can't help loving this one. How cool was
that!!
We must then methodically move through our body,
scalp, face, right arm, left arm, throat and front torso, neck
and back torso, lower body (I include my hips, butt and
genitals in this), left leg, right leg. Once we're done, back to
the top to start again.
To be honest I didn't get many sensations, but know not
to be disappointed. Once you understand that sub-atomic
particles (kalapas, as Gotama named them) are in constant
flux, vibrating at all times, you know that there must be a
sensation all over the body, at all times. We just don't have
the refined awareness to notice. The previous three days of
anapana, as the focussing on the breath is known, and
concentrating on a very small section of our body was to
help us develop this awareness.
My awareness may have been lacking, but my
concentration was full; during that whole session I didn't
hear a single vehicle on the highway, or any of the natural
sounds that are with us non-stop. I completely blanked them
out. That felt like meditation, being totally at one with what
one is doing. 61
As my interest in this noble art has grown, I've come
across several books where the writer has given their take
on meditation. About the best, best as in it made sense to
me, was that meditation is when we are totally engrossed in
the subject at hand, be it pruning the roses, making dinner
or, as in my case in days gone by, doing business accounts,
or playing football. We are so immersed in our activity that
the involuntary thoughts stop, and we are in the moment, at
peace with ourselves and the job/game at hand. We
experience a timelessness where the ticking clock is of no
importance, and usually we'll find time flies by. I've found
this still to be the case even when time is relevant, as in
cooking or a football match.
And so to tea. I like this lemon water they give for the
older students. Must help contract the gut, and stave off the
hunger. I eat my banana and red apple first. Bedtime. I'm beat. Beat up too. Not me beating myself
up, but the final group session today. Suddenly we're asked
to practice 'strong determination, or 'aditthana' in Pali. This
means for the whole hour of each group sit, I assume until
we're finished, six long days away, we must endeavour to
hold our leg position, and not move our arms or open our
eyes. That's serious punishment for someone who can't stay
in one leg position for more than twenty minutes! But
somehow I get through, with minimal shifting and
disturbance of my neighbours. It's incredible to see those at
the front who sit motionless, back straight, for all the
sessions. 62
At least that got my attention, and I stopped thinking
about other stuff.
Breath was right, I was able to work out my ancient
Greek encounter by myself. Whenever anything clicked, I
could feel her acknowledgement, like she's patting me on
the back saying 'good boy'.
It was simple in the end, no need for me to revisit all the
circular paths I followed before finding the short, straight
one. The body I was in was me, in a previous life. I had
either that one brief encounter with Athos/Richard, or that
was the first of many, the beginning of a great friendship that
has endured to this life, and this day. I think I was no-one, just a young man passing through,
most likely wanting to hear the rhetoric for which that age
was famous. The interesting thing is I think what I told
Athos/Richard, was instrumental in his life, and helped him
see, or know, that he too could be a teacher, no matter that
he was blind. A touch of modern-day mentoring taken back
across the ages. Help people perceive something just
slightly differently, and a major shift can occur, or blockage
be cleared. The more I thought about it the more I was sure it was
the spark for our friendship, and that's why I chose that
specific moment to revisit. Or did that moment choose me?
Whichever way it works it's working for me. If clarity is my
goal from these 12 days, this stuff has got to be purposeful.
I know the mist will clear to reveal exactly what it is I need to
know. Just got to hang in there, let it happen.
63
Day Five
"What lies behind us and what lies ahead of us are tiny
matters compared to what lies within us" ― Henry Stanley Haskins
It's not the best start to the day. I've woken up with a
blocked nose. I woke up during the night for a pee, must
have drank too much water last night, which I did as I was a
bit hungry. I'm feeling like one of my Chinese co-meditators,
sniffing and snorting, clearing my throat. There's something
there to shift.
Bam! It's shifted!! One good snort has dislodged the
nastiest, thickest, stickiest ball of mucus I've ever produced!
Aww, that's horrid. I get it out onto some tissue, it must be
the size of a flattened ping-pong ball. Totally gross. But
better out than in. I'm not sick, and now that that is
dislodged, my airways are as clear as could be.
I understand that as we go through this deep surgical
operation to cleanse the mind that any sort of reaction can
manifest. This must be one of them. Well, good riddance to
that monster from the depths. I sneeze a few times, but I'm
fine, nose clear, no mucus. I sneeze cos it's cool. I'll need
my thicker shirt on for this morning's meditation.
Did I mention my blotchy right arm? Another reaction
I'm guessing. My left is normal. There's no itch, just distinct
64
red blotches covering my right forearm, top and underneath
that I noticed yesterday. Looks about the same now, in this
indoor light. I'm gonna head in, this is my favourite time to meditate,
and now that we've got a whole body to cover, I reckon the
two hours will fly by.
********
That was an awesome session. It's an awesome
morning generally. My scans, from the top of the head down
to the tips of the toes, were slow, but with more awareness
of sensations than yesterday. For sure, some of the
sensations were pure pain, and you can't get a stronger
sensation than that. My left knee was hurting, which is a
first; for all the injuries I've suffered, my knees have been
mercifully spared. Must be all the sitting causing it.
The chant this morning was the best yet, truly divine. It
was more upbeat, and Goenka is a master. Could it have
been thirty minutes? It was quite something. Breakfast was
okay, banana and papaya, which go great together. Shame
there wasn't a little lime to squeeze over them. The main
was rice porridge with sweetcorn, the closest we've come to
gruel yet. I passed on that, and had a couple of pieces of
Japanese sweet potato. I'm full, no need for toast.
After two real cloudy mornings we finally have
ourselves a dawn to remember. The clear sky overnight has
left just wisps of cirrus clouds in the distance, enough to
65
reflect and refract the light better than any Jean Michael
Jarre show. This is my favourite time of day, no doubt.
I try to spend time with the dawn every morning. This is
the best time for me to be with myself too. Even cloudy days
like we've had are still worthy of my time; watching the sky
lighten and brighten to reveal a thousand shades of grey,
even over the most mundane of landscapes, is a treat to
behold. You may miss the sunrise but that's only the encore,
not the full show. I try to give the dawn a minimum twenty
minutes of my time every day, and ideally I'd be out there,
gazing east from the preceding darkness until the sun pops
up over the horizon, or any clouds that may be hugging the
land. That can run to an hour or more here in the tropics,
and much longer when you are close to the poles in summer
time.
Dawn and I are like my love affairs: I take everything
and give little, of meaning, or myself, back. The difference is
dawn gives unconditionally, without expectation. I've only
met one woman who could truly do the same. And still I
couldn't commit.
Another one to meditate on.
The crowning glory on this morning's dawn and sunrise
was the sound of monkeys in the forests. They aren't that
close, maybe the other side of the highway, it's tough to tell.
Hoot-hoot-hoot, back and forth, or more like hoo-hoo-hoo.
They'll be having a hoot regardless. Monkeys usually do,
although I've seen plenty of sad ones driven from their
forests as the city grows ever more built up.
66
I've seen angry ones too; that's what happens when the
tourists get too close for comfort. They may like the bananas
you bring, but they don't like you getting close to their cute
babies. I saw a guy with his arm torn to shreds in Bali back
in the 80s. He was attempting to get that ultimate photo with
an inquisitive youngster that he tried to pick up, when daddy
said 'too close buddy' and intervened, with his teeth and
claws. Those macaques that are common to much of Asia descendants of the troops of Hanoman the myths say - are
as terrifying and ferocious as pit bulls. Time for some more strong determination. On the
notice board - the information was constant for the first three
days but changed yesterday and again today - it says we
mustn't torture ourselves. If we really can't take the pain
then of course shift position, as quietly as possible. If this
session you shift four times, next session try for three.
Sounds fair enough.
We must be half an hour in, and I'm dying. As it was
cool earlier I began this session with my shirt over a longsleeved t-shirt. So much for strong determination, not ten
minutes in I'm sweating from all the effort and have to open
my arms to remove my shirt. I did so with eyes closed so I
haven't broken that rule. As for my legs, both feet are numb,
and have been for a while. They don't hurt, and I have to
believe that everything is impermanent, and that at some
point later, my feet will come back to life. I don't change my
legs position, but I do shift a bit, as stealthily as I can, just to
take the pressure off my calf muscles and knees. I have a
small folded cushion under each knee. If I was sitting in a
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standard crossed-legged position - sukhasana to yogis - I'd
have given in. With my thoughts taken up with the strong
determination issues, I find my mind to be staying more
focused than usual. In the back of my mind is the knowledge
that it was right around now the last two days that I met the
monk and Athos/Richard.
I don't make it. About ten minutes from the end I have
to, have to, bring my knees up, allow some blood and chi to
work their way back into my feet. Oh well, never mind,
mustn't be down on myself, I gave it the best I could. Maybe
next session I'll get there. We get a short break and I reflect
on not being taken on a crazy ride. It could be that I'm the
driver, and didn't bring my ignition key this time. Goenka's
new favourite word is equanimous, and that's what I must
be.
The rest of the morning passed off without drama. The
new students were called up to be questioned by the
teacher, 'are we getting sensations? do we understand the
instruction?' Everyone seems to be on track. It's funny how
you wonder if others are getting more sensations than you,
or are already experiencing a full vibration throughout their
bodies, or sections of it. I know this is not competitive, but
it's the nature of men to be so. I've seen many a man hurt
himself in beginners yoga classes as they strive to be as
good as the ladies in the class, or the teacher. Madness!
And a good source of business for chiropractors.
68
I took a nap during the break after lunch, knowing I'll
need to be wide awake for the next group session when
we're bound to try again the strong determination for an
hour. I reckon I can nail it this time. I've chosen to stay in my room before that session, at
least I can meditate here sat against the wall with my yoga
bolster behind me. It allows me to relax more, and keep
better alignment. Let's see what sensations show up this
time.
As I get comfortable, sure enough my breath softens to
its faintest. I'm scanning my face and pause at the nostrils,
marvelling that such little breath can keep big me going. I
could stay here forever, such a feeling of peace, without a
care in the world. This is like sleeping, or a dream state.
Someone once said to me that 'sleep is the best
meditation', and I wasn't sure if he was pulling my leg or not.
With the dreams I've been having I wouldn't call sleep a
meditation.
"Don't sleep."
"Breath?" I whisper. We haven't spoken at all today.
"Don't go too deep." She pauses. "Not yet."
I nod or somehow communicate that I understand.
"I want you to meet someone."
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"Huh..? What?!!" If I'd been on the verge of sleep I
wasn't anymore.
"Calm down." She's so steady, just like any good
teacher.
"You don't think I do all this on my own, do you?"
"Breath, I don't know what to think. Life is full of
surprises right? Which I said I like, and I do. But some
surprises take a while to get over, and currently my 'getting
over' quotient is backed right up."
"Ha-ha-ha. You do make me laugh."
"Laughing is good!" I said.
"Well you're in for a barrel of them with my friend here."
Before I could speak, or think, the friend piped up:
"Hiii-ya!"
An American! What's she doing here?
"Hello." I'm shaking my head, mystified.
"Howww yoooou doooin'?" Each word was drawn out.
Not just an American but a New Yorker, by the sounds
of it. What is going on in my head??
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"I guess I'm doing absolutely fabulously. Who am I
talking to?"
"I'm Sensations, baby." she pronounced, confidently.
"Sensations Baby? Is that your full name?"
She squawked, a real laugh doing an impersonation of
a false one.
"Oh this guy's funny, this is gonna be a blast!" She
emphasised the word 'blast'.
"I'll let you two get on with it then." Breath takes off, to
do all the things she does, and to let us get on with it.
I wait for Sensations to speak, she waits for me. Then
she breaks the ice.
"Cat got your tongue Buster?" She asks.
"Please don't tell me there's a cat in here too, I think my
head's gonna explode."
That's got her laughing hysterically, and me wanting to
cover my ears. On the inside.
"You wouldn't want me being all feline, would ya?" She
teased.
"Well I do like cats, better than dogs. I certainly wouldn't
want you to be a dog."
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"You mean a bitch? Like this . . ."
I get an incredibly sharp pain in my neck!! I can feel
myself pull away from the wall I'm propped up against. This
is real pain. I'm tempted to open my eyes, in the hope it will
stop. The pain, everything.
Then it's gone, as quickly as it came. I take a breath
through my mouth, and realise I'd been holding my breath, I
don't know for how long.
"I just wanted to get your attention," Sensations
explained, her voice surprisingly tender and compassionate.
"So that's what you do? Make me feel things?"
"No, only you can do that. But I'm like the floor
supervisor, if the boss misses a trick, I pick up the slack. It's
a standard employee-employer relationship: I do all the
work, you reap all the benefits."
I'm quite offended. "If you've been around a while
young lady, and, like Breath, I'm assuming you have, since
day one, then you'll know that I've always been an excellent
employer who treated his staff as equals. Always."
"You were too good," she conceded, contritely.
I go from self-righteous to bashful. She's continues,
"let's think of ourselves as a team."
"A team. Okay. Who's coach?"
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"Haha. Good one. How about 50/50 partners then?"
"That I like. Now tell me what I have to do."
********
I did it! With Sensations help I sat for an hour without
changing my leg position, lifting my hands from my knees,
or opening my eyes. What rapid progression! This time
yesterday the best I could manage was twenty minutes, now
I do an hour. It's remarkable what we can do when pushed. Sensations didn't really do much, but gave me the
confidence I needed to not give up. It was handy too having
her reassure me that if my feet were numb for forty minutes
it wouldn't lead to amputation. She told me that after a while
the numbness goes and life returns, and that's what
happened. I was thinking she might do me a favour, now
that we were partners, and cut out all the pain completely. "What fun would that be?" was her cool response. It was not easy; my legs regained and lost the feeling in
them several times over, by the last quarter hour my back
was seriously aching and I was sitting hunched over worse
than the monk I'd once been, and Sensations was nowhere
to be found. Not until the end of session chant began, and
she whispered in my left ear - which I thought was a neat
trick - 73
"Told you you could do it . . ." She did tell me, and I did
do it, so as 50/50 partners we're equal.
********
I begin the evening in a mood so good I'm worried the
other students or teacher will notice, and think I'm crazy.
Just about everyone else appears to be in a daze. With
Goenka's voice, and the Mandarin translation, behind me, I
submerge myself into a sea of calm, and allow myself to find
a comfortable posture, which I must again hold for the hour.
"Relax into it," was her advice, "and once you've found
your alignment, stick with it. Be resilient, yet relaxed, at all
times." Okay, I didn't pull it off perfectly, but I get the idea.
I feel more comfortable this time, although we're not
half way through yet. I feel so at ease with myself, whilst
maintaining the scan of my body, "part by part, piece by
piece," as Goenka says, I try a little multi-tasking (I am a
Gemini after all).
"Ladies, care to join me this evening?"
"I'm here Matey, you're doin' great." I love the positive
attitude, or charge, that Sensations carries.
"I'm never far away either." By comparison, Breath is
the solid one, my rock.
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I hug myself, metaphorically, as physically I'm to keep
my hands were they are, on my knees, and float on a wave
of bliss, brought on by the presence of these new ladies in
my life. And isn't that typical of my life, never one good lady,
always two, or three, or seven, or 'I don't know, leave me
alone, I want to be on my own!' For all the practice I've had,
relationships is one game that I've never got much good at.
No matter how fortunate I've been to attract wonderful
women into my life. I wonder how I was in previous lives.
"About the same." Sensations confirms, although I
hadn't really asked.
"Am I going to discover why that is? And if I do, will I
then be able to make a change, for the better?"
"That's a tough question Cookie." Tough talkers, these
New Yorkers.
"One to meditate on." Breath reminds me.
The pain in my back, bearable until now, starts to get
much worse. Not only are my feet numb, I can't feel my
calves either. I'm gonna have to move. I breathe hard a few
times, I'm totally losing it, and I was so good earlier. I can
sense it's the thought of relationships that's thrown me. And
so can Sensations.
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"Alright already! Don't be a Schmuck, feeling sorry for
yourself."
My knee pain comes back, with a bang. I groan as
quietly as I can, back in the real world of the meditation hall.
"Did that hurt, my little Mashugana? You know how to
beat it."
"Mashugana? Are you Jewish?" Thought of my extreme
discomfort shifts to the back-burner.
"You have a problem with that?" I can see in my mind
Sensations sticking her chin out defiantly as speaks.
"Of course not," I say, in my most diplomatic, sincere
voice.
It's not until now I've thought to put a form to
Sensations, as I did with Breath. The pain has receded, my
breathing is back to normal, and I feel in control.
I let my mind go, feeling this female presence that I've
already become so intimate with. So odd, I'm feeling
nervous about meeting a voice in my head. I try to swim with
the presence, to come face to face with Sensations, but,
being an American, she decides it's showtime:
"Da-dah!!" The image I get is of her bursting through a
ring that's covered with lightweight paper, circus-like. We are
now eye-to-eye.
"You're black?" I exclaim. Not what I was expecting.
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"Hey Buddy this is the 21st century, equals
opportunities for all."
"I couldn't agree more," I said. "But a black Jewish
woman as the partner in my bodily sensations . . .??"
"Well this is what you got. Which is exactly what you
wanted. And I'm mixed race. My mum was white Jewish, my
dad Afro-Caribbean."
"Wow. It's a beautiful mix." At that she smiles.
"Any mix is a beautiful mix, and you should know that."
I think of the beautiful mixed-race kids in my life. Wow, I
hadn't given them much thought this past five days. I hope
they're well. And safe.
77
Day Six
"The eyes only see what the mind is prepared to
comprehend” ― Henri Bergson
I became the Indonesian All-Comers Pole Vault record
holder without much difficulty. I didn't even have to make a
jump as the indoor facility didn't have a high enough roof.
Some officials decided I could make 16 feet, nearly three
feet better than the existing record, and that was it. No need
to get a photo of a contorted me wrapping myself over the
bar, just one standing, holding the pole, satisfied the local
press.
They wanted another photo, me with a young African
man who broke the indoor Short-Course Walking Backwards
record. He looked West African, Senegalese or Gambian.
My best buddy in Indonesia, Ziggy, the German-American
spear-fisherman with whom I once shared a house was
there to witness events, and then we all went to the mall.
At least there was a flow to this dream, as peculiar as
the scenes were. I've never had anything to do with polevaulting, or backwards walking. I'd been in Indonesia the
previous night too, with Ziggy, and another good friend
there, Dicky. It was great to see them. I wonder if I'm on a
world tour: it was England the first night these dreams came
to me. Now Indonesia. America and Australia to come? Who
knows. . . .
78
Again I woke for a pee then couldn't get back to a deep
sleep. I restricted my water intake last night, so I don't know
what it is. I don't know what anything is. Not surprising
perhaps, as we're now half way through this surgical
operation. I'm bound to feel rough.
The slight headache I took with me into the hall for the
early morning meditation petered out, but I could only stay
forty minutes. I've got plenty of crap wanting to be blown out
of my nose or hacked out of my throat, and this isn't
conducive to calm, peaceful meditation, for me or for the
other students there. I'll sit here in my room for a bit, then go
back for the last 45 minutes. I want to hear Goenka's
morning chant.
I mentioned yesterday that people were walking around
in a daze. Today it's worse, everyone a zombie. During
breakfast, and the free time after when most take the
opportunity to walk, I can see we've hit a low. And I'm right
down there with them. Tough day ahead. Maybe two or
three tough days ahead. I've heard that by day eight or nine
the worst is over. Here's hoping. . . .
Clouds, glorious clouds this morning, we won't be
seeing any sun for a while. Weather to match the mood
throughout the centre. There's one white guy, big fellow,
who usually walks with a swagger, keeping the pace up, so
keen he wears proper running shoes. Even he's dawdling
around, lost somewhere inside, trying to work out what the
hell has hit him.
79
My arm is less blotchy, but now my forehead is dry and
covered in tiny spots. This never happens to me. A reaction
to the shower water here, or some deeper rooted cause? I
find a small tube of moisturiser in my toilet bag, and apply
some. I don't like using cosmetic products, but am glad I
have this here with me. It must have been the reason I kept
it.
********
I'm out. That's the hardest it's been. I couldn't get
through the hour of strong determination. The guy in front is
struggling too, he has a cold, or sinusitis. As soon as the
teacher said new students could continue their practice back
in their residential quarters, I was out of there. I've tried a
head stand, but then my nose filled with gunk and I had to
come down. A shoulder stand was better, followed by some
twists, poses I tend to omit (as I don't like them so much).
I've been thinking about what Sensations said - not a
peep from either of them this morning, incidentally - when I
questioned why I have a black Jewish partner in my head:
"Well this is what you got. Which is exactly what you
wanted."
I've created her, yet she's real. The pains have not been
a figment of my imagination, even if, partly, she must be. I
can only think that all that's occurring, as real, or illusional,
or delusional, is doing so as it's exactly what I need. I'm
happy to accept that at some point in the future the coin will
80
drop and everything will make crystal clear sense, but I'm
equally intrigued by the workings of my own mind. Workings
that apparently can get on with their own thing, irrespective
of my input or involvement. I think it's obvious all this is exactly the intention of such
a meditation course. No two people will have the same
experience, as no two people are alike. The heightened
awareness is more and more apparent, and I'll spend more
time after lunch walking around looking at the gardens and
surrounding jungle, amazed at the intensity of the flowers
and leaves, birds and other wildlife. When I was dying
earlier trying to hold my position, no actually it was after
that, once I'd given up, changed position and decided to
stick with my breath, the birdsong from outside was like an
orchestra, in its diversity and volume changes.
After the tea break yesterday, buoyed by having
Sensations on board, I was floating around the walk. I stood
stock still and stared attentively into the foliage - Henry
David Thoreau style, if you know 'Walden' - and it was
remarkable what came into view: lizards, a squirrel, heaps
of butterflies of different types, and many more insect
sounds that I'd not picked up previously. Pure rapture.
So today is not all roses. I didn't make it through the
hour. The papaya wasn't so ripe and juicy, the vegetable
noodle soup offering was a touch bland, and the clouds
hang heavy. All this will pass. Everything always does.
That's the lesson: anicca, anicca, anicca. I'm going to stick
with equanimity, a balanced mind.
Me? A balanced mind? Yeah right . . .
81
I can hear Sensations laughing long and loud. Even
Breath thinks it's funny. So much for friends in your time of
need. Women eh... Who needs 'em?
I tried to meditate in my room at 1pm. Freshly
invigorated after a cold shower I thought I was all set for a
good session. I got comfy against the wall with my bolster
propping me up, and stretched my legs out onto my bed.
Five minutes later I'd given up, and gone to lying down.
My back was already starting to hurt, and if I'm to get
through the next strong determination session, I need to be
starting in good shape, not carrying a pain from beforehand.
Lying here now, my emotions are mixed. I wanted
clarity, but have more muddy waters swilling around in my
head than ever before. I can be positive, and know in this
moment that the clarity will come, and the muddy path is still
a part of my path that I have to pass through. The pain is
too; as Goenka says, we are suffering as the purification of
our bodies takes place, and all our stacked up 'sankharas'
are cut out and dispensed with. Patience is another word he
reminds us of regularly.
Patient I can be. "Hey, Sleepy Boy."
I must have drifted off. Nothing like being horizontal for
drifting into sleep.
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"New York calling. Feel like chatting?"
"Sure. What's on the agenda partner?"
She pauses, I wait. "Do you ever wonder what these
sensations are? Not the severe pain, but the little stuff."
"I do."
"Okay, concentrate on your face, and tell me what you
feel."
A game! I like this. Better take a few breaths so I'm
calm. I steady myself for a minute then scan my face.
"I feel a pin-point sensation, right eyebrow, like a pin
prick, but not sharp or painful."
"That was an eyebrow hair falling out."
"Really?? Wow!" I'm impressed. "And you did that?"
"Someone had to give it a push. Whaddya pickin' up
now?"
"Similar type of sensation on my chin, 3 or 4 of them."
"That's your stubble growing."
I exhale through my mouth, feeling pretty stunned.
"One more, you got it?"
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"On my cheek, my left cheek. Is that it?"
"Spot on Maestro. That was a tiny piece of dead skin
detaching itself . . . with a little help from you know who."
"And I can sense these things all the time? If I'm tuned
in, if my awareness is high?"
"This and much more Smarty Pants. You know how
when you sprint you're heart will pound? Then you can feel
it right?"
"I'm with you, go on."
"Your heart is a large organ that's pounding all the time,
yet you can't feel it now. Unless you try . . ."
I try . . .
"Wow, wow, wow. Man, my whole ribcage is vibrating in
tune with it!"
"And so it should be. Now go back to your face, try your
temples."
I pick up the pulsation, the constant throb, and open my
eyes.
"Close your eyes, Knucklehead. Now start on the top of
your head, as you do when you start your rounds."
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"I can always get a sensation here, every single time.
Hey the first time we tried this I felt as though a hole opened
up and a shaft of white light came in. What was that?"
"I don't know what that was."
"You don't? I'm surprised. It hasn't happened since, just
that first time."
"You're there now right, focusing on the top of your
head."
"I am."
"Visualise your scalp as a clock face, 12 is towards your
third eye, 6 is the occipital. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Now scan one quarter, 12-3."
"It's sort of humming."
"It's vibrating. Move to 3-6."
"It's the same. Yes, an even vibration. Amazing."
"Now 6-9, then 9-12."
"Yeah, yeah! My whole scalp is vibrating! And there's a
kind of, of . . . of . . . expanding and contracting, like my
whole head is pulsating."
85
"Now move that to your face."
"Man oh man, my whole face has it! When I focus on
my nostrils it's like they flare open with every breath. That's
incredible. My whole face is moving with the breath!"
"This is . . ."
"My ears are vibrating and pulsing too. This is so cool
Sensations, so bloody cool."
"This is what you hear Goenka talking about with the
older students, telling them to sweep the body when they
have a full vibration."
I'm trying to listen but am still caught up in how my head
feels.
"And next I'd move it to my neck and throat?"
"No, next is your arms, from your shoulders, then the
throat and front trunk, and so on."
"Yeah, okay, I've got the order."
"But don't expect full vibrations or that pulse to be there
all the time, or on all parts of the body. You need to develop
your awareness to a greater level before you've got the full
deck in your hands."
"I had something going in my right shoulder there, but
nothing around my upper arm."
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"As I said, or as Goenka says, some areas will be dull,
or blind. Spend a little time there, up to a minute, then move
on. And don't go getting down if one area doesn't light up
like Times Square on New Years. Your job is only to
observe, and remain equanimous."
"Thanks Sensations. If you can just help me by keeping
the pain down during the next session, I'll scan and sweep
like the best student you've ever had."
"No pain, no gain Buddy. See ya laaa-ter."
********
I did it. Got through the hour with minimum pain, just
one foot that died and resurrected itself a few times. I didn't get the uniform vibrations (that I was secretly
hoping for . . . probably where I went wrong), and other than
one unexplainable sensation in my right thigh early on, it
was a quiet session. Quiet except for the burpers and the
guy blowing his nose. One old lady has a bad cough, she
must smoke more than the monk.
I know that when I'm hearing all this stuff around me I'm
not deep enough in my meditation. I tried again in my room
later, before tea break, but even with peace and quiet, and a
bolster behind my back, my monkey mind was having a bit
of a banana party. The theory is that when you have a good,
deep meditation, that unearths all the age-old defilements
that we then experience as agitation of the mind, and pain in
87
the body, during the next session. So in effect, a bad
session is a good session as you are purifying yourself. We
just have to remember not to react to the agitation, pain, or
whatever arises. That will only start the vicious circle of
more craving, or more aversion. Let it pass. And say
goodbye as it goes.
********
The madness has started again. A board meeting at this
late hour? Just when I think I'm getting to grips with things,
something new comes along to knock me sideways. It's
bedtime, I need to sleep. This one I'll save till tomorrow.
88
Day Seven
“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We
are spiritual beings having a human experience.” ― Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
Sure enough, the first of two vivid dreams occurs
in America. I'm flying in to San Francisco with my business
partner Harry, and he points out the warehouse of our
customer down below. Outside is a replica Tudor mansion
that Harry sold him. We land, visit, nothing remarkable. Just
a great feeling to be with Harry.
Harry was a couple of decades older than I. We were in
business together for 18 years. He taught me more than
he'll ever know, as much about life, and how to enjoy it, as
about good business practice. We grew close like brothers,
and still are, but he's not much of a communicator. He's
more likely to call out of the blue than write an email,
although I did eventually teach him how to work the basics
on a computer. I meant to call him before I came here.
He's retired now, practising the art of being the perfect
family man. He knows how to give unconditionally, and has
done so all his life. His contentment is testimony to how you
can get everything, by never expecting anything.
My second dream was back in England. The usual run
of unexplainable scenes - is a dream ever truly explainable?
89
- including Richard, and one of my best friends from school
who last year I caught up with for the first time in many
years. It was the young him, not the fat and bald current
version, that hovered around. The weird bit was going home
- not my real home but a terraced house on a main road
with an Italian restaurant two doors down - to discover my
mum smoking a pipe and eating a small green apple. The
phone rang so she passed me the apple to have a free
hand. It had had one smokey bite taken out of it. She
gestured for me to take a bite, but I couldn't.
I'm going to have to see what Breath and Sensations
can tell me about dreams. Should we ever give them any
credence whatsoever, or let them go as fleeting moments of
illogical brain function? These bodies we live in are the most
astonishing creations, and I can't help but think that
everything happens as it's been designed to happen. In
which case, what's with the dreaming?
Today, our communal energy is at its lowest. Rock
bottom. I looked around the dining hall at breakfast to see
plenty of heads in hands. We all seemed to hang around
longer, or eat slower, and shuffled about when anyone could
be bothered to get up to make toast. This silence,
exacerbated by not being able to make eye contact or any
gestures, makes one feel this is a solitary experience, no
matter that other people are just a few feet away at virtually
all times. It's collective loneliness.
My days have been so up and down, but the ups don't
hang around for long, and the downs are starting to feel
eternal. It's got to be up from here. Hasn't it? Leaving isn't
90
an option. I'm not fit, nor can anyone else be, to face any
other world. We are at the crux of this mind-surgery,
perilously on the edge.
All these people I don't know, and don't feel I want to
know. I have nothing to say to any of them; none of them
have anything to say that I care to hear. Yet having 40 other
men - I can't add in the 60 women as I'm not close enough
to them to see and share their angst - here with me, going
through their own surgical operation, bewildered by their
own dreams, nightmares and vicissitudes of the mind, gives
me tremendous support. Doing this on your own, if that were
possible, would feel like a psychiatric prison. That would be
hell, as this is a kind of hell, but a hell coddled in a heaven.
We have a teacher to talk to, and volunteer helpers looking
after our every, simple, need. The flora and fauna all around
soften the edges, counter the blows, offer a diversion for the
extreme awareness we now experience.
Just have to keep breathing, maintain a calm,
equanimous mind. I can do that. Four more days. It'll get
better. It has to. There's nowhere else to go.
Breakfast was some dark, fried noodle affair with just a
spattering of vegetable. I had papaya and toast with peanut
butter. Then they bought some bananas out, so I had
another slice of toast with peanut butter to accompany my
banana. It'll get me through till 11am. The sky has everything: dark clouds in the north, clear
to the south, and various cloud formations in between. The
sun is up and making the most of it. I have to do the same.
Strong determination, here I come. 91
********
Another session behind me, the end that tiny bit closer.
I haven't really thought about the end until now. Once it's
over I should get a massage as soon as I can. Or might that
be too much? All I've planned for the week post Vipassana
is to stay in the condo, maybe take some drives up into the
hills. I'd like to keep the phones off most of the time. There
will be some emails, but I'm not expecting much disturbance
there. I've got some books to read, and I'll do regular yoga
and work-outs. A long solo hike might also be good. Maybe I
should get out of town, go to the highlands. I am looking forward to eating my own salads! Not
enough raw food on the menu here. Fresh juices too. It
might be worth driving to the coast for some fresh fish.
I got excited for a second thinking about calling
Richard, to tell him we met thousands of years ago. But now
I remember he's an atheist, believing that when you're dead
you're dead. He was supportive of me giving a go to this
Vipassana retreat (they should honestly call it meditation
bootcamp), but I doubt he'd ever consider it. I do have some friends who are keen to hear of my
experience, and who I know are ripe for Vipassana
themselves. Of course most find finding 12 days difficult,
what with jobs, families, pets, vegetable gardens and a
million other 'commitments' they can tactfully manoeuvre in
to place to avoid facing the depths of their self. If you can
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overcome that fear then 11 nights and 12 days out of the
rest of your life is a very small commitment indeed. The few people I met who had taken a course were all
positive to its effects on their lives. It was comforting to hear
what they had to say, but once I'd signed up, which I did the
moment I heard about it, nothing could have kept me away.
Maybe a massage would be best, but nothing deep like
Tui Na or Thai, just an oil rub. I know a good place, and the
names of the best therapists who will listen when I say 'go
easy'.
So much for meditating in my room. I come back when
I'm free to do so, as I think I'm more comfortable, and there
are no distractions. But who needs external distractions
when you've got salads, massages, phone calls and a billion
other things right here in your head, keeping you
sidetracked for lifetimes upon lifetimes. What a powerful
thing the mind is. What a uncontrollably powerful thing the
mind is. But isn't that why I'm here?
********
I may as well relate last night's 'board meeting'. In fact,
thinking of it makes me smile, and that's the first one today.
It was the last half-hour session of the day, after
another insightful and very funny discourse. I was sat there,
sweeping the parts of my body where I get uniform
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vibrations - usually my head and limbs - and slowly going
over my chest and back individually, when Sensations pops
up out of nowhere.
"Hey, how ya doin'?" Such a New York accent.
Her voice was soft though, as if she didn't want
someone else to hear. I pull myself up a little and dreamily
tell her I'm doing fine.
"Good, I got some folks here wanna talk to ya."
"Folks? What is this, are we running group tours now?
Roll up, roll up, come see the monkey mind of a man who
mistakenly thought he was sane."
"We won't take much of your time," a voice cut in. This
time a male voice. I immediately identified it, or associated it
with a man in his 30s, a factory worker, polite, reasonably
intelligent, and a good person.
"Sensations, you haven't introduced us . . ." From
dreamy to sarcastic to formal mode. I amaze myself
sometimes.
"This is . . . er . . . your left leg."
Before I could fall off my meditation cushion again, she
quickly added "I got things to do, catch ya later," and was
gone.
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I could sense the swoosh as she took off at speed,
catching a "have fun" as she disappeared into wherever it is
she goes.
Left Leg continued . . .
"Yes, this shouldn't take long. Now that you are paying
attention, and getting to know Breath and Sensations, I
wanted to take this opportunity to have a word myself. Is
that okay?"
"Absolutely. How can I help?" What else could I say?
"Well I hope you can help, I do. See the thing is, I've
been feeling rather neglected, not just today or this last
week, but most of your life. Which is of course my life."
"Neglected? How?" I'm nonplussed, to put it mildly.
"He thinks you prefer me." A different voice, slightly
deeper, slightly bolder, but from the same factory.
"Can I finish explaining please." Left Leg pleaded.
"Yes, yes, let him finish. And you are?" Here I am,
unelected chairman yet again.
"I'm your right leg," said Right Leg, with no effort to hide
his pride.
95
Two deep breaths, then I continue. "Left Leg, please
carry on, the floor is yours."
"No it's not, it's ours," a higher, nasally voice chips in,
before bursting into laughter. Laughter that is echoed by
another, similar voice.
Then a deeper, slower voice joins in the fun:
"The floor's been mine most of the last week, what with
all this bloody meditating."
This comedian laughs at his own quip, whilst the other
two laugh all the more. I think I pick up a snigger from Right
Leg too.
"Excuse me, can we have some order!" The laughing
dies down. "Before anyone butts in can they have the
decency to introduce themselves please."
"Butts in, that'll be me then." More hysterical laughter all
round at this comment from the deeper, slow voice.
"Sorry I couldn't resist. I'm your bottom." Says Bottom.
"Are you?" I say matter-of-factly, "I should have
guessed."
"And we're you're feet. I'm Left Foot, he's Right Foot,"
"Yeah Right Foot. That's me that is."
I need to take control, and see where this is heading. 96
"Any other parts of my body care to introduce
themselves?"
I can sense a pause, as they work out which order to
speak in.
"I'm your belly, pleased to meet you." A positive and
upbeat fellow by the sounds of it.
"Hello Belly." I really can't believe this conversation is
going on in my head.
"Chest here." Bellows Chest, sergeant major-like.
"I'm your back," croaks Back, obviously in discomfort.
"Pardon me if I keep quiet, I'm suffering big time."
"I know you are Back, I know you are." I genuinely
sympathise.
"It's just as tough for us you know, what with keep going
numb, getting the circulation back only to go numb again
five minutes later. It's no holiday down here, let me tell you." "Left Foot, can you hold off for a bit, we're still doing
introductions."
Left Foot tuts at being reprimanded.
"I'm Right Arm, hello there."
"And I'm Left Arm, good to meet you."
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Some sophistication at last. I'm impressed!
Quietly, both my hands say 'hi', and I'm disoriented by
their effeminate voices.
Out of nowhere, Sensations appears just inside my
right ear, and whispers purposely.
"Hey, all those ladies commenting on how beautiful your
hands were, those elegant pianist's fingers, manicured nails,
these are what got half of them into bed with you! Be
grateful."
I am grateful, if a tad hurt to learn is wasn't my great
jokes or casual demeanour that was the key.
"Hi Hands, it's a pleasure to meet you." I beam warmly
and sincerely inside, and feel them beam back at me.
"Is that it? What about my head"
"You're your head," Chest informs me, "don't you know
that?"
"Er, I do now. Great, let's bring this meeting to order."
I'm in control. Good.
"Can we call it a gathering? Meeting sounds too formal.
We're all friends after all." Belly made his point. I decide to ask Left Leg. "Left Leg, you were first to
speak, what would you like this to be?"
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"Thank you for asking, but I do feel this is important,
and worthy of official status. To me, as we're all here and it's
not a party, it's a meeting, not a gathering." Right Leg may
have the bravado, but Left Leg is shop-steward material.
Before anyone can counter I speak, feeling like the
chairman I was of so many meetings in the past.
"Right, a meeting it is. Left Leg, you were saying you're
feeling neglected. Would you please elaborate."
"Well, let me give you an example. As you scan us for
sensations you always do Right Leg first, and you spend
more time on him."
I'm shocked, I hadn't realised, but I found myself being
all defensive.
"We were told to do the right leg first, and anyway,
we've now been told we can do both arms and legs
simultaneously."
"Only if you've got uniform vibration, otherwise you're
meant to work part by part, piece by piece." Chest had quite
clearly being paying excellent attention.
I continue: "I wasn't aware I was spending more time on
Right Leg." Before I can finish my apology, Right Foot jumps
in.
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"Being aware is what this is all about, surely you've
noticed?" Sarcasm from my right foot... I wonder where he
got that from?
"No need to be impertinent." Right Arm put Right Foot
in his place.
In my head I raise a hand to get everyone to stop. I
hope in the main hall I don't do the same. The teacher may
be watching.
"Left Leg, I do apologise, any lack of time spent on you
was not intentional, and I shall do my best to rectify the
matter."
But Left Leg is not appeased.
"It was the same when you used to play football, always
scoring with your right leg and foot, always doing the fancy
stuff with them. You need both of us to run you know." If Left
Leg had a bottom lip, it would be quivering.
"Left Foot, do you feel the same?"
"I don't like to complain, but I know what he's saying."
And if Right Foot had eyes, they'd be rolling.
"But Left Leg, and Left Foot, surely you are aware that
you are equally as responsible for the goals, and everything
else I've ever done on the sports field. When Right Leg and
Foot combine to bang the ball home, you're there, the
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standing leg, giving them the stability to do so. Even that
flying volley . . ."
"Ah, it was a beauty," Chest adds gleefully. I feel I can
sense his eyes closed in quiet reminiscence.
"Even that volley, Right Leg was swinging through the
air, Right Foot connected with the ball, but without you guys
counter-balancing everything, swinging through the air too,
that could not have happened. You all work for each other,
together, the perfect team." For poetic effect I add, "a Dream
Team."
They are all speechless, and if my hands had noses,
they'd be blowing them (assuming they also had
handkerchiefs, which I reckon they would. Silk ones.)
"How many one-legged footballers have you seen at
the World Cup?" I ask, to bring my point home.
"None since Scotland last qualified!" Belly shouts out,
and we all share a really good 'belly' laugh. Even Left Leg
loosens up and has a chuckle.
The laughter dies down, and as Chairman, it's my duty
to ask, "any other issues anyone would like to bring up? Or
as this is formal, any other business members would like to
table?"
"Nah, I think we're okay," Chest, the unofficial
spokesperson, or spokes'body-part', says on every part's
behalf.
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"Can we ask," Right Hand says timidly, glancing across
at Left Hand, "if you'll consider taking up the piano again?
You've got the time now." I need another long deep breath to steady myself, so
moved am I by this request.
"I will consider it." And true to form, without thinking
further, I add, "In fact I'll go better than that, I'll do it." That's
me, always prepared to commit on the spot, go out on a
limb, as it were...
Hands don't speak, but I feel them mouth 'thank you' to
me.
"You'll have to get a bigger rucksack then." Bottom
jests, and we're all on the floor in laughter again. What a great bunch of body parts I have.
********
Lunch was good today, steamed carrot, broccoli and
cauliflower with dhal and brown rice. There was another
dish but I loaded up on the steamed stuff. I was just getting
into my walk when the rain came, having spent the earlier
part of the rest period adding more misery to my back doing
washing. No wonder he's quiet.
It's been quiet all day today. Breath politely dropped by
to say good morning as I sat down in the hall at 430am, and
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I can feel Sensations running around all over the place;
whether that's my body or head I can't specify, but I'm
conscious of her presence, and her busy-ness.
Although it rained heavy after lunch - just after I'd done
my washing - it's been a hot one all afternoon. My washing
is now dry, so I have enough clean underwear, sarongs and
t-shirts for the rest of the time. It's only the second time I've
had to do washing, but some guys are at it every day. I
assume they do it for something to do during the rest
periods. The guy in R2 is the most diligent washer, with the
line in front of his room perpetually filled with clean washing.
I know he takes it in each night, and have paid enough
attention to know it's a fresh batch the next day. He must be
getting through 3 shirts a day, at least 2 pairs of undies, and
numerous pairs of meditation trousers (I should get some of
those). I'm starting to wonder if he's taking washing in; he is
Chinese, and perhaps even under these circumstances he
can't curb his hard-working and entrepreneurial tendencies! Tea time . . . or fruit time. Followed by strong
determination time. Followed by the Day Seven Discourse.
That's the highlight, the only thing keeping us going. I'm
feeling slightly better than this morning, primarily as we're
nearing the end of the day, but most of others look like
death warmed up.
My stomach has been feeling weird, and it's gotten
worse. Serious stomach cramps . . . could it be from the
food? I'm a little queasy. I thought the lemon water might
help but it hasn't. I'm not sure I can get through this next
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session, I might have the bail to throw up, or run to the toilet.
Lucky there's a communal one near the hall, closer than my
room. I decide to tell the manager, so he can let the teacher
know I might be running out of a group session, which we
are not meant to leave. He said 'no problem, do what you
have to do'. A good guy, full of understanding and
compassion.
Considering the discomfort from my stomach, I had a
good session. Didn't need to rush anywhere. I practiced
what we've been taught, that everything will pass, just
observe whatever the sensation, no matter how gross. Well
these stomach cramps are still major, but they aren't getting
worse, and they haven't developed into any sort of purge.
Must be another manifestation of deep-seated complexes
that I'm cutting loose.
I thought of talking to Belly, to see if he had any input. I
haven't tried contacting my body-parts today, concerned that
if I get into regular communication it could become a routine
thing. I'm open to them, and they know that.
The discourse talked of carrying the meditation, or the
awareness, with us at all times. I have a book on
mindfulness that explores this, I must read it. If heightened
awareness allows me access to Breath, Sensations and the
Body Part Gang, it must surely be beneficial throughout my
life. It's not lost on me that when I get out of here, and back
into the other world, I may be disconnected. What then?
Run back here for another retreat? Become a forest hermit
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and see if commuting with nature helps me communicate
with them? I think the whole idea is that everything is inside us, and
we must learn to access it anywhere, and at any time. The
Kingdom of Heaven within, that someone spoke about a few
thousand years ago... I should read up on 'Him' too.
********
Back in the hall for the final half hour. I'm comfortable,
and quickly find I have a uniform flow of vibration. I sweep
head to toe, toe to head, and even my dull areas, the chest
and upper arms, feel it. I can feel myself falling, and my
stomach tightens. I'm feeling anxious. That's a first.
"Breath, Sensations, what is this?"
No response. I seem to have landed, the falling has
ended, but I'm not somewhere I want to be. "Breath, Sensations? Anyone out there."
I hear a faint "A-ha", but it's sinister, dark. I'm scared
here.
"I'm here."
"Me too."
"Don't forget me . . ."
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Male voices. Not my body parts. Not part of me at all.
No matter how hard I try to breathe deeply, my
stomach, not even my chest, will allow it. Total constriction! I
try to regain some equanimity, conquer the fear, and begin
to sense my environment. More evil snickering, there's a
group out there, or in here, with me.
I open my eyes, all is white. I see no-one, just white . . .
white walls. Padded white walls. I look down at myself and
see more white. White cloth. And buckles. No wonder I can't
move, I'm wearing a straight-jacket!
Finally this scene makes sense, but that doesn't calm
me. "Is there someone here?" I ask.
"We're all here. Everyone's present. Kind of." The voice
is still freaking me out, there's no good in it. "Although we
take turns," the voice continues, but with far less menace.
"Don't strain against the jacket, it makes no difference."
Another voice, not friendly, but not threatening.
I remind myself I'm inside my own head. This is just a
bad trip. I've had a couple of those before, back in my
partying days, and like everything else, they pass. This
thought brings me back to an even keel but I'm still pretty
scared. I remember that whatever or whoever is in my head
with me at this moment can pick up what I'm thinking, but
also sense that it doesn't actually feel that way. 106
I think, "well who are you?" but get no response.
Then I say, still in my head, but a conscious thought to
speak, "who are you?"
"Us? That's a good question."
"How many of you are there?"
"Seven. But we don't see Bill much these days. They
seem to have obliterated him. And Little Jimmy is so
tormented he'll never resurface . . . And who are you? We
so rarely get visitors of your ilk these days, not like we used
to. It must be the meds."
"Are we, or you, in an asylum?" I ask.
"Yes, we've been here for years." This voice, or
personality, is now quite friendly, but my intuition keeps me
on guard.
"You're a split personality?" My question gets a small
laugh from a few of them.
"Aren't we all, darling," answers a new, posher voice.
Even the first voice was well spoken.
It was a good point. With all the inner conversations I've
been having lately I can see how it's not such a big jump to
be taking those into the other world, the outer world, what
we think of as the real world.
107
"Where am I? And when is this?" I'm intrigued.
"Frien Barnet. 1949. Can't give you the exact date, but
autumn. October perhaps."
Wow, this is wild. My fear has gone, but I am feeling
cold. The suggestion of autumn may have done that.
"You didn't tell us who you are." I'm reminded. Should I
tell the truth? This doesn't have the feel of a past-life
experience. So that would put me in the realm of being a
time traveler. But one of the precepts for the course is no
lying, so I'd better be honest.
"Er, this may freak you out, but I've found my way into
your head via a meditation retreat." Not the whole truth but
let's see if that is enough for them.
"Oh, meditation!" A new voice, happy and excited. "Are
you Indian? I've heard it's wonderful."
"I'm British, but . . ." Here goes with the whole truth, as
a half truth has the capacity to be partnered by a half lie.
". . . the retreat is in Asia, Malaysia. And in 2011."
Their turn to be stunned. "Malay..sia? Do you mean Malaya?" Happy voice asks.
"Yes I do, In 1949 it was still Malaya."
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Then the posh voice says, "A man from the future,
we've not had one of those for ages!!" The general
excitement is palpable.
The first voice asks, "tell us what's happened in 62
years. You are staying aren't you? You're most welcome."
Staying? I feel scared again. Now they are all excited
I'm sensing madness, whether it be theirs or my own. I'm
conscious that I've only heard three voices, and with Bill and
Little Jimmy that leaves two unaccounted for. I am aware
they are close, and become aware once more of my tight
stomach. I can't see or feel any way out of here, back to the
meditation hall, back into my own head space. I remind
myself that everything comes and goes. "I'll tell you what I can." Then I try to push things a little.
"But I haven't met all of you yet. Bill, Little Jimmy..."
"Albert." says the happy voice.
"Tarquin," says posh voice.
"George," says the first voice I'd heard. "And we have
Trevor, but he's a mute. His does however make his
presence felt from time to time."
"That's six . . ." Should I be pushing this?
There's a distinct cooling of the atmosphere. I shouldn't
have pushed. I try to retreat. "It's okay, six is good." But it's
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too late, I've put them on the spot. I know the seventh
personality is listening, and my gut tightens another notch.
"Ian may or may not join us." Is George's diplomatic
response. I know he shares my fear too. They all do.
Albert breaks the ice, "Come on, tells us about the
future, we haven't got long."
I pass on questioning why we don't have long, and
begin:
"Princess Elizabeth becomes Queen Elizabeth in 1952,
and is still on the throne today."
They're impressed, as I thought they would be, and the
mood lightens as thoughts of Ian fade.
"The Americans send a man to the Moon in 1969."
"Never..." says Albert. "Is he back yet?"
I explain that he didn't stay long, and they only did a few
landings, and then left the Moon alone. I tell them about
Margaret Thatcher in the 1980s and they are truly shocked.
"Was she any good?" Tarquin asks, and I say
diplomatically that opinions differed.
Before I could expand on Britain's first lady Prime
Minister, their shock turned to horror. A loud siren rang, and I
heard a key turn a heavy lock. I looked up, but felt them look
down. In through the door came three men in white
110
uniforms, one bearing a large hypodermic needle. They
looked menacing, tense and loveless.
Two came forward, but the one who stayed back spoke.
"Who we got today then?"
I was petrified, experiencing all sorts of emotions that I
realised were their emotions, the seven minds whose space
I shared. Seven not five. Little Jimmy came into view, a
child, 8 or 9, running away down a cobblestone street. I felt
Bill's presence as air, or a cloud, above me, or above 'us'.
Then Albert spoke: "Men are going to land on the
moon." He sounded happy to be spreading the news.
"Albert, good morning. Men on the Moon eh? I don't
know where you get it from."
All three men laughed.
"And we'll have a lady Prime Minister." The laughter
grew louder. "A man from the future told me." And louder
still.
"Steady now fellas. Albert, head up, give us your neck."
"Oh please no. Not today." Albert's good humour
vanished, to be replaced by a fear far worse than I'd ever
experienced.
As the two men man-handled him, I feel him resist, and
feel myself equally resist, fighting the straps and buckles
that hold us. My stomach is knotted a thousand-fold, my
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shoulders tense and solid, my teeth biting so hard it feels as
though they will all explode.
Then Ian takes over.
Whereas before the jacket was holding us, now we are
free. Albert, George, Tarquin and Trevor scatter. Little Jimmy
is long gone. But I can't move, a helpless witness stuck in
the centre of the action. Ian's huge arms swing, and he gnashes his teeth, biting
and spitting, a beast set free of his shackles. I swear his
nails are like claws, and he has the strength of a pride of
lions. I look back to the men in white coats, they approach
regardless, but seem distant, as though I'm looking at them
through one of the peep-eyes you find in hotel room doors.
They reach forward, their arms growing large and faces
distorting as the perspective is all wrong.
Ouch! A pain in my neck. I wince and feel wet. Ian
drops by my side. I look down, as my consciousness begins
to drift. I see a man's shape in the straight-jacket, but
buckles intact. I look up again to see the white coated men
walking away, the hypodermic now empty. I look down once
more, but now from a height, separate from the body, which
writhes and twitches but without any sound.
It's over. They are all gone. I'm gone. No more asylum,
no more solitary confinement. I sit here with a hundred
others, soaked in sweat. Goenka starts to chant. It passed.
As he said everything always does.
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Day Eight
"You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe,
deserve your love and affection."
― Gotama the Buddha
I'm wide awake, is it 3am? The morning gong feels a
long way off. I'm amazed my stomach is fine, not a hint of
any of the pain from yesterday. I'm actually feeling good! After peeing and drinking I lay back down but I don't try
to sleep. Instead I remember Goenka telling us last night
that Gotama the Buddha only slept 2-3 hours. It's all the
body and mind needs. We can rest whilst maintaining
awareness, and equanimity. Whenever we lay down, our
body is getting the physical recovery time, but our mind has
a storehouse of energy of its own. I'm not getting too many sensations, and no uniform
vibration so I stick to examining those parts where a
sensation does show up. I choose the subtlest over the
more powerful, a tiny piece of dead skin dropping off over
an eyebrow falling out. The time flies by, I must have slept again, as the gong
is now sounding. I'm finding my dreams to be shorter, just
one or two major scenes, and that they fade quicker from
my mind.
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Tonight I've been to London, with another best buddy
who works there. His son and my son are good friends. We
are all in a car, I recognise the central London streets but
can't name any. My friend and his son have to go
somewhere, and he gives me some papers to post, and a
large bag of salted peanuts. My son and I search for a post
office, and as we give up and I say 'there's no post offices
around here,' a helpful passerby, a black lady, tells us
there's one in Cambridge, and points as if Cambridge is just
over there. I nod in appreciation, thinking she's been no help
as Cambridge is 60 miles away, then we come out to
Cambridge Circus, on Charing Cross Road, and sure
enough there's a post office. Then I get confused about
whether I'm meant to be sending the papers or the peanuts.
Next up I'm playing football. Football dreams are also
quite common to me. It's starts out as seven-a-side on an
astroturf pitch, against a team of Brazilians. I don't recognise
my team-mates. When the game kicks off, and the ball
comes near me I freeze, and get shouted at. Then I come to
my senses, collect the ball, effect a smart turn and pass the
ball out to the flank. For this I receive encouragement. Next
we're at the other end of the field but on a rough grass pitch
in the middle of a bunch of Georgian terraced houses. We
can see the backs of them. The pitch is narrow. I see a
house of an ex-client in London, who became a great friend,
and feel concern we might break her windows. Next I'm in
the house, the family are away, but her lodger is there. In all these nights of dreaming I've met almost everyone
I'd list as being a good friend, as well as family, my ex and
many ex-in-laws. I can't believe that would happen over
eight consecutive nights out there. I doubt I've ever had so
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many rememberable dreams in such a short space of time.
Meditation does something, something beyond heightened
awareness, something we don't understand, and can't
explain. How to explain last night's episode? And that for all the
fear that gripped me, I've awoken this morning totally free of
torment, or residual negative effects. I had talked to Breath
and Sensations the moment I was back in my room:
"Breath! Sensations! Come, please."
"I'm here," Breath responded in a flash. She must have
been expecting the call.
"I'm here too, trying to work on this stomach thing."
"Help me understand what just went on, please . . ." I
was still shot to pieces, aching in my back, tight in my
stomach, but my breath was normal.
"It was your experience, what do you make of it?"
Breath was speaking.
"I've got no time to play a game, to have to fathom this
one for myself. I need an answer now Breath. You know
everything, all my life. Come on, what was it about?"
"That was an experience in the Now, one that you took
us to."
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"You said 'I know it all', they were your exact words
Breath." I'm exasperated that she doesn't want to help me.
"About your past, yes. I've been there with you. This
was live, a current event. It was as new to us as it was to
you."
This was an angle I was not expecting.
"So that wasn't me in there? Not one of my past lives?
Or my previous life before this one?"
"Definitely not."
I pause for a while, collecting my thoughts.
"Were you scared?" I ask them.
I feel both smile. Breath answers first: "My job is to
breathe, and as you didn't die, and are still breathing now, I
did what I do. Simple as that."
"And I create the sensations in your body that are a
reaction to how your mind cognises stuff. Remember the six
sense doors? One is the mind. Depending on how you react
to what the mind shows you, you get a sensation that is
either a craving, aversion, or neutral. Of course you were
too busy to give those sensations attention, but if you had,
and remained equanimous to them, there would have been
no fear. You are meant to observe and stay balanced. D'ya
get that Crazy Boy?"
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I did get it. I knew the Vipassana teaching: see things
as they really are. Remain equanimous. "So if after I'm out of here, I call up that hospital, that
mental home - I think it still operates today - I could ask after
a patient with a split personality, from October 1949, who
answers to those names?"
"You could. If you doubt your own mind Kiddo."
Sensations laid it on the line.
"Before you ask a question," Breath said, " it's good to
consider your reaction to each of the possible answers, in
this case, yes or no." That was a 'breath' of fresh air for me. I didn't need to
be making any calls, I realised. . . . If I made that call and they'd answered 'Yes', I'd be
ecstatic. Solid proof it was real, that somehow I'd travelled
back in time and into a real person's mind. If they answered
'No', I wouldn't really believe them. Most likely, in this day
and age, before I got any answer they'd have wanted to
know why I was asking. I couldn't lie, and the truth might put
me on their list as a prospective patient! How sad the world
is.
We believe what we want to believe. We fabricate the
most intricate of mental tapestries to have our mind see
things exactly as we want to see them, not exactly as they
are. This is the truth that Vipassana points to: that we live a
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lie of our own making. And it's the lies we tell ourselves that
do the most damage.
********
I don't know how, but I can seriously feel a turn in the
tide. Yesterday was the bottom of the barrel, today we're on
the way back up. Just sitting here, not even trying to
observe my sensations, but relishing the mood that I'm in, I
can sense the whole hall - and it's nearly full minutes after
430am - has come through the worst. Today is in effect the penultimate day, of the serious
meditating anyway. Goenka told us last night that Day Ten,
after the morning group session, will be different. We'll be
able to speak - not sure how I feel about that yet - and the
Noble Silence will become noble chattering. He loves his
jokes! The following session we'll be taught a new
meditation technique, one that acts as a balm to heal the
wounds of our surgery. I like the sound of that.
My breakfast combinations are becoming more eclectic:
papaya, peanuts, sweet potato, dhal, toast with peanut
butter. There was a thin rice porridge, looked awful, and the
veggie thing to put in it - I tried a bit - was the saltiest yet.
The morning sessions passed by without drama, I am
pleased to say. I slept from 10-11am. Wasn't intending to,
thinking I'd have a short break, lie down and remain aware,
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but my body, and mind, thought otherwise. No dreams
however. I look on that as progress too.
Going through a list in my head, there's one old friend,
the longest standing, who hasn't appeared at all in my
dreams. Oddly, he's my only close friend to have ever taken
a Vipassana course. When I found this out, I was truly
stunned, as he's always been a heavy drinker and smoker,
more at home in a sports bar than a meditation centre.
When I asked him about it all he said was, 'it's an individual
thing, do it, you'll understand once it's over'. . . When I
enquired further he didn't reply. I'll call him next week.
Lunch was better, although I'm not sure about these
Chinese soups we get. I wonder if they have a list of what
we've been served? I'd be keen to know. Keen to give them
my input also. For the first time we got watermelon, and
everyone lapped it up. I see more of a spring in most
people's step, but a few are still going through the wringer,
walking slowly, or sitting staring into space. Now that the end is in sight, I don't want to miss a
minute of meditation. That means four hours this hot
afternoon, with two short breaks either side of the group
session. I'm ready for all of it, and if I'm taking on any rides,
I'll remember what Sensations told me, and be the
observer. ********
119
Coming in to this last hour now, and I'm feeling tired
again. It has been hot. The tea break can't come quick
enough. A short, sharp shower cleared the air and sent
through some welcome breezes, but the tropical humidity is
cranked to the max. Sweeping and flowing with this vibration
is awesome, even though I know I mustn't develop a craving
for it. My hands in particular vibrate like they are holding
huge balls of energy I could throw like rocks. Deeper I sink, but without yesterday's anxiety. Again I'm
falling, floating, flying, light as the lightest feather. There's
nature all around me, trees, a lake, open skies, a field of
long grass. I'm hovering around, sometimes skimming the
lake surface, next up in the tree tops. But I move slowly,
elegantly, like a whale or dolphin doing pirouettes under
water. Finally I settle under a large tree, where the shade
cools me. This is peace. This is a heaven on the earth of my
mind.
With nature all around, I bring my awareness to its
voice, the eternal buzz of life, and of freedom. It's
undulations fit those of my breath, and my heart. I feel the
pulse in my temples, and in the temple that is my body, a
mere spec on the temple that is Mother Earth. We are
one . . . Her rhythm is my breath . . . my hearts pounds to
the beat of a universal love.
I am lost in a dream, eyes closed to all around, yet my
understanding of that which is 'out there' sits in tandem with
that which is 'in here'. My mind and body are one with each
other, and one with all around. 120
Then I sense another presence, and open my eyes to
see a young Indian boy.
He smiles sweetly. I only really see his face. Do I know
him?
"You know me." His smiles broadens.
"Is this Heaven? Are you an angel?" I can't establish if
my eyes are open or closed, if I'm sat still or floating. All
around shimmers, nothing is solid.
"Everywhere is Heaven, and you're an angel too. If you
so choose."
"Is it that easy?"
"Only to those that don't make it difficult. But they are
few."
"I'm sure I've come the long way, but it was a
worthwhile journey nonetheless."
We cease talking, and I bathe in this boy's radiance.
Who is he? And when and where are we? I only need to
think the questions, and of course he hears, for we are One.
"In planetary or spatial terms we are in what you know
as northern India. In time or number terms it's about 2,550
years ago. My name is Gotama."
"Siddharttha Gotama, The Buddha?" My question is
calm, I don't react to the revelation.
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"At your service."
"At my service? What did I do to be worthy of such an
offer?"
"You saw, and now see, things as they really are,
experientially. You discovered for yourself the Universal Law
of Nature, the Ultimate Truth."
"'I wanted only to live in accord with the promptings
which came from my true self'. Hermann Hesse wrote that,"
I say.
The boy just smiles.
I continued, "So Goenka was right. And the Vipassana
teaching really is the pure form of what You discovered, and
then taught."
Again he smiles, so happy, so loving. But his face is
ageing, he's now a man. I've a hint of recognition. Certainly
not the face of Buddha we see on a million statues. But
serene, the kind of face you'd never tire of looking into.
"The statues came later, I didn't ask for them," He
notes, his voice now that of a man.
"Nor the religion, or the offerings, the blind worshipping,
the different sects." I add.
"Yes, none of that either."
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"They did the same to Jesus. I used to hate Christianity,
but that's when I was ignorant. Now I know more of Him, I
realise it's the followers who are ignorant, bedevilled by
dogma, manipulated by control-freaks who perpetuate the
misery of the masses through the distortion of the truth, and
the very person in whose name they claim to be acting." I
need to regain my balanced mind, stop my blood from
boiling. "Sadhu, sadhu, sadhu," he utters, "forgive them, for
they know not what they do."
"Yes indeed, compassion is the key."
For a while we're just sitting. When I look again, the
Buddha has aged further, and seems more familiar than
ever.
"Have I actually arrived? Is this it, Enlightenment? Or is
this a taster, so I'll continue to work hard with my daily
practice?" This time He laughs. "It's never about the arriving, it's
always about the journey. Continue with your daily practice if
you feel, or know it to be right. Right for you. Don't do it
because I told you to."
Now I see the face clearly, and understand who's
speaking to me. It's Goenka.
"Goenkaji!" I exclaim, remembering to add the 'ji' as a
sign of respect. 123
He smiles that smile that has lit up my evenings, made
my days, inspired me for all the tomorrows. His daily
discourses are surely the eternal highlight of this course.
"You have worked well, I can tell. Congratulations."
I'm humbled. High praise from the highest teacher.
"I'm more excited about meeting you than Gotama!!
How can that be?"
He laughs hard at that.
"Or were you the Buddha? Are you the Buddha?" I ask.
Could it be?
"Remember what I've told you, anyone can become a
Buddha. It's just another moniker. Our mortal existence is
about being a good person, living in harmony with all around
us, living by the examples of the great saints who went
before."
"Are you a Bodhisattva? An enlightened person come
back to share what they've learnt?"
"I'm whatever you want me to be, just as you can be
whatever you want to be. But you must walk your own path,
and follow the Law, the Law of Nature. That is the only truth
you'll ever need." He pauses, then sends me on my way. "Come now, back to the hall, you don't want to miss my
chanting."
124
It's not enough for him to send me back smiling, he
wants me laughing too. Back in the hall, as the session ends, I bow deeply. My
face is streaming with tears, and I use my handkerchief
there on the floor in front to wipe them. I'm one of the last to
leave the hall. It's still hot outside, but it feels like rain is
close by. I look up to the sky, and see, smiling at me through the
patchy white clouds, an upside down rainbow.
125
Day Nine
“Freedom is nothing but a chance to be better.”
― Albert Camus
Worse night yet. I can't figure this. I have a terrifying
ordeal, go to sleep in severe pain but wake up early feeling
refreshed and raring to go, pain-free. Next, I have a great
day, the pinnacle of my life, followed by a sleepless night
aching and blasting crap out of my system via my throat and
nose. It's all these defilements surfacing, it must be.
I missed the whole early morning session. I heard the
4am gong, but not the 420am one. I slept another hour and
a half, but on waking knew I needed to rest my body more;
sitting would have been too much. I did yoga instead, lots of
easy wake-up stuff, some slow suns, forward bends, then a
few dynamic exercises, which aren't really yoga. Finally
when I tried a supine twist I got to feel how tight my back is.
After papaya and peanuts, the main was fried noodles,
which had a good, and not too salty flavour. I added soy
sauce with fresh cut chillies, which has helped clear my
head. I'm getting the same gunk out of my lungs and
sinuses as I did a few days back. How long ago was the
Greenie from the Dark Side? Seems like he has a brother,
and he's poised to appear soon. Must remember my
handkerchief in the group session coming up.
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Again my dreams, scattered as they were due to the
on-off sleep, brought me three friends, one an old college
friend, the other two being friends I've made here in
Malaysia. One a Brit, one a local Eurasian, British-Malay
mix. Other than walking towards a very long escalator in a
mall - a very Malaysian, and Singaporean tradition, are trips
to the mall - I only recall being in a bar with them, which is
pretty much where most of our friendship has taken place. Next up I'm with my son, and we're playing a 'gig' at a
junior school kids party. He's on drums, I'm playing
keyboards, and we borrow the horn section from the school
band, a bunch of 9 year olds who turn out to be really good.
I then realise I don't have my amp, that no-one can hear me,
so I go out to the car to get it. Outside it's the twilight zone,
dusk on a Bladerunner set. It's looks as if everything is
either half built, or half falling down. Very unnerving. I can't
find the car, not knowing if it's been stolen or I've forgotten
where I parked it. By the time I get back into the party,
thinking I can use the school PA, all the kids have left. Then
the teacher, a youngish man, asks us to play Stairway to
Heaven, and offers to sing. I keep forgetting to ask Breath if she can throw some
lights on my dreams, or on dreams generally. I'll do that
today.
********
It's 10am, I'm back in my room. Over the last hour
we've been given a heap of new instructions, taking the
127
sweeping of the body into a piercing and penetrating scan of
inside the body, and finally - if we can do all that with a free
flow and no gross, solidified sensations - we turn to the
dissolution of the spinal cord. This is way beyond where I'm
at, but something I can work towards.
When we scan internally I assuming we do it like a CT
scan but we mustn't visualise the skeleton or organs. We
have to feel or sense what's in there. We must go from front
to back, back to front, left to right, and right to left. Looks like
I've got my work cut out once this is over.
During the Mandarin translations, rather than maintain
my usual sweeps of the body, either as a flow where a
uniform vibrations exist, or slowly over any gross or blind or
hazy areas, I found I was agitated, to the extent I just sat
there, eyes open, wanting to get out. So now I'm out, back in
my little room, sat more comfortably with my back
supported. What was that about? I'm feeling the most negative I've
felt all week. More than a week. Day Nine must be Friday,
as I know we finish on a Sunday, Day Eleven; I arrived
Wednesday last week. Let me breathe for a while and see
what's up.
If I came here wanting to get some direction, well for
sure I have. I can see a way forward using this technique,
and the understanding it's given me, to live in the big, bad,
miserable world with a balanced mind, equanimous to
whatever vicissitudes of life arise. They will pass . . . I must
remember that and not react. Good. That should be a huge
128
addition to my temperament, and move me closer towards
being truly content.
Next up, in this miserable world, most people are
ignorant, which is why they do what they do, forever adding
to their stock of sankharas, running from darkness to
darkness, never running to the brightness of an enlightened
path. Knowing these poor souls are ignorant, rather than
despise them for their vulgarity and self-harming existences,
or be angry at them when their actions impinge on my
balanced lifestyle, I now know to look upon them with
compassion, for they know not what they are doing.
Fair enough, I get it that feeling nauseous when I see a
pathetically overweight individual does nothing to help them,
nor does it help me. I remain equanimous, and their
presence in my line of sight will pass. I get it. With every
mouthful of that burger, every spoonful of that ice cream, I
know that person is hurting themselves, is doing so because
they don't understand, or aren't aware of, the misery inside
them that makes them crave the very things that are killing
them. Should I walk over and suggest a regime of regular
exercise and controlled eating, or a Vipassana course?
The thing is, fat people, ignorant people (which at times
will include yours truly), unhappy people, those shrouded in
darkness, in spite of all these, I don't think the world is truly
miserable, with Vipassana yogis being the exception
because they've learnt this technique. Could the world be
happier? Of course it could. But what's with this dwelling on
the misery? Let's look on the bright side.
129
Buddhism is often cited as being a religion of negativity.
As far as I can see, all religion is negative, end of story. If a
business made the promises that priests do, then failed to
deliver, you could take them to court for breach of contract.
But the church, as a fine example, gets away with making
you promises that it doesn't have to deliver on until you are
dead! This it backs up with baseless threats as to what will
happen to you if you don't do what they tell you to.
Ludicrous! Passing through life with the fear of hell in you,
on a promise of better things to come once you bite the
dust. How do they get away with it?
I don't know where this stuff is coming from, or where
it's going. My thoughts have been drifting to the future, my
future, and what I might do. Is there fear there? Drift is the
only plan I have for now, which I've been looking to do for a
while. Travel the world, make extended visits to places like
California, Barcelona, Bali and Chiang Mai in Thailand,
places I've been but would like to spend more time in. Drop
in to see old friends, many of whom are getting on. That
could be another world tour. All the while I'll continue my
Vipassana practice, keep my body in shape through proper
diet and exercise, read the books I've got on my list, and
generally be a happy, grateful human being.
But I'm off-kilter today, feeling angry, upset, confused.
Forget dissolution of the spine, what about the disillusioned
me? 130
"Can I have a word?"
"Breath! How are you? It's been ages." I feel selfconscious about the tirade within, just moments before.
"Sorry about that. Feeling out of sorts, not myself . . . is
this normal?"
"No need to apologise, but it's disconcerting to see you
drop back into past negativities. It's been an incredible
experience these last nine days, and it's not unusual to have
the odd downer."
"I appreciate you're reassurance. What should I do?"
"Do exactly what you've been learning to do. Whenever
these negative emotions arise, go inside, see where they
are originating, work out why you are reacting so strongly.
Look for the sensations. You've been doing it, with great
success. But it's not just for one day, or one ten-day course.
This is a teaching you need for life, so you have to practice
it for life. No-one is asking you to go forward in blind faith, or
to just believe what you've been told. You've experienced it
yourself, and seen what can happen."
"Thank you Breath. You know that I know all this, I just
let myself go down a blind alley there. Next time I'll check for
sensations, and Sensations, if she hasn't forgotten me."
"Hey Buster, that negative stuff ain't my favourite day
job. But if that's the way it rolls, know it rolls that way for a
reason. Look inside, feel for me, and then get over it, will
ya!"
131
Sensations says it as it is. Just like I need her to.
Let's see if lunch can perk me up.
A new fruit!! Agh, the little things that can brighten up
our day... For the first time we are served pears, and a good
pear it was too. The salad was decent, with pineapple, and
the main was brown rice, curried veg (heavy on the
potatoes, which tastes good but overloads the carbs) and
water spinach. Can't say it had me hop, skipping and
jumping, but it did not take me further down. ********
I walk slowly after lunch, as many others are. The mood
may have improved but nobody is smiling yet. Not that we
are allowed to, unless it's to ourselves. But all I see is blank
stares, and mostly not even that as everyone walks with
their heads down. I've been turning over my emotions in my head, one
minute racing off with some crazy, unstable thought, the
next, once I calm my breathing, that I just have to let it
be . . . it will pass. . . . When I work through it, I can pinpoint
a question: what has this really been about, and how is it
gonna take me forward? Okay, two questions.
As I stand at the far end of the centre, near the parked
cars, where a green plastic chain bars us from walking, my
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moment comes. Clarity hits me like a truck at full speed. Did
I say something about refining the questions, keeping them
simple? Do that and the answers you seek find you.
What this has been about is me discovering a teaching
that mirrors everything I've ever believed in. Don't lie, don't
steal or cheat, don't speak ill of others, don't kill, live a good
life, be honest with yourself and responsible for everything
in your life, understanding and accepting that you have
brought it into your life. This course has held up a mirror to
me, and said, 'Ok, Buddy, now it's time to live what you feel
inside, no more excuses or dodging the bullet. Just do it!'
The boon is learning that compassion is the key to the
door of helping all the people that don't live to the highest
moral standards that I do, and who aren't blessed with
whatever it is that's makes me positive, happy, lucky, loved
and most importantly of all, grateful.
What happens to me, and how my future unfolds, is
largely irrelevant. As long as I'm living in this moment and
enjoying these moments, why waste energy worrying about
what will come next? I like surprises, and if I did know what
the next 10 or 20 or 30 years of my life we're going to be
like, what would be the point of living them? We live not in
spite of not knowing what tomorrow will bring, but because
we don't know, and need to go there, tomorrow, to find out.
That is the beauty of life, as long as we have learnt not to
react to whatever tomorrow brings with craving, should it be
pleasurable, or aversion, should it be to our disliking. This is
Vipassana, to see things as they really are, forever
equanimous, forever compassionate.
133
I've also come to know, and Goenka reminded us last
night, our future is the child of what we do in the present
moment. Our past, and if you want to believe it, our past
lives, have brought us to this moment; if you are content in
this moment, then you accept that your past was exactly as
it had to be to bring you to this moment. If you maintain a
positive, equanimous mind in this moment, the future can
only be as good if not better. It's only when you start
generating negativity and lose your balance, as I did earlier,
that you run the risk of a future on rough seas.
It's as simple as that. Finally my vessel is one with the
ocean that supports her, and the winds that carry her forth,
from moment to moment. Nothing else required. Except a
handkerchief for my flow of tears.
As I hurry back to my room I look up to see a solitary
eagle soaring high, gliding on the air currents. For five
minutes I stay watching, and still he glides without a single
flap of his wings. He's circling right over me, as if just for me,
or so it seems; no-one else is looking up. I'm the epicentre
for this flight. For a split second I envy him the solitude and
freedom he has, then remember I have something better:
choice. I'm free to choose solitude, or to choose big cities,
small towns, tropical jungles, or a tranquil ocean. Better still
I get to choose to be with my family, my friends, or to make
new friends. I can choose whatever I want, because I've
made the ultimate choice: to be me. And being who I am, I
must walk the path that's been waiting for me all along.
Joseph Campbell, the mythologist, says it perfectly:
'The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.'
134
And there lies the simple answer to ALL my questions:
I've gotta be me.
********
Surely this roller-coaster ride is nearing its end. I'm not
sure what the schedule is for tomorrow, normal until 9am,
then the new meditation, the given of our 'dana' - our
donation - and probably the regular group sessions at
230pm and 6pm. Then the final day discourse. I really want
to find recordings of the discourses so I can listen to them
again.
The afternoon strong determination group session is
nearly done. I'm finding it much easier, and have had a
couple of trouble-free sessions without even a dead foot.
Breath and Sensations dropped by after my, what shall we
call it, post-lunch epiphany? It wasn't enlightenment. That
was yesterday . . . hahahahahaha. . . . Let's call today's
breakthrough an illumination, seeing the wood and the
trees. They were happy for me, I thought Breath might shed
a tear too, but Sensations put a stop to that with a 'don't go
getting all girly on me, Girl'. Gotta love those tough city
dwellers.
My mood has swung so greatly, it's wiped me out. I
didn't grab a nap at lunch, or the tea break, and have been
here in the hall the rest of the time. Emotional suff drains me
135
more than the toughest hike or workout. And I didn't sleep
well, even if I did get up late. I'm sliding now though, all this
awareness, breathing, concentration coupled with the
tiredness, it's taking me under. Maybe Goenkaji wants
another word. . . .
Wow, this slide goes up! And up and up, and up some
more. I feel like the eagle earlier, and spread my arms to
glide on the warm air. I'm so high I can't see anything below,
just a dark blue covering as far as I can see. Above me are
the stars! It's like I'm in space.
This bliss is unparalleled, euphoric, beyond what I
experienced yesterday. Was it yesterday? Or earlier? Or
years ago? I can't tell. Time has stopped. I look to my
outspread arms but they are gone. My whole body has
evaporated. This isn't Oneness, this is her big brother:
Noneness.
"Hello," a friendly voice greets me.
"Hello too," I respond.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"I am, thank you." I feel so dreamy.
"This isn't a dream."
"You read my thoughts . . ."
"I am your thoughts."
136
"So this is where my thoughts reside, out here in
space?"
"Your thoughts reside everywhere, at all times."
"That's a lot to get my head around."
"Ha-ha . . . Always the joker, I like that. Humour will take
you far."
"I've come a long way already, and I don't even have a
space suit."
"At times like these you don't need one. You don't need
anything. But when things aren't so pleasant, keep your
sense of humour with you."
"It's works for Goenka," I said, "I bet a man as great as
Gotama, The Buddha, was a comedian too."
"All the Enlightened Ones are, because they know not
to take themselves too seriously. Every moment in the
mortal field is a step towards your grave, but it's not a
funeral procession, it's a dance."
"I'll have to take lessons, for the sake of people's toes."
"That's the idea."
"I can feel your smile, but I can't see you. Do you have
a form?"
"For you I do. Open your eyes."
137
I do as I'm told, and slowly open my eyes, as if from a
thousand year sleep.
"Bloody hell, you're an alien!" I'm wide awake now.
I'm looking at an oval head, almost peanut-shaped, with
two large eyes, four or five times the size of human eyes, a
solid brown-orange colour, no pupil or whites to them. The
nose is tiny, the nasal cavities easily visible. I saw a picture
of Michael Jackson with a nose like this once, but I think the
rag newspaper had doctored the photo. If there are ears,
they do not stick out. There is no hair. I only see the head,
nothing else. The mouth is wide with thin lips, and carries
the most serene smile.
"What did you expect out here in space?"
"Buzz Lightyear? Mister Spock?" Although I was
shocked, it was momentary, and I'm back to floating again.
And joking.
"They're just make-believe. . . ."
"And this is real?"
"As real as everything else in your life."
"I'm learning to keep an open mind, and to remain
equanimous."
"Keep on learning, with an open mind, as the day you
stop learning, or close your mind, is the day you die."
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"That's sage advice my alien friend, sage advice
indeed."
I hear the gong chime, in a distant part of my mind.
"Time for you to go." He smiles at me once more.
"I know. But can I just ask, I won't be able to tell anyone
about this, will I? Not without seeming crazy."
"This is your own, personal experiential reality. Why ask
people to believe something they have not experienced
themselves? It's like Vipassana, you don't read about it to
know it, or have someone tell you to believe in it because
they do, you experience the benefits for yourself."
"I get it, I'll keep quiet."
"Or you'll attract into your life people who've the same
experiential reality."
"Great, I'll start an Alien Club. It's been fun. See you
again some time."
"It has been fun, and you will see me again. Remember
to keep 'em laughing."
I land with a bump, and fall into the guy in front of me.
He looks round, and I press my hands together, prayer
position, to say 'sorry' and mouth the word to him also. As
he's a Vipassana man, I needn't of worried. He looks at me
with compassion, smiling, and we get up for our tea break.
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We made gestures! And eye contact. We broke the rules . . .
but it was the right thing to do.
Apples and mandarins are the order of the day. As I
luxuriate over each mouthful, the flavours exploding in my
mouth, I see how this heightened awareness has spread to
all of my senses. This fruit tastes like the best I've ever
eaten. My eyes can't get enough of the flowers and sky, and
my ears rejoice non-stop as the birds and their fellow
cohorts make music of the highest order. I've been 'feeling'
leaves, in particular a water hyacinth in a drain near the
dining hall that, along with the most exquisite flowers, has
leaves so smooth to the touch. I wish there were sand to
plunge my hands into, or chocolate cake to eat with my
fingers. I only occasionally get an agreeable scent from the
gardens, but I shouldn't be asking too much! I'll buy fragrant
lilies for my apartment on Sunday.
As for my mind, if this is what a ten day course gets me,
what can a 20, or 30, or 45 day course achieve?? To get on
a 20-day course I'll need to have completed five ten-day
courses, one of which must be 'in service' as a volunteer
helper. I'm sure that will be good. With centres in so many
great places, I can do a Vipassana world tour! I know there's
a centre in West Java, and several in Thailand and Nepal, a
country I've always wanted to visit.
The Day Nine discourse has one point that sticks in my
mind, a story about a former King and Queen during the
time of Gotama. After a one hour meditation sitting, King
Prasenjit asks his wife Mallika who she loves. She is
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amazed, as this question had come to her during her
meditation, and she realised she loved only herself. The
King smiled, and said he'd had the same question arise, and
come to the same answer.
I can't but help wonder how much of the love in my life
was, or is, self-centred love. I try to pinpoint times when the
love I gave was without expecting anything in return. With
my son, family and friends I come out well, and am
confident I always tried to do the right things for the right
reasons, or without a reason; they were just the right things
to do. I'd say the same applies for when I was courting my
wife, and when we were first married. I gave unconditionally,
and so did she. That's how it works, isn't it? I separated from my wife nearly 20 years ago, and
there have been several serious girlfriends in that time,
lasting anywhere from one year to three. All but one were
truly beautiful people, wonderful women most men would
die for. I thought I gave as good as I got, but I didn't. I gave
plenty in material terms, but little of myself, and always
called the shots. It was my way or the highway, and on
reflection I'm amazed they stayed as long as they did and
most were reluctant to move on.
I know the past is gone, but looking back, with the
knowledge I have now, I can see that I attracted loving,
compassionate souls into my life, only to treat them like a
long running one-night-stand. I was never committed, never
thinking long-term, I just wanted them in my life because it
made me feel good, and they could do stuff for me. Stuff
that mattered, not the shallow stuff I offered as my side of
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the deal. They say regrets are illuminations come too late.
I'm not one for regrets, but do appreciate illumination, even
retrospectively. I console myself with knowing my growth
was their growth, and hope they have found similar
illumination from within.
I should meditate on this further, as I've been planning
to continue this journey of mine solo. Until now it's been a
case of 'No Woman, No Cry', or more precisely, 'no woman,
no me having to face up to what others want too'.
Definitely one to meditate on.
I find myself whistling Bob Marley's 'No Woman, No
Cry'! I hope no-one heard as whistling is a definite no-no. I
smile, and remember that people who whistle are said to do
so because they are happy.
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Day Ten
"He who knows does not speak. He who speaks does not
know." ― Lao Tzu
Day Ten. Woo Hoo! I'm up with the 4am gong, but have
been awake a while. Feeling great!
Just the one memorable dream, and it was big one. I'm
carrying, with my dad and a technician, a big old TV up a
huge spiral staircase made of stone. My dad is an old man
but still he helps. It's like one of those old 50s TVs where the
box is huge and the screen is small. It's heavy. When we get
to the top, sure enough, we're on a mountain. We can look
across to an active volcano, but it's not one I know (from the
several I've visited). Once we're up top the technician has to connect a
cable that's like a fire hose. It's not just for this TV, but so
everyone can watch cable television as the system is down
in the city below. On the top of the mountain there's a plug
socket, for the TV, which apparently hasn't been checked to
see if it's working. But it is. Thankfully. He takes the fire hose
cable and hooks that up too, checks it out, and success!
Everyone has a hundred - or is it a thousand? - channels
again.
Next a big passenger jet flies past with two fighter
planes accompanying it. There's now a lady with us but I
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don't know her. She says her daddy is flying one of the
fighter jets so calls him on her phone to tell him to come
back to see us. We see the big jet land and daddy turn
around to fly back. We're still up high on the mountain, but
now by a giant Volkswagen Beetle that's standing on it's
nose. Seems like this is some sort of monument. It must be
thirty feet high.
After daddy flies by and we all wave - my dad is gone
but the technician is still there - I'm then down in the city,
sitting at a cafe at an outside high table with bar stools.
Another jet flies by and out of it jump Prince William and two
ladies, who all parachute right down to the busy street I'm
on, landing perfectly on the other side of the road. As they
land, the parachutes drop off them and they move
effortlessly into walking down the street. Looking across,
they acknowledge me, and thank me for sorting the cable
TV out.
Is this the weirdest dream yet? It was good to see my
dad, but we didn't get a chance to talk.
********
Let the noble chattering begin! And please let it be Day
One again. I couldn't handle the cacophony - never has a
word been so apt - that is taking place in the dining halls,
and have run back to my room. That was hell! The ladies in
particular were generating such dissonance that I felt fearful.
My heart started racing, I stopped breathing, and just had to
turn around and get away. I can still hear them from here, a
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100 metres or so away. And this after the Metta Bhavana
meditation, which had had me in tears.
Perhaps that's it, the stark contrast between something
so sublime, then something not only ridiculous but surely
insensitive and lacking in the compassion and love we'd just
been meditating on. It was like a schoolyard of hundreds of
noisy kids, first day back from the summer holiday, all so
intent on telling their friends about the last seven weeks. But
excessive childish excitement is understandable, tolerable
and you can share in their joy. This was mayhem, and I can't
face it. Not yet. Have these people not been through the same surgery
as I? Of course it's an individual thing, but surely they must
be balancing on the edges of their senses, and in need of
more time to process all that's happened. Or is it me?
If this was Day One again, I wouldn't be fazed at all. My
body needs a rest, and I'm looking forward to certain foods,
but I know I'm not done with all the head stuff. I'll have to
continue this at home. It's not lost on me that wishing it's
Day One again, is the same as saying, 'I'm not ready to
leave yet.' We've still got a day, let's see how that pans out.
I waited until the lunch bell, then went up there, and it
wasn't quite so raucous. I made my donation, ate a good
lunch, offered my services to help clean the public toilets
tomorrow - all participants must help with cleaning the whole
facility before leaving tomorrow - then got straight back
here. At least I've something to read now as we were given
two books, 'The Art of Living', which is what Vipassana
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professes to be, and 'The Discourse Summaries', which I'll
look forward to reading. The schedule for the rest of the day is easy, just the two
group sittings at 230 and 6pm, and the Day Ten discourse
as usual. Tomorrow morning still begins at 430am, with
another discourse, chanting and meditation. After breakfast,
and pitching in with whatever cleaning we've signed up for,
we then clean our individual rooms, and that will be that. As
I have space in my car I've offered that to anyone needing a
ride back to the capital. The Metta Bhavana meditation is to share our merits
with the world. 'Metta' means selfless love and good will,
and 'bhavana' means mental development. We send out
good vibes - for want of a better description - of
compassionate love, peace & harmony to a planet and
master species that is desperately lacking in all of them.
That's me saying this, not Goenka, but I'm sure he'd agree.
We also went through 'pardoning', rather than
'forgiving', those we consider may have hurt us, intentionally
or unintentionally. We then ask to be pardoned, by those we
may have hurt, intentionally or unintentionally. This is what
got me. I was taken aback by the people who came to mind,
and it shook me. I got teary, sobbed a while, and let go. The
act of pardoning is a powerful one. I can only hope this isn't
superficial, and I really am letting go.
********
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I went out for a walk, and ended up chatting with a
bunch of the other guys, mainly Westerners, but some local
Chinese and Indian Malaysians. Must have talked for an
hour, with people coming and going throughout. We had a
doctor, occidental but with a very open mind, chef,
pranayama yoga teacher, a couple of backpackers, and a
chi-kung expert who amongst other things, does remote
healing. Seems like vibrations are what we need to know
about, as ultimately everything in the known universe is
composed of vibrating cells, as Gotama the Buddha
discovered. I've met healers in the past who've been
studying high level physics as they see the future lying in
this field. No-one asked what I do, although I mentioned I'd
travelled a lot and lived in a few different places. We shared
a little about our experiences, mainly where the pains were,
and discussed the food. The chef didn't seem to think the
food was overly salty, but as a smoker, which he says most
chefs are, his taste buds aren't that great. He reckons his
cooking will be very different after this experience, which he
used as cold turkey for the cigarettes. A good way to do it. In the ladies dining hall - we are allowed to mix in the
dining halls only - they have examples of books that can be
bought, as well as CDs and DVDs. They weren't on sale
here but must be bought from someone in Kuala Lumpur. I'll
check that out. They also had pictures of other centres, and
one in Nepal is in an incredible location, up in the
mountains, overlooking a lake. What an experience that
would be. I'd need to check into the yearly weather patterns
though, I wouldn't much like a retreat like this if there's snow
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on the ground. Not very equanimous, but if I can pick and
choose, I'll pick and choose.
There were some videos in the mini hall, one explaining
Vipassana, and showing the main Vipassana centre,
Dhamma Giri, in India. What a place! That's got to be on my
list of places to go too. I heard people saying the centres in
Thailand, of which there are five, serve great food. I've got a
feeling I'll be booking my second course sooner rather than
later. Someone mentioned a friend who did three in a year, I
could fit in four! But first I need to let this one settle.
The second video showed how Vipassana is taught to
children, in a school in Johor, southern Malaysia. In india
they also teach it in prisons, with remarkable results. I think
anyone completing the ten days would find some benefit or
the other. Learning that you can't change anyone or
anything external, but you can get to know yourself, and
therefore affect positive changes in yourself, has to be a
great lesson for everyone. I've got some friends who would
reaps great rewards, but wouldn't consider it in a month of
Sundays. There's a saying that the teacher appears when the
student is ready. For Vipassana you have to be ready, you
can't have this teaching forced on you.
We were all in the dining hall from around 4pm, getting
instructions about tomorrow's schedule and clean up. Also
all the rides were worked out, and I'm taking a guy back to
KL with me. I was planning on keeping it quiet, but I wouldn't
feel right driving out of here with an empty car leaving others
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to get the bus. We then had time to chat before 5pm, but
today, being the last day, we were served a meal. I wasn't
hungry but ate a small portion, which I kicked myself for
immediately. These ten days have proven to me I don't need
to eat much of an evening, and I know I should continue that
in everyday life.
We only do a short parting session here in the main hall
tomorrow, so I want to make the most of this last one hour
group session. I enjoyed chatting this afternoon, and it has
certainly made me feel like I can face the world tomorrow.
As a group we are all sharing an elated state, and I think
that has given all of us the boost so we can walk out of here
fearless. I'm not expecting any more crazy rides once the
higher levels of awareness drop away.
"Hi there," a familiar voice says.
"Hi Breath. How am I doing?"
"You don't have to ask me, you know you are doing
really well."
"Wasn't sure I would be but today has been incredible,
magical."
"About what you were just thinking . . ."
"What was that?" My memory doesn't seem to have
improved!
"About the awareness dropping away. You're right. No
more trips to the stars."
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"I'm okay with that. But I'll do another ten-day course
soon, there's so many great places to visit." I add, "actual
locations, not places in my head." "In this environment everything is set for you to safely
negotiate the depths of your mind. Out there, just keep
things on an even keel."
"I'll be the epitome of equanimity," I jest.
"I hope you can be. But this means you won't be
hearing from me or Sensations."
"Really? Not even a little chat now and then during my
one hour meditations? I'm gonna try to keep them up
morning and night as best as I can."
"Not even then, no."
"So this is goodbye?" I'm sad yet happy. Happy that I'm
strong enough to walk without crutches of any sort.
"Think of it as you putting us away until the next time.
But know we're with you always."
"I should hope so, wouldn't want to be without my
Breath. . . ." "Yeah, don't go getting breathless Sweetie Pie!
Hahahahaha . . ." I knew my New York girl would show up at some point.
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"Hi Sensations, glad you could make our little parting
party."
"I like to party, as that's when you feel best."
"Thanks to you, making me feel . . . I hope you're with
me till the end, you know, till death do us part, etcetera."
"We don't need no piece of paper from the City Hall,
Baby."
"You know you're Joni Mitchell." If I do, of course she
does.
"Hey you should listen to more of her."
"I will. And if I'm to start tickling the ivories again I'll
have to dust off my Joni songbook."
"I'll be dancing through your fingertips." Sensations disappears with her trademark swoosh
lighting me up all over. "But please don't try singing, you make me sound bad." And Breath leaves me too, as I always hope to be. With
a smile on my face.
********
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The Day Ten discourse reviews what we have done
these past ten days. Goenka reminds us that we took refuge
in the Triple Gem, of Buddha, of Dhamma, and of Sangha,
not to be converted from one organised religion to another,
but to be converted from misery to happiness, ignorance to
wisdom, and from bondage to liberation. He tells us that
anyone who discovers the way to enlightenment is a
Buddha, that the way that one finds is called Dhamma, and
that if we continue to practice this way and achieve
saintliness we will be called Sangha. Looks like I've got a
long way to go! In the Discourse Summaries book we were
given it says:
'The refuge is actually in the universal quality of
enlightenment which one seeks to develop in oneself.'
This sounds more like something I can get my head
around, and how I might best explain it to others. I can see
that telling people I'm on my way to becoming a Buddha will
not only raise some eyebrows, it will give most people the
opportunity to pigeonhole me with the nutters, hippies and
religious zealots that they so love to put down. How I tell,
and who I tell, of my experience here will need some
thought and consideration. My pool of friends is vast, from
pranic healers to boutique bankers - something I consider a
good thing - and for some I'm already a nutter, if not quite
old enough to be an original hippie.
We're reminded we've been practising sila, or morality,
the five precepts that we took at the beginning (no killing,
stealing, lying, sexual activity and abstinence from all
intoxicants). With this base, we move towards samadhi,
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which simply means concentration, control of one's mind.
This with did by observing our natural breath, anapana; then
we practised Vipassana meditation, observation of our
sensations, so that we might 'see things as they really are'.
And that's the end game, panna, or wisdom; insight into
one's own nature, which in turn purifies the mind.
At the very end of the discourse he relates a story of a
man digging for water. He digs a well ten feet deep then
someone says, 'the water is better over there', so he digs
over there. He digs another ten foot well only to be told the
same thing, and again he moves to dig a new well. Of
course all he ever does is dig ten foot holes in the ground
without ever getting deep enough to find what he's looking
for. I found this analogous to my life, where in all honesty
I've been a jack of all trades but master of none. I've never
really been one to see things through, particularly
relationships. Perhaps it's time I allowed myself to dig a little deeper.
Or a lot deeper.
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Day Eleven
“It comes so soon, the moment when there is nothing left to
wait for.” ― Marcel Proust
The gong chimes, as usual, at 4am. As if in preparation
for a return to normality, my mind is spared the fickleness of
vivid, unexplainable dreams. I did dream, but they weren't
remarkable and didn't stick. This brought, in order, waves of
surprise, concern and a tiny bit of disappointment, until I
remembered - and it was a conscious act to remember - to
remain equanimous. I can see that one challenge once I
leave here will be to not crave for, or miss, the heightened
awareness, the conscious flow, and the feeling I have at this
very moment that I'm floating!
Happy days!
We head to the mini-hall for 430am, many of the
meditators jovial and chatty. The course manager 'shushes'
everyone, and reminds us - or 'them', as I was enjoying my
final moments of silence - that we must remain silent during
the chant and discourse. We shuffle in, take our cushions,
and Goenkaji begins his final chant.
With eyes closed, back straight, hands resting with
palms open on my thighs, I immerse myself in His voice,
and whatever it is it carries: a vibration, resonance or some
other form or representation of energy, that I can't name, but
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know, truly know, I feel. This alone would be worth the 12
days and eleven nights I've spent here.
Not knowing whether I meant to be meditating,
practising anapana, Vipassana, or listening to the chant, I
settle on trying a bit of everything. My mind is wandering,
thinking, and I'm glad to note it seems to be monkey-free. It
works its way around to a quote I feel everyone should be
aware of:
“It is the duty of the human understanding to
understand that there are things which it cannot
understand...”
This came from Søren Kierkegaard, the father of
existentialism, although in truth it only echoes the essence
of the Vedas.
The overwhelming feeling I will take away from this
experience is a greater understanding of that which is not;
that which is beyond human comprehension. But what
matters, is that now this understanding sits with me without
question. It's something I know and accept, and no longer
have to question, or doubt. It just is...
That feels like a huge weight off my shoulders!
It's also a huge weight off my reading list. I'd been
saving Homer's 'Odyssey', Proust's 'In Search of Lost Time',
even Huxley's 'Finnegan's Wake' for lazy days of lateral drift.
But other than 'intellectual entertainment', do they have any
merit? Will they help make me a better me? I'm reminded of
something Thoreau wrote:
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'A truly good book teaches me better than to read it. I
must soon lay it down, and commence living on its hint.
What I began by reading, I must finish by acting.'
The chant lasted over twenty minutes, perhaps closer
to thirty. After a long pause, Goenkaji speaks:
"Covering one day after the other, one day after the
other, we have come to the closing day of the ten-days
Dhamma seminar."
So that's what this was. A seminar. I kinda like the
sound of that. You could call my time here a seminar of
sorts, or a conference, that's included yours truly, Breath,
Sensations, a Tibetan monk, an ancient Greek
contemporary of Socrates, the Body-Part Gang, The
Buddha Himself, morphing into Goenka, and an alien whose
name I forgot to ask. Then there was Albert, Tarquin,
George and all, but I'm thinking they'll only need one seat at
the table. What a seminar that would be!
Better yet, call it a summit. Hardly heads of
government, but worthy all the same.
I feel I've reached a personal summit, a peak that I now
need to turn into a plateau. I have to stay on the top, and on
top of all those little things - and invariably they are just little
things - that I've allowed to eat into me, and devour any
equanimity I may have ever possessed. If equanimity is on
the menu, then my plate is full, it has to be. Hungering for all
and anything I've ever craved will never sate me, no matter
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how much I feast on it. Or it feasts on me. Equanimity must
be the staple that supports me, the diet of my mind and
soul. This final discourse must have been one of the longest,
well over an hour. It includes some humorous stories, all
helping illustrate how we can continue to practice Vipassana
once back in our regular worlds. He advises that it's
essential we practice one hour every morning and one hour
every evening, as well as five minutes once in bed before
sleeping, and another five minutes upon waking. I'll give that
a shot.
Also recommended are meeting with 'Dhamma brothers
and sisters' once a week. This I'm not so sure is for me, I'll
give it a go on my own. The loner lives. Goenka says a tenday course once a year is a bare minimum. Now that I will
do. The first target is to complete five ten-day courses, one
as a volunteer server, which then gives you a ticket to
twenty-day courses. That's one to ponder, but it could
happen. Like everything in my future, I can file it on my 'we'll
see' list.
Our final meditation together is to once again share our
merits with all beings, 'metta parami', the wholesome mental
quality of selfless love:
Share you peace and harmony with all beings, all beings...
May all beings be happy...
May all beings be peaceful...
May all beings be liberated, liberated, liberated.
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There's then a few minutes of chanting, although I could
listen for hours. The last words we hear from this wonderful
teacher are those of 'metta bhavana', again asking as we'd
done yesterday, to be pardoned. I say the words within, and
hope deep inside they are heard. No tears this time, just a
rumbling in my stomach. It's 630am and time for breakfast!
********
The free-for-all talk-fest begins again, and I'm happy to
flow with it. The mood is certainly a happy one; beneath the
exuberant surface I feel there is peace too; but how many of
my co-meditators are liberated?
Am I liberated? I was free to begin with, so what's
different? My mind is most certainly different, free of the
monkeys, even if they have been replaced, temporarily at
least, with all the other visitors I've encountered whilst here.
If I came hoping for one thing, it was 'quiet', external and
internal, and if my imminent departure leaves the visitors
behind, and the monkey-mind stays back with them, then
I'm a new man. Happy days indeed.
At 8am our chores begin. Cleaning the men's public
toilets close to the hall was an easy job. To everyone's
credit, they had been well looked after during the course. I
shared the task with a young man, just 19, already on his
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second Vipassana. I was impressed. What a fabulous
experience to have and know so early in life. His whole
family were there, mum and dad leading the way.
Next I cleaned my room, finished packing up my stuff
and took it to my car. I'll be taking two guys back to KL with
me, there's just enough room as no-one has much baggage.
One is Scandinavian and the other an American. They had
more arduous cleaning tasks and have only just begun on
their rooms so I've got some time before we'll be leaving. I head up to the hall, hoping to slip in for a final few
minutes of meditation. But it's being cleaned too, and all the
meditation cushions and mats are being sunned outside. I
decide to sit under a tree at the far end of the centre,
beyond the now sparkling and fragrant toilets. It seems most
have already left, so I'm there on my own. I sit and quickly
find myself in a calm and centred state. "Breath? Hello. Anybody home?"
Nothing.
"Sensations? Can you feel me? Can I feel you? Hello?"
Still nothing. I can feel the life draining out of me, to be
replaced by sadness and disappointment. I just want to say
a quick 'goodbye' but it seems yesterday's goodbye really
was goodbye. Women! Tough as nails!!
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I sigh. Then I smile to myself. I haven't even left the
centre and already cravings are creeping back in. I open my
eyes, half expecting to see a troupe of monkeys lining up,
ready to jump straight back into my head. But instead,
standing by the meditation hall I see a woman in a white
polo shirt and short blue gym skirt. She's talking to a lady
who I can only see from the back. She's wearing a onepiece cat suit, and has large afro hair. Breath and Sensations!!
I call out to them, "Breath! Sensations!!" But they don't
seem to hear me.
"Hey... Ladies! It's me! Over here!!" I wave frantically.
Still they don't hear me so I get up to go over to them.
But as I get up someone holds onto my arm, as if they are
trying to hold me down. I resist, then look up to see who's
holding me.
It's the American guy . . .
"Hey Buddy, wake up. You must have drifted off. We've
been looking all over for you."
"Really? I'm so sorry."
"We're ready to leave, you all set?" He's smiling kindly,
a Vipassana smile, full of love and compassion.
"I am, but can you give me five minutes? Please."
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"Sure man, nobody's rushing."
I smile my thanks, and he walks off back towards the
dining hall.
Again I sigh, then look suspiciously at the spot where I'd
dreamt that Breath and Sensations were chatting. And again
I smile to myself. If I'm gonna be me, I had better get used
to who I am, monkeys and all.
********
The journey back is an immediate lesson in having no
attachments to forward planning, no expectations, and going
with the flow. I had envisaged, or planned, a quiet day, alone
with myself, quality time to allow this post-Vipassana world
to slowly come back into focus. Part of me was excited to
email my nearest and dearest, let them know that I've made
it back in one piece. I'd already composed a succinct email
in my head. I'd planned to remain in silence as much as
possible, and continue with as much meditation as I could.
Instead, the journey saw three men talking non-stop for
four hours. We had sat within a couple of cushions of each
other for ten days, over one hundred hours, but we knew
nothing of each other. By the time we reached Kuala
Lumpur we knew almost everything about each other.
About an hour into the journey I realised I was starving!
It was nearly noon, no wonder... we were so conditioned to
eating at 11am on the dot. Malaysian motorway rest stops
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are hardly the place for wholesome nutritious food offerings.
The American reckoned he'd lost 5 kilos during the course
and was happy to load up on fried chicken. The
Scandinavian - it turns out he's a Dane - followed me to the
fruit stall, and was amazed to see locals eating 'rojak',
unripe fruit dipped in a spicy fish paste. I told him that it was
actually pretty good, even though I personally tucked into
some delicious mango. We also found some raw nuts, and
best of all, fresh young coconuts. Perfect for overworked
vocal chords.
Their life-stories were interesting, as were their takes
on the course. Both had done Vipassana before, and both in
Nepal, where the Dane had done two. They said the rules
here in Malaysia were slacker, and the food not as good, but
both felt they'd gained more this time. Looks like a second
visit for me should be a priority, Thailand or Indonesia
perhaps, but not Nepal where you are expected to be in the
meditation hall for all hours of meditation. No running off
back to your room! That would be tough.
Neither mentioned anything about voices in their head,
trips down memory lane into past existences, or anything
that sounded even vaguely weird. They'd had the
heightened awareness, and had had lots of dreams, but it
didn't seem, from what they told me, that it had been
anything exceptional. Both were very well-rounded, levelheaded individuals living good, simple lives.
What was interesting was how I found myself
describing my first Vipassana to them. Having intentionally
gotten both of them to talk about their experience before I
did, I decided against a full-blown account of Breath,
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Sensations, Tibetan monasteries and Socrates being
around the corner.
This is what I told them: "I now understand that there is stuff I'll never
understand, and that no longer bothers me. Even stuff about
myself, how my mind works, and why it goes where it goes,
I'm content accepting it, as it is. "I'm known as a talker, and friends raised their
eyebrows at the prospect of me staying silent for ten days,
but it was no problem. Nor was the schedule, the food, the
accommodation, I was equanimous about all of it from the
moment I arrived. Not even the burpers and the coughing
monk got to me."
They laughed at this, and we all agreed that the burpers
in particular had taken a few days to get used to. I'd spoken
with one on the tenth day, and he told me that he never
usually burps, and it was as much a shock to him as it was
to everyone else. Being Chinese, he took it as 'internal wind'
and was keen to see his Qi Kung master for an evaluation.
The Dane suggested that if it originated in the lungs, the
level of the heart cakra, it may be a love issue of some sort.
I thought it more likely to emanate from the throat, cakra
number five, so more of a communication thing.
I continued, "Finally, and this was only on Day Nine, I
had a breakthrough in that I felt as though the whole
experience had brought me to a mirror, and was asking me
to look at myself, question myself, to see if I was living the
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life that my inner-being knows to be right. That I know to be
right, and have known for a long time."
The American smiled, and said, "It's the path that lies
waiting for you, your path, and only your path. Have you
ever read any Joseph Campbell?"
My turn to smile. "I have. I have a book about his life
entitled 'Reflections on the Art of Living', just as the book we
were given about Vipassana is called 'The Art of Living'. I
guess we are on the same page."
The Dane hadn't heard of Campbell, and said he wasn't
much of a reader. The American recommended he watch
'The Power of Myth', available free online, six interviews
with Campbell from the mid-eighties, not long before he
passed away.
And that was it. We moved on from my story and talked
about whose writing had influenced us, and where we
thought we may be heading next. All of us were single, and
they were both 'looking', hoping to find 'Miss Right' very
soon. Neither had been married, and I reckon they were
early to mid thirties.
They were surprised to hear I'd been running solo for a
while, and was most definitely not looking.
"I'm convinced solitude is where my heart lies," I said,
"and even a Chinese Astrologer picked up on this and said,
'women don't understand me', which I've taken to heart."
I paused, and another moment came my way.
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"But you know what, I reckon that's changed. It was me
that didn't understand me, that resisted and reacted and
generally set myself up to stay in the shallows and avoid the
depths. When it came to love there was no equanimity in me
at all. How could anyone else understand and love me when
I didn't understand or love me myself? No wonder..."
As my voice trailed off, both men sat in silence,
appreciative of the self-discovery I was undergoing. They
saw me smile, and blow out my cheeks. What they didn't
see was Breath smiling, from cheek to cheek, and
Sensations whispering 'You finally got it Kiddo' somewhere
inside my head.
********
We drive all the way into the centre of the city, as the
American is staying at a backpacker's place in Chinatown.
The Dane has been trying to get hold of the local friend he's
meant to be staying with, but her phone's off. I suggested he
come to hang out at my place, as I don't live far from the
area his friend lives. We stop off at a supermarket, and I
shop for fresh fruit and veg. By the time we get to my
apartment we're hungry again! It's after 4pm.
A luscious blended juice with blueberries, bananas,
papaya, pineapple and red dragon fruit, topped off with
cinnamon and coconut oil, hits the spot. We relax on the
large sofa, still chatting, but my Danish friend starts to drift
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off, and soon I do too. An hour later we awake to the sound
of his phone ringing.
His friend had had a family emergency, and she'd
rushed out without charging her phone. Now she was home,
so I offer to drop him over there. It's only ten minutes away.
We get there to quite a welcome! They are old friends, she'd
taught him yoga several years back in Nepal, where he'd
been a guide taking care of groups of Danish hikers. I'm
invited in, and can't refuse, although I feel a bit like a third
wheel, as they catch up for the first time in two years. Gotta
go with the flow though...
She too is an old-hand Vipassana girl, having done
three full courses and a few short courses, three or four
days I think. I must look into those. She's very interested to
here about my experience. I guess she's already heard
about his past courses. Before I know it, I'm staying for
dinner.
********
I'm home, it's 9pm, bedtime! I'm happy that I let my
equanimity come to the fore during the evening. If I'd been
at home I would have passed on dinner, that juice sufficing.
But I didn't beat myself up about eating, when my plan had
been not to. And now, my first evening after the course,
when I should be doing a one hour meditation, I can feel I'm
way too tired, in spite of the nap earlier, to do anything other
than sleep. I'll make do with the five minutes before sleep.
Equanimity at last.
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It feels GREAT to be on my own mattress, and to have
had a warm shower. Blissful. The simple things in life...
Closing my eyes, I do as instructed, a few moments
concentrating on my breath before switching to scan for
sensations in my body. I sweep down and get a uniform
vibration. As I reach my knees on the way back up,
sensations disappear, the vibrations disappear, and my
mind is gone. I'm asleep. Happy nights to compliment the happy days.
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Day One Hundred
(or thereabouts)
"We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to
have the life that is waiting for us." ― Joseph Campbell
I've tried having no plan at all, living in the moment,
being spontaneous. Wonderful options, for anyone and for
any life, but not for me in this life. There has to be some
structure, a solid foundation upon which the frivolous can
dance, and the serious moves can be practised, over and
over again. I didn't have a planned life to let go of, so this life
I have must be the one that's been waiting for me. And I'll
take that one step further: not only am I on my path, I truly
do believe I have always been on my path.
Here I am, three and a half months or so on from the
'first day of the rest of my life'. And today, finally, it feels like
there is a new beginning; that today, the culmination of a
remarkable two weeks or so, will, when I look back on it in
time to come, be the moment I made the quantum leap from
the 'old me' into the 'new me'. The snake sheds his skin.
Or does he? No room for any doubts! Time will indeed
tell, but I know this time it's different.
Vipassana has made it different.
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Perhaps that's not quite right. Only I can make me
different. Vipassana taught me to 'see things as they really
are', which once you get beyond the 'things', leaves only for
me to see me as I really am. Or was. I've given up diving into the big books, choosing instead
to know the author and their life, i.e. reading about them,
and to make do with reading 'quotes' from their writings. I
have however struggled through a few books by the everquestioning Jiddu Krishnamurti, and it was a quote of his,
sent to me by a friend, that undoubtedly affected my postVipassana development. More of that later. But here and
now, this quote of his sums me up:
'If you begin to understand what you are without trying to
change it, then what you are undergoes a transformation.'
If a ten-day Vipassana course doesn't bring about in
you some sort of transformation, then you must have the
attributes of a rock. In fact, from what I've learnt since the
course I reckon even a rock, sat on a meditation cushion in
the hall for all the sessions, would undergo changes at subatomic levels, those 'kalapas' that Gotama discovered.
So what's happened to me? What's happened that now
makes me know I'm different? What transformation have I
undergone? Breath may have told me that 'looking back will
never take you forward', but I've looked back, wearing my
new Vipassana goggles, and the understanding I've gained
has been immense. Krishnamurti says 'understand what you
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are without trying to change it'; when you look at yourself in
the past, you cannot change it, and that's a great way to
begin to understand. To understand what, and who, you are.
********
Before I go back, I must relate the whole story about
what I was planning to do - after Vipassana - in the months
preceding Vipassana. This was when the plan was to have
no plan, as I would tell people who asked me what I'd do
once my son had gone off to university in the UK. In simple
terms, I had a plan to get me to the point where I could live
without a plan.
About ten years before this, I was a member at a gym
in Bali, and had got to know a young Brazilian guy who also
worked out there. He was telling me about a three day trip
he had planned for Yogyakarta in Central Java. I'd spent
quite some time there, so told him what I knew. Then I didn't
see him for a couple of weeks. When I next saw him he told me this:
"I had such a great time I decided to stay on longer. I
was there over two weeks!!"
How wonderful, I thought. And how impossible that is
for me... my son was eight, and my whole life revolved
around spending as many weekends and school holidays
with him as I could. I knew it would be ten years before the
option of going somewhere for three days and staying for
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two weeks was mine. It wasn't even that I might want to stay
somewhere for two weeks, and knowing me I probably
wouldn't, but that spontaneity, that detached state, that was
what I wanted. I wanted the option to go forth and take it
from there, without a ticket back. And what if I never made it
back? Isn't that just the same as going forward and not
looking back?
That's how the plan to have no plan came about. But as
the time approached, ten years on, I felt a great
restlessness within. I really wasn't happy, and some friends
close to me were aware of this. Was it due to wondering
how life might be after my son had gone, they asked. After
all, he had been with me full time, just the two of us, for the
last several years. Might I be losing my purpose, others
suggested.
Nope, none of that. Setting your only child free into the
world is like giving someone's car a push-start. You huff and
you puff, build up some speed, they pop the clutch, the
engine kicks in, and off they go, waving their thanks to you
out of the driver's window. You're happy that they are on
their way. It's their journey, not yours. You've done your bit.
Purpose? I'm not quite sure how or when I learnt and
accepted that my only purpose was, or is, 'to be', but the
inside front cover of a note book I have, from four or five
years ago, has written on it:
'Perfecting Oneself by refining Goodness to the point of
elegance'.
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I wrote this; a quote from a book I've long since passed
on about a Thai forest monk. Whether it's exactly copied or I
adapted it slightly, I no longer recall. I later added,
'Achieving this by bringing ever-greater sophistication,
grace, and an art of living into the consciousness of one's
journey'.
All rather bombastic, let's stick to my purpose as just 'to
be', or to add an element of purpose and direction, 'to be a
better me'. That's more than enough to keep me going.
So why the inner turmoil? Feelings of futility? I was
healthy, wealthy enough, clear of economic ties, free of
relationships, in as great a position as anyone could ever
hope to be. But none of that was enough. Even though at
that point I had only lightly delved into meditation, I was
sufficiently aware of my inner self that I knew there was
more. Something deep inside that I was drawn to.
Something I had no idea how to disinter.
I asked myself, "What more could a man want?"
The answer came resounding back: "Nothing..."
A first I missed it, berating myself for a lack of gratitude
at being the lucky bastard that I am.
"I want for nothing!" I yelled at myself, time and again.
Then it hit me. Forget the 'for'. I want nothing. I actually
want nothing! At that moment I was reborn as 'The Modern172
Day Ascetic'. In waiting. The master-plan of having no plan
was hatched.
This was just over three months before I was booked
into the Vipassana centre in Malaysia.
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Day Zero Minus
One Hundred
(or thereabouts)
“There is no such thing as a weird human being, It's just that
some people require more understanding than others.”
― Tom Robbins
You know, it may have actually been exactly one
hundred days before Day Zero. I know for sure it was
5:16am, ninety-four days before Day Zero, as I can check
the file properties, that I began a new Word document,
entitled 'The Modern Day Ascetic'; this was to be the basis
for an email I would send out to everyone close enough to
me to care, on the day my modern-day ascetic life was to
begin. Breath needn't have worried, there would be no
looking back.
It was about a week before that that the 'I want nothing!'
moment had come. Suddenly everything made sense. I had
found something to be passionate about! And I had to tell
someone about it.
I chose a lady friend to be the lucky recipient of my
heady news. I chose her as she was a loving,
compassionate type, steadily moving along her own
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'spiritual' path, who I knew would hear me out, no matter
how crazy my planned life-change seemed to her. She
would listen, and she may even understand.
I'd been off booze for ages, but decided a bottle of wine
in a bar would be fitting; a celebration if you will. A
celebration, and a chance to enjoy something that in the
not-too-distant future would certainly be a thing of my past.
We met mid-afternoon, partly so we could both be home
before the traffic got crazy, and partly because I knew the
wine bar would be quiet. It was, just two expats sat at the
bar, with a single waiter-cum-barman covering the slow midafternoon shift.
I chose a big wine to partner this momentous moment
in my life, an Italian Barolo. She wasn't much of a drinker,
and it had been so long since I'd had a drink that just
halfway through the first glass she was turning red and I
was fuelled with even greater desire and passion for my
cause, or calling, the enlightened future I was choosing.
We'd chatted about the regular stuff, our kids, mutual
acquaintances and the like, and then it was time for me to
express what I'd been so excited about when I'd called her
asking to meet. The very reason for this impromptu
celebration.
"So here’s where we’re at, " I began.
"Oh, am I included in this?" She innocently asked.
I smiled, a smile and a look that said, 'no, no you're not'.
I continued...
175
"Call it what you will, a time comes in everyone’s life
when you ask yourself – you may have been asking others
for decades, but eventually you’ll ask yourself – what is the
point? And how do I get to that point?"
She raised her eyebrows, and nodded her
acknowledgement.
"If indeed there is a point," I added, letting it hang whilst
I drank some wine.
"Blessed with an understanding from an early age that
life wasn’t only about work in the career or business sense,
I’ve had more time than most to ponder the point of it all. As
George MacDonald so wisely wrote:
‘Work is not always required of a person.
There is such a thing as sacred idleness,
the cultivation of which is now fearfully neglected.'
"Did you add that? About being fearfully neglected, or is
it part of the quote?" Again an innocent question.
"I don't know. I'm not sure. It... it doesn't matter." I was
trying to flow like never before and didn't appreciate the
interruptions.
"My life has been one long idle, with the occasional
burst of activity commonly referred to as work. All of that
‘work’, other than some ‘jobs’ at the very beginning, has
been of my own volition, and as my own master. I have
always been free, weighed down only by responsibilities that
176
I sought; the sort of responsibilities by which our lives are
traditionally defined: relationships, work, marriage, business,
partnerships, parenthood, ownership, more work, more
business, and all along the way, excessive busy-ness. I've
been an extremely busy idler.
"I was also an extremely fortunate idler, the wheels of
trade, industry and commerce doing their bit to allow me the
means to idle. ‘Less is more’ has never been better
illustrated than in my business life. Around my thirtieth year,
as I started to ask ‘what is the point?’ and decided that
whatever it is it certainly isn’t working like a maniac, I’d cut
down on the ‘work hours’, and my returns would go up. The
less I worked, the more I made. My partner used to call it
‘working smarter not harder’, but in all truth we were flying
by the seat of our pants, making it up as we went along. We
were lucky bastards, simple as that."
She'd heard all this before, but still felt the need to
comment: "Was it ‘good karma’ that you’d earned somewhere
along the way? Even in a past life?"
"Could be. Who knows?" I tried not to show any
impatience.
"My partner also used to say, ‘you’ve gotta enjoy the
ride’. And I know that’s what he is doing, at this very
moment, as we sit here talking. If there is a point, he’s given
up looking for it, or maybe he’s just approaching it from a
different angle. Who says yoga, meditation, and asceticism,
are the only path? There could be a back door entrance for
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the hedonists and happy-go-lucky types whose life-cry is
'Another bottle? Why not!'
"Having given that path a spin, and openly appraised its
multifarious allures, I found I got to the end of the path, only
to discover that it led straight back to where it’d started. The
hedonists would be rubbing their hands in glee, and
ordering another bottle. With some chicken wings for
sustenance."
She laughed at this, although I really wasn't joking.
"I didn’t want another bottle. And the waiter gave me a
funny look when I asked for skinless, organic chicken wings.
‘What is the point?’ he no doubt thought, and wandered off
wondering what sort of lunatic orders carrot juice in a
nightclub."
When I do try to be funny, she doesn't get it...
"That circle of life, seemingly rewarding for so many,
remains on a single plane. The door that led to the stairs
going up was obscured from me, all those doors that led to
the stairs going down getting in the way."
I paused, emptied my glass, refilled it and topped hers
up too. She said nothing. I think she'd finally caught on that I
was serious, and that her role was to listen. That, or she
was feeling the wine and was smart enough to keep quiet
and leave me be.
"So here’s where we’re at. A little bit of what you like
may do you good, but a healthy sampling of epicurean
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hedonism, even sybaritism, as wild and wonderful as it can
be, no longer appeals. The ascetic within me stirs from his
slumber."
I clutched at my chest for emphasis as I said this.
"To accompany all the busy-ness in my life, I added a
large portion of noisy-ness. For this I’d been in training, if
not since birth, surely since I strung my first sentence
together. The greatest noise in my life – great meaning big
not good – has always originated from within. You know it in
its physical form, the voice; that conveyor of aimless chatter,
instructions and commands, the odd one-liner, a pun here or
there, plenty of tirades, fruitless discussions, repetitive storytelling, and, every now and again, a real gem, something
worth saying. Something like, 'What is the point?'"
By now I was so well and truly into my flow I didn't
notice if she laughed, smiled, or gave any other indication of
her thoughts about what was turning into a rant. I also didn't
notice that one of the expats had left, and the other, a small
rotund fellow with a substantial beard, had moved to the
table next to us.
"'What is the point?' When spoken aloud amongst
others, this question will be met with a general murmuring
and head shaking, with people shifting uneasily in their
seats or unconsciously rocking from foot to foot, until the
most-extrovert, and fearful, amongst the group, asks,
“Would anyone like another drink?” The spell is broken and
everyone can get away from having to look at, or even
vaguely consider, a point. Normality resumes, people look
179
up, then readjust their blindfolds." I paused, and shook my
head, dismayed at the scene I'd painted.
"The physical noise is an easy one to deal with. How
hard can it be to shut the fuck up? Firstly you remove
yourself from the general vicinity of others (aargh… solitude,
my elusive friend, where art thou?) and then you keep your
mouth closed. Oh, and switch that damn mobile/cell/
handphone thingy off.
I rested briefly again, and took another swig of the
delicious wine.
"I’ve tried shutting the fuck up, it works well on my own.
It doesn’t work so well when there are other people around,
as I’ll be expected to respond to pleasantries, comment on
the weather, and if I don’t talk they’ll think something is
wrong with me; a bed I’ve made for myself, I admit. But
pleasantries and idle chat about the weather – the closest
many ever come to ‘being in the moment’ – is harmless
enough. It’s when people start saying 'something' that I
know my silence will soon be over, as it’s never long before
someone says something that I can’t let go, that I feel
compelled to comment upon."
I looked up, and this time made eye contact. She
smiled empathetically, and if she did think I was mad, was
hiding it very well.
"My birth star, whether occidental or oriental (naturally
I’m the year of the character with its tongue out), denote me
as a communicator, a talker, and talk I have; surely enough
for a whole lifetime and perhaps enough for several.
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Whether I’m any good at talking is beside the point. And as
it’s the point I’m after, talking no longer has any value."
More wine, and a sip of water that the waiter has kindly
brought over, unasked.
"So here’s where we’re at." This time I tap the table with
my forefinger five times, once for each word, and lean
forward pugnaciously as I do so.
"Solitude and silence are my new playmates.
Apparently there is a point, and they know where it is. But
how do I go about getting it out of them? With the easy bit
done, the next step – for this journey is but a path, and can
only be tackled one step at a time – is to turn my undivided
attention to the hard bit, the deafening racket inside my
head. It’ll differ among individuals, but I reckon for most it’ll
follow the good ol’ 80/20 rule, and there will be four times
more noise in your head than you generate vocally. For me
I’d say it’s 90/10, so nine times as much, and those that
know me too well will be waving their hands, trying to
correct me: ‘it’s 99/1’ they’ll say. Considering the non-stop
physical chatter that is ‘me amongst people’, even at 90/10
it’s incredible my head hasn’t exploded."
Another sip of water, another slug of wine.
"Could it be that explosions are what’s needed? The
defeat of the ego and quietening of the mind is the ultimate
war, with your personal Utopia as the spoils. Next step
Nirvana!! If only our teen spirit were enough to fuel the
whole damn journey..."
181
I let this one hang, but she would never have gotten it,
unaware of Nirvana the band, let alone their songs, and
happily oblivious to the music scene in general. She much
prefers yoga and volunteering at the local kid's hospice.
"The ascetic, the one awoken from his slumber by the
post-party silence, decides that after all that sleeping he
needs to meditate . . . he may have slammed down a quick
veggie juice when no-one was looking but to the unknowing,
he slipped straight from comatose to blissful torpidity without
the bat of an eyelid. This is where I'm at."
Finally she holds up a hand, and with the other takes
ahold of one of mine. "It may be the wine," she says, "but you're starting to
lose me. Blissful torpidity? Is that you? You're the least
torpid person I know."
"No, that's the ascetic within me, the one waking up."
"Ah." She says, as I refill my glass and add some to
hers. A mini-break, but my flow continues to do its thing, the
intensity kicked up one more notch.
"My attempts at meditation have resembled the
workings of a pressure-cooker. It sits there on the stove
breathing, and we see nothing more than a shiny item of
kitchenware dutifully doing what it’s meant to; inside
however, it’s working triple overtime squeezing heat into
steam into pressure into… into just its light exhalations, all
that we see and hear of its remarkable internal excesses.
Looking at me meditating you’d see nothing more than the
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undulations of belly and chest, my rhythmic breathing, and
this external serenity might lead you to believe I’m at one
with myself, immersed deeply in my sub-conscious and the
Universe."
Again I pause, demonstrate what this external serenity
looks like, drink some more wine, and then relaunch myself.
"Think pressure cooker. Think hot and steamy. Think
thinking, never-ending thinking, the monkey mind having a
ball running havoc on the playing fields of my
consciousness. ‘Let the thoughts pass’, say the teachers,
and my monkeys say ‘Pass? Yeah, pass to me, and then I’ll
pass to you, then you pass back to me…’, and so their
game continues, and the thoughts get kicked around ad
infinitum."
"It’ll come with time", she reassures me, again
squeezing my hand.
"Ah, Time… we should have known that He’d be
showing his ephemeral face at some point."
I'd forgotten about Time, and was disgusted at His
intrusion.
"And there’s the point again!" I exclaim with alarm, "how
did that bastard sneak back in?" I sat back in my chair,
appalled at my own mind.
I think the wine may have been affecting me.
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"You know that practice makes perfect," she offered by
way of explanation for my exasperation. 'Spare me the platitudes!' This I thought but did not say.
She's too good of a person for me to put down in any way,
and it's comforting to know that even in the midst of my
madness I have sufficient awareness to not say anything
stupid, or hurtful. But I couldn't let her off totally...
"Practice makes perfect? Does it really? I beg to differ,
for perfection does not exist. If perfection does not exist then
no matter how superficially perfect something may seem,
there is always room for improvement. That’s why you
practice, because no matter how good you think you are,
you can always be better. It's a never-ending journey."
Again I sat back, took a deep breath, and found I liked
the idea of being better rather than being perfect. Too often
in my life I'd let a quest for perfection ruin the imperfectly
wondrous all around me.
I moved to top up her glass once more but she
indicated she'd had enough. I too had had enough but filled
my glass all the same. We shared a smile, and I continued
on a more even keel.
"So here’s where we’re at. Practice leads to
improvement; with solitude and silence to help me, my
meditation will improve. Vipassana is just over three months
away. The ascetic is smiling. We're finding some common
ground.
184
"As I see it, modern-day asceticism, for that is what this
next phase of my life will be, isn’t a permanent way of life.
It’s a way to clear the decks so as to allow clarity of thought,
and a renewal of energies. Checking out of the world, whilst
remaining part of it, to connect with the you that has gotten
lost in the madness.
"The traditional ascetic would fast, and the modern day
ascetic should also pay heed to diet. For man, as a holistic
organism, there is nothing that has such far-reaching
implications on every thought, on every breath, on every iota
of his existence than what enters the body through the
mouth. Hippocrates said, 'let food be thy medicine and
medicine be thy food', and he’s right, providing the food is
right."
She nodded, now we were on common ground. Much
of our friendship had centred around cooking great food and
sharing discoveries of new restaurants.
"The Epicurean hedonists, with their gourmet chicken
wings and oak-aged Chablis, will be wagging their fingers
and reminding me that ‘a little of what you like does you
good’, but one man’s little is another man’s supersize.
Epicurus himself knew that balance was the key, and
practised both prudence and temperance, professing a
virtuous life."
Out of nowhere, another voice joined us.
“You are what you eat!!” bellowed the short, little fat
man, who I hadn't realised was now sitting directly behind
me. “But I don’t eat short, little fat men!!” he added, before
185
almost falling off his chair with laughter. I wondered if he'd
been off the booze longer than I had.
We tittered politely, and I helped him regain a stable
sitting position. He was obviously drunk. I couldn't help
myself from having a little dig back at him for butting in so
unexpectedly.
"That quote is an abbreviated bastardisation of the
French phrase “Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai ce que
tu es.” Or, ‘tell me what you eat and I shall tell you what you
are’. It dates back to 1826, and was written by French
doctor and gourmand, Anthelme Brillat-Savarin in his book
‘Physiology of Taste, or Meditations on Transcendental
Gastronomy’."
"Now there’s a title to sink your teeth into!!" He
squawked, and fell about again in hysterics, but this time as
I was facing him I was able to hold him in place on his chair.
We laughed too, he had made a suitable mockery of my
attempts to be clever, showing off my French and literary
knowledge.
Then it was his turn to impress.
"I applaud your brio. I've been listening to your attempts
to explicate the life you have, or live, and the life you want,
or feel you should be living. I don't intend to be a gadfly but
if you are desirous of a state of ataraxy, then your first salvo
must surely be to accept that you are afflicted with a mid-life
crisis. Only by acknowledging such can you hope to
transcend it."
186
He turned away from us. "Barman, another bottle
please. Whatever this gentleman and his fair companion are
drinking."
"Not for me, thank you," my fair companion said, "I have
to drive home and cook dinner for my children."
"As do I," I added. "Unless I call my son and get him to
come over, so he can drive me home."
Our new drinking buddy shifted to our table. He wasn't
as drunk as I'd thought. He looked a few years older than I,
mid-fifties, sixty max.
"Now that my friend, sounds like a plan. In the
meantime, let's see if I can't help you conquer this mid life
crisis of yours."
I laughed. "Mid-life crisis? What again?” I replied, “that’ll
be my fourth. Or is it my fifth? I’ve lost count, but seem to
recall the first was when I was 19."
As the new bottle of Barolo arrived at our table, my dear
friend said she must be going. "So to summarise," she said, "you'll be living a 'modernday ascetic' lifestyle that maintains your lovely apartment,
you'll keep your car so you can stock up on good, organic
produce at the farmer's market each week, but you'll eat
austerely, and you'll practice silence as long as no-one talks
to you, and solitude for as long as no-one drops by? Is that
187
the gist of it? Oh, and you'll meditate, and I assume you'll
carry on with the yoga."
I could have been offended, as she was making light of
something that was of an immense magnitude, to me, but I
found her appraisal just, if somewhat tongue-in-cheek,
based on what I'd told her. I was intending to finish my
narrative with my 'I want nothing' moment, but I let it go, and
just smiled.
Our short friend, however, found something she'd
missed:
"You can't be an ascetic of any sort without being
celibate."
"Him? Celibate?? Now that would be something!"
She kissed me on the cheek and hugged me warmly.
"Thanks for the wine. We're off to Europe next week, so
tell me more in an email."
"I will. Look out for one with 'How to Live the Good Life'
in the subject box."
"And signed off 'the Celibate Ascetic'?" She teased.
We hugged again, and she left. ********
188
I took the next bottle of wine very slowly, and was
happy for my little friend to drink the bulk of it. He was a
regular expat, with a local wife and kids at the same school
as my son. But what was interesting was that he was a
Rosicrucian, the first I'd ever met. I knew nothing of it, so
checked it out the next morning online. Interesting, but really
not my thing. The thought of being part of any organisation,
to this day, does not sit well with me. I'll work it out for
myself, thank you very much.
That evening I reflected on how the afternoon had
panned out and was amazed at the fervency of my
outpourings. It would do me no good being an angry or
belligerent modern-day ascetic. I also reflected on the
intimate relationships I still maintained, and realised I let
them hold me back. From that night, my celibacy began.
Just a few weeks later, I met another Rosicrucian, this
time a man after my own heart. A man whose wise words
have been key in recent developments in my life, that
quantum leap into the new me.
189
Day Zero Minus
Ninety Seven
“There are no mistakes. The events we bring upon
ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in
order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we
take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to
go.” ― Richard Bach
A couple of days after the wine, after the chance to tell
someone about my take on modern-day asceticism, and a
weekend to dwell on what that meant and where I might go
with it, I was no happier. Still, something was missing. I
couldn't put my finger on it. If there was a point, I could not
find it. So I gave up looking.
And sure enough, when you stop looking, stop wanting,
throw your arms up in the air in submission, and surrender
yourself just 'to be-ing', the very guidance you once sought,
all you ever wanted, lands in your lap.
I was up at 35,000 feet, flying from KL to Yogyakarta in
Java. I'd taken on some work to help friends set themselves
up in an export business, and headed down there for a
couple of days to get some stuff done on their behalf.
Thoughts of a new ascetic life whirled around my head, but I
190
was out of sorts, unclear as to a path, and full of doubts.
Confusion was at the helm.
I had a book with me, one I'd read several times, and
always found inspiring. The kind of book you can open at
any page and find something worth reading. I took it from
my bag, and it opened on pages 86 and 87. Here's what I
found there:
'Almost anyone making a transition would have an
experience of shedding the old skin. Suppose you have
shed the serpent's skin but want to leave some tagged on
the end. This is a major problem. It is an anxiety that has to
do with what's back there. You have to know enough to cut it
off.
'Sri Ramakrishna, talking about this fundamental stage
of renunciation - 'going into the forest' in the Indian system speaks of three kinds of renunciation.
'The first is gradual renunciation. That's where you
know the time is coming, you take advice from your guru or
chaplain, or whatever, you think it out, make arrangements
for the place you're going, and so on. If you are a man, you
transfer your dharma to your son. He is the one that now
has to carry on the dharma of the family, and you are
released from that. Then you are nobody, no longer in caste.
It's a real, real quittance.'
There was more but I'd read enough. The second and
third, sudden renunciation (to which I'd been close and was
to come close again) and monkey renunciation, wouldn't
work. I wanted nothing. The idea that 'you are nobody' and
191
'real quittance' were the missing pieces from the jigsaw
puzzle of my future.
It went further:
'Renunciation is literally a death and a resurrection.'
At last, that which I'd been drawn to had surfaced from
the depths within.
Thank you, Joseph Campbell.
********
Renunciation is not something you can announce to the
world as an ongoing plan. Getting to the day when you
leave is a gradual thing. It's right that you take care of your
affairs, and get everything sorted out so that those you
leave won't have any logistical headaches. Especially an 18year-old young man about to start his own life journey.
As soon as I got back from my short trip to Java, I
planned my ticket to nowhere. Then I could be nobody and,
once and for all, have what I wanted: nothing.
I chose the date of my departure, twenty two days after
Vipassana ended. That would leave enough time to tie up a
few loose ends, but the bulk of it I planned to deal with in the
month preceding Vipassana, once I'd returned from the UK
and getting my son settled at university.
192
If I'd been excited about the modern-day ascetic, I was
ecstatic about this latest, conclusive development. It felt as if
I was suddenly lifted above the quagmire below, and I was
reminded of the most impressive of the Chinese astrologer's
words when I'd sought a reading.
I was never one for fortune tellers, palm readers or the
like, believing destiny was very much in our own hands and
of our own making. Which it is. But two good friends had
been to see 'Amy' and for both her reading, of recent events
and the foreseeable future, was remarkably accurate. This
was around the time I'd learnt of Vipassana, and booked
myself in. Day Zero minus two hundred and sixteen, to be
precise.
All you do is give her your date and time of birth, and
she takes it from there. After a few minutes scribbling down
Chinese characters in rows and columns on a piece of
graph paper, Amy looked up and said, "congratulations, next
ten years very good."
'Wow' I thought. I'll take that for starters.
"What about the ten years after that?" I asked.
She scribbled some more, then said, "Also good.
Happy."
Amy then dwelt on all she'd noted down and stunned
me with her appraisal of my recent past, and exact, to the
day, prediction of my imminent future. Her English wasn't so
great, but this is how she explained it:
193
"The last seven years you okay, happy, but stuck.
Muddy."
She struggled to find the right words.
"Like your feet stuck in mud. Cannot move."
It had been seven years since my son had joined me
full time, so that he could attend a good British International
School, something not available where his mother was.
"Half year from now you rise from mud. Change in your
life."
A half year?
I'd already booked my ticket, and it was six calendar
months to the day that I'd be returning from the UK, my
dharma, or social duty, complete. I was blown away. Amy
told me more about my Yin and Earth characteristics, and
advised a nearness to water. I, like many, find water
tremendously calming.
Now free of my recent confusion, I'd retaken control of
my own ship. I had a plan to get me outta here, and I was in
'full steam ahead' mode. I'd chosen the date of my death
and resurrection, and next morning, at 5:16am, ninety four
days before Day Zero, I began drafting the email I would
send out to let the world know I was gone. Then I set about
making actual plans.
194
Initially, my mind went as far as me leaving with nothing
but the clothes on my back, which I would then replace on
arrival at wherever I landed; I considered going to the airport
and asking for the first flight with a seat available. It didn't
matter where I was going, it only mattered that I was going.
But that seemed overly dramatic, a bit crazy - nothing by
comparison to the overall craziness - to possibly head into
some country in the middle of winter with just a t-shirt and
shorts. I would be dumping, or donating, much of what I
owned, but I thought I may as well keep my good hiking
boots and clothing, other functional travel gear, and my
iPod.
In the same prophetic Joseph Campbell book, there is
another chapter where he has to give up seven things. He,
and a large gathering split into smaller groups, were asked,
'what are the seven things for which you feel your life is
worth living?'. Having spent a day working out the seven
things, they were given seven small objects to represent the
seven things. They were then taken through a ritual where
they had to give up each in the order of 'least cherished
first'. After seven stages, to exit the ritual they had to give up
that which they cherished most.
I mis-read this as 'what are seven things worth living
for?' and found my list only had one answer. I thought of,
and rejected, such things as 'my son', or 'my family', as I
can't live for them, they must live for themselves. Different if
your kids are still young, when fulfilling your dharma, your
social responsibility, is unquestionably worth living for.
195
What else might there be? A career? A charitable
cause? Global consciousness? Or are some people content
living to see if their country wins the next World Cup, or their
team the next Super Bowl?
My answer was the only reason I had for living: To see what happens. So much for having no plan. This was the best plan I'd
ever had.
For fun I tried a couple of other lists, one of things I was
attached to, and one of people I felt an affinity with. I wasn't
concerned that I'd miss any one at all, but there were people
very special to me. Not necessarily close, but special.
For the things I listed my music collection, close to a
thousand CDs. Much of this can fit onto an iPod, but it's
tough to give up the actual, physical CD, especially those
with wonderful inner sleeves; two beautiful salt lamps,
bought when they first came on the scene, also made my
list, as did a set of hand-carved yoga statues that I'd had
commissioned and worked hard with the carver to get right.
But then I thought of the joy all of these could bring others,
and was at peace with letting them go. The only other thing I
felt any attachment to were my sunglasses! Or specifically,
the gold iridium lenses that do wonders for my vision. But
these could come with me. All three pairs.
196
As for people, I could list only six. And no surprise, they
are the ones I now know, post-Vipassana, to be my soulmates.
********
Having selected what I'd be taking with me, and
checked it was within my target of being no more than 15
kilos once packed up in my rucksack, I began to ponder
where I should head to first. I felt I needed a long time by
myself, or with myself. At that stage I had a heap of books
on my reading list, and bought an iPad so I could carry them
electronically. I worked out my ideal location would be on
the edge of a not-so-small town, close enough to nature that
I could hike right from where I was, yet still within a short
ride of a good local market, and close enough to a
restaurant and coffee-shop scene. If I wanted to 'see what
happens', I would need to be somewhere where something
was happening.
The lure of the hills and mountains has always been
strong in me, even though all of my life has been at sea
level, and much of it close to the beach. It felt like that time
of life when cooler climes are in order; not winter, but
tropical highlands; further from the Equator than I'd been for
a long time. The beauty would be that I could move with the
seasons.
The solitude I sought was not one of being isolated, but
one of being undisturbed. Having read Sara Maitland's 'A
Book of Silence', which is truly magical, I didn't feel I needed
197
to go as far; be as harsh on myself. I reckoned that as long
as I had a quiet room, and kept myself to myself, people
would leave me alone. I might join a local yoga class, but
could easily decline offers of a social nature.
But then John came into my life, the second
Rosicrucian. He was the 'been there, done that' of my future
existence. Asceticism 101 showed up at my doorstep. And
as everybody knows, 'there are no coincidences'. This was
Day Zero minus eighty.
He didn't actually show up at my doorstep, but on my
mobile phone. Our mutual buddy Ziggy, the spear-fisherman
who joined me in a Vipassana dream, had hurt himself in a
fishing-related accident (he fell off a motorbike whilst
searching for new fishing spots on a remote Indonesian
island) and came up to KL for some better medical care.
He'd used my spare mobile phone and had been texting
John. The night Ziggy left, John called that number to check
on him, but got me instead.
Ziggy had been saying for years that I must meet John,
but my trips to Indonesia were by then infrequent, and John
was an elusive character himself, although he did keep a
room there. Our only ever chat went like this:
"Hello?"
I was surprised to hear my spare phone ringing, not
knowing Ziggy had left it on when he departed. The phone
screen only showed 'Call', meaning it must be from
overseas.
198
"Hey Ziggy, how are you?" A bold, cheerful voice
inquired.
"Ziggy's gone, left a few hours ago. He's doing ok.
Who's this?"
"I'm John."
Surprisingly I felt my heart miss a beat, and my
breathing stop. I was nervous, like I'd picked up the phone
and The Queen, or Jack Nicholson, was on the line.
"Hey John! Ziggy has spoken about you so much. He's
been trying to put us in touch for ages." I do my best not to
speak too quickly, or sound too excited.
"Yes, he has."
"From what he tells me, you seem to have been doing,
or living, the stuff I'm now contemplating."
"Uh-huh..."
"Would it be ok if I emailed you? Just to tell you where
I'm at, and where I might be heading. I'd really appreciate
any thoughts or insights you can share."
"Sure thing."
"Oh man, that would be great."
I found myself taking a deep, deep breath, and from
somewhere I can't define, a great calmness swept over me,
199
stopping me from launching into a big spiel about all and
sundry and probably a bit more too. I'm a talker, a big time
communicator, but this wasn't the time.
"I'll get your email address from Ziggy," was all I said.
"Do that."
"It's been great to speak with you. Thanks so much. I'll
be in touch soon."
"Good."
"Thanks John."
"Bye."
"Bye." I said too.
I felt as though I'd won the jackpot! Out of nowhere I
had stumbled upon someone who, from what Ziggy had told
me, had been through much of what I was about to take on.
Or take off, as it's the stripping down of all that's in your life,
and in you, that downsizing to all things simple, the desire
for nothing, that makes the ascetic what he is.
I was about to sleep when John called, but now my
mind was racing. I thought about starting the email to him
right that minute, but then thought I'd better let it settle.
Ziggy isn't the best communicator so it could be days before
I had John's email address. That would give me time to
200
carefully consider my words, and not get carried away, as I
had done in the wine bar.
I realised too that John hadn't really said much. In fact,
after opening all chatty with, 'Hey Ziggy, how are you?', he'd
only spoken 13 words, and that's counting 'uh-huh' as two!
What is it Khalil Gibran said?
'You talk when you cease to be at peace with your
thoughts.'
John must be at peace with his thoughts; and it would
explain the war going on in my head.
********
John had been in a similar business to mine, trading
basically, but with a number of equally young and hungry
partners, they had really worked it hard, and hit their own
jackpot. I knew all of his partners, one quite well, through
playing football. But John was the first to bail, to reach that
moment where you know what you're doing isn't enough,
isn't fulfilling you, isn't what you are supposed to be doing.
He'd started the slow process of simplifying his life,
choosing solitude and self-improvement; and celibacy. That
was ten years ago. My celibacy was barely two weeks old!!
I never spoke to John again, but his impact, via email
exchanges, in the build up to my own deconstruction, that
ineluctable shift towards asceticism, was monumental.
201
Looking back, what he said in his very first email to me
captures the essence of the easy wisdom he so freely
shared with me:
'Here is my message to you. It is the only thing I am
qualified to say to you. I know nothing about absolute truth.
But I know this: Simplifying your life as much as possible and devoting
thirty minutes to one hour a day, every day, to some sort of
meditation practice designed to develop your untapped
potential, whatever that means to you, is worth the effort. For the first six months to a year, minimum, it won't
seem like it. You'll get frustrated and think you're not getting
anywhere, not good at it, can't meditate, aren't spiritual
enough etc etc etc. But if you can get over that difficult
period, and do it daily, despite the seeming fruitlessness of
the effort, you'll turn into a brand new being, and amazing
things will happen to you, many of which will be so unusual
and outstanding that you will not be able to discuss them
with anyone but another who is doing the same thing. You
will be at once alone and lonely, as few will understand you,
but you will be free. He ended with a compliment:
If I may be so bold as to comment: I can tell by the
nature of your letter that you've already gone past the point
of no return regarding this decision. Way to go.'
202
Of course I couldn't show my full hand, couldn't let him
see every page of the playbook. As he was still around,
even if he was prone to disappearing for long periods, he
hadn't gone as far as I was going, which was all the way.
Total renunciation.
But that was then. When I did eventually take him into
my full confidence, to find out he too had planned to go all
the way, it was already too late. 203
Day One Hundred Again
(and still thereabouts) "Don't let us forget that the causes of human actions are
usually immeasurably more complex and varied than our
subsequent explanations of them." ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky
So what's happened to me? What's happened that now
makes me know I'm different? Equanimity is what's happened, and without it, I couldn't
possibly be in the situation I currently find myself in. Look it
up in the dictionary and it says, 'mental calmness,
composure, and evenness of temper'. Okay, I might not
score a perfect ten on any of those, but I'm a lot closer than
I was just a short one hundred days ago. I know this, as I've
passed a major test: I allowed myself to whole-heartedly
and unequivocally 'be'.
'Be what?' You might ask. It's a fair question.
'In the moment?' Yes. 'Spontaneous?' Yep. 'Openminded?' Absolutely. 204
'And free?'
Free of what?
'Free of fear...'
Yes. Yep. Absolutely. I'm living without fear, which is
essential if you ever want to live or be in the moment. Once
you get to this point, then you really are living to 'see what
happens'. And the only way you can ever do that, is by
being yourself; and loving the you that is you, the you that
simply is.
Best of all, I haven't had to go anywhere.
********
The problem with plans, even a plan to get you to a
time and place where you can live without a plan, is that
they will never, never, go to plan. The very nature of a plan
is that it lives somewhere in the future, whether it be one
minute or one year away. Then whenever you are focussed
on the plan, you aren't in the moment. If you aren't in the
moment, then the future is random, for the future is the child
of the present. How did you get to where you are in this very
moment? The only thing that has brought you to this
moment is the accumulated moments of your past. So try
this trick out: if you are happy and content in this moment,
then every moment up until now, that is, everything you
205
have ever experienced, all of your life, had to be the way it
was to get you here. If you can accept that, the past
diminishes, and with it go all of your beliefs, perceptions,
habit-patterns, everything that has ever held you back. All
that bad stuff, all that pain, confusion and grief, it had to be
the way it was to get you to where you are now. So if now is good, the past is gone.
'But I'm not happy now', you say.
You're not happy now because you are still reacting to
all of the cravings and aversions, those 'deep-seated
defilements' that our good friend Goenkaji spoke of. This is
Vipassana for Dummies. It couldn't be any simpler.
So if now is good, the future can only be better.
What that future might be is of no great moment. As
long as you are happy, and as long as you are Good, in this
moment, the future looks after itself. Remove fear and
expectation, and let the Universal Laws of Nature do the
rest. Eternity without a plan. Perfect for a man who likes
surprises.
********
Some surprises are still bigger than others. Especially
when you surprise yourself. Ever since Day Eleven, when I
allowed myself to flow, in spite of a number of plans I had for
that day and my return into the world, I've been surprising
206
myself. The list is a long one, and not all of it pleasant
surprises. Some days I'd find myself full of compassion and
equanimity, other days I'd be making the same old mistakes
of a lifetime. Perhaps it's a bit like the meditation sessions,
when you have a good one you release some negative stuff
which in turn affects the next session. My days seem to be
like this. I was diligent with my Vipassana meditation for about a
month after Day Eleven, choosing the hour before dawn as
my time; an hour in the evenings just wasn't happening,
even when my home was free of guests. Then I was thrown
the proverbial curve ball, except that it came straight at me
and landed flush on the third eye. Once again I'd found a
simple quote that resonated through my every cell:
"Meditation is one of the greatest arts in life-perhaps the
greatest, and one cannot possibly learn it from anybody, that
is the beauty of it. It has no technique and therefore no
authority. When you learn about yourself, watch yourself,
watch the way you walk, how you eat, what you say, the
gossip, the hate, the jealousy-if you are aware of all that in
yourself, without any choice, that is part of meditation."
“Man, in order to escape his conflicts, has invented
many forms of meditation. These have been based on
desire, will, and the urge for achievement, and imply conflict
and a struggle to arrive. This conscious, deliberate striving
is always within the limits of a conditioned mind, and in this
there is no freedom. All effort to meditate is the denial of
meditation. Meditation is the ending of thought. It is only
then that there is a different dimension which is beyond
time." ― Jiddu Krishnamurti
207
I deeply respect Goenka and the Vipassana way,
however, like so much of life, it acts as a stepping stone
only. What I've come to know is that my meditations, like my
life, aren't about a strict routine of 'one hour in the mornings,
one hour in the evenings', but about the mindfulness they
take you towards. Mindfulness in that you watch yourself,
know yourself, be yourself, in every moment. It's when you
are at one with yourself, at one with whatever it is you are
doing, at one with the moment, that you are at peace. It
doesn't matter if you find that peace in pruning the roses,
cooking dinner for your family, or sitting at your desk doing
the work you love - that's for you to decide, wherever your
peace can be found.
When you find it, you know it, as Time stands still.
Finally the arbiter of all our hours and minutes is defeated
by His most powerful constituent: the Moment.
'But what about the point?'
Get yourself into the moment, find your peace, your
Oneness, and there is no point, because you are now one
with it. 'So all that searching for the point was pointless?'
Not so. The point exists in us as another stepping
stone, a sharp, nasty one that keeps digging into us
whenever we let our awareness slide. There's no greater
sign of a total lack awareness of oneself, than asking 'what
is the point?' I know this. I was there.
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********
Equanimity may now be steering my ship, but what is
actually different?
The difference is that I am aware of myself when
anything negative shows its face. Not necessarily aware
enough to stop, stand back, breathe and nip my reaction in
the bud, but aware enough to see it as soon as it has
happened, and often as it is happening. Progress indeed.
Top of the list would have to be dispensing with judging
others. I don't have a 100% success rate, but boy does it
take a load off the mind. Albert Camus nailed it:
'To be happy, we must not be too concerned with others.'
You can bring this into play in an ascetic lifestyle, as the
very nature of your life takes you towards solitude and away
from society. But if you're at the heart of a family, have
others depending on you (whether you want that or not),
then it's a tougher ask. I have had to do the latter, something
I could never have contemplated before Vipassana. Once you stop yourself judging others, then you can
'see things as they really are', and see them as they really
are. This is the boon. When the eyes with which you look
upon another are without judgement, and instead full of
compassion, you see that person in a totally new light. Your
default mode immediately forgives them for being - take
209
your pick - fat, ugly, angry, arrogant, corrupt; of this religion,
or that creed, hypocritical, self-righteous, small-minded; sad,
weak, lost, lonely, scared. The list is almost endless.
Strip away the exterior, and you expose the single
cause of all man's ills: fear. Do this with compassion in your
heart, and you can connect with them, as in them you see a
little bit of yourself. The 'yourself' that you may have been,
the old you that was left behind with the dead skin you shed
so recently; the dead skin you continue to shed, as every
day is a challenge to be the new you, and to keep the old
you at bay. All these people, unaware of how fear fuels their
ego, and stokes the fires of their misery and wanting, are
the motivation that helps keep you focussed on your path.
For this, you must be grateful, for these people are all of us.
********
Once I'd come to terms with having Breath and
Sensations on board, I discussed my renunciation plans
with them. It was strange how I was giving them a full
explanation, when obviously they would know all about it.
Halfway through Breath interrupted me.
"Are you aware of me? Of your breathing? At this
moment?" She asked.
"Oh. Er, no. Shit, I'm not breathing."
"Hey Anthony the Great, try zoning in on your torso,"
Sensations suggested.
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I did, and I was hunched forward, hugging my knees,
tight in all of my front body, especially my chest. Virtually a
foetal position. Interesting...
"Huddled up, aren't we."
It felt like she was enjoying this. But then, as she often
did, the iron mask fell and she let compassion flow forth.
"Come," she said, "cuddle with Mother."
I hugged myself all the more, and a presence
overwhelmed me, taking away all my angst and trepidation.
After a minute or so of total stillness, my mind clear, I came
back to myself.
"What was that?" I asked.
"Let's call it a Cosmic Cuddle." Sensations teased.
I could feel the warmth of both my buddies, and took
great strength from it. Of course, this was before I knew
we'd be losing touch at the end of the eleven days.
"I feel better now, thank you. Ok, so you know what the
plan is, and I guess you know how strongly I feel about it.
That I must go through with it. But now I'm starting to doubt,
not doubt the plan, but doubt if it really emanates from my
core, my true self. Can you see deeper than I?"
211
It was Breath that responded, and I was glad, as I
couldn't handle any more of Sensations word games. Not
very equanimous I know...
"We can only see, or feel, or experience what you allow
us to. I merely allow you to be, and get on with all the
biological stuff. Sensations is the reactions to what you are
feeling and experiencing, as well as helping with your
stubble, eye brows, dead skin and the like. "But what we do know, is how you are reacting to your
plans, and curling up into a foetal position when you are
talking about it, indicates that deep down, there is fear."
I immediately wanted to react, to refute any suggestion
that there was fear within me. And almost as immediately it
was clear that the very reaction was proof positive that the
fear existed. The Vipassana was working; I was starting to
see things as they really are.
As I came to terms with, at first, a delay in my
'renunciation' date, then total abandonment of my grand
master plan, I was constantly faced with tests of my
equanimity. As if the mirror that was held up to me, on Day
Nine, was standing behind me, jabbing a stiff finger into my
shoulder-blade:
"See, see. How about this? How are you going to
remain true to yourself, equanimous and compassionate in
the face of this situation? Eh? EH?!"
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Maybe it wasn't the mirror, maybe it was Sensations.
Either way, I needed that finger jabbing me, reminding me
not to react, reminding me I now had the tools to overcome
whatever the waves brought my way.
Understanding and accepting that I bring everything
into my life for a reason helps soften the blows, but I still
wonder why I can't effect more control over 'the lessons' I
attract.
My post Vipassana life, these one hundred or so days,
have brought so much life into my Life. I don't doubt all this
life was there beforehand, but now I seem to be seeing
more of it. Or aware of more of it. Some new people I've met
strike me as being reminders of my past, tests to see if I
make the same mistakes, or permit the same old habit
patterns to prevail. It's good, that I'm aware, but bad when I
remain entangled in my previous ways, helpless to help
myself even though I can see where it's going.
Some old friends have resurfaced - remember I'd been
saying goodbye to people, which for me was 'goodbye, we'll
never met again', ever since the renunciation plan came into
being - and they have clearly done so for what they remind
me of in me; that's the me that I like to think of as the old
me.
If I've given the impression that I'm the sort of character
to talk the rear end off a donkey, then one of my good
buddies who came back into my life, post-Vipassana, can
talk the rear ends off a drove of them. I smile, to myself but
also to the world, when I'm with him whilst he's rambling on,
often repeating stories over and over, and always on the
213
lookout for someone new to converse with, whether face-toface or on his phone. Was I as bad as that? I was,
especially after a few drinks.
It was after a few drinks on Day Seventy Something, a
few too many, on his part not mine, that led me to where I
am now. Sure enough, when you're not looking for
something it finds you. Even if what finds you wasn't looking
either. The Universe works in mysterious ways... except it
doesn't, it works in a very straightforward way, if only we let
it.
********
Want a great test for your equanimity? Seek solitude
living in an apartment with two spare rooms. My 'private
refuge' is more like a motel; I've been running at about 80%
occupancy over these last three months! If I'm to be 'Good',
how I can turn a friend down who needs a place to stay
when I've so much space to share? Isn't this what any
Vipassana yogi would do?
I laugh now, but at the time it was 'if only I'd made a run
for it as planned!'. But any sentence that begins 'if only' is
always futile, and I'd quickly remember to reflect on why I'd
brought myself to that moment. It must be for a reason. It
must be for a good reason . . .
My talkative buddy, Billy, is a man of extremes, so he'll
have one month being a virtual yogi himself, followed by a
month when he parties like a maniac. It was such a month
214
when he was staying at my place. As a good Vipassana
yogi, how could I possibly let him go out drinking alone?
Fortunately I was aware enough of myself to know when I'd
had my fill; unfortunately his awareness deserted him about
two hours, and six more beers, before his conscious mind
let go. Then I'd be dragging a sleeping man out of a bar and
into a taxi. It was a common occurrence.
On one such night, he, I, and another guest at Motel
Solitude, Eric, went out to celebrate nothing in particular,
just life in general. Tuesday nights had a great band at a bar
just a short walk away. We'd warmed up with some gins at
my place, courtesy of Billy, then made our way to do a little
boggie-ing, as 40-somethings do (when drunk, in their case,
or equanimous, in my case). It was that sort of bar.
When you embark on a path of celibacy, it's both
interesting and entertaining to watch the guys still trying to
hook-up. Billy was just a drunken flirt, who'd dance with
anyone. I used to think he was blind, but now see that he
was only being equanimous himself. He didn't judge, he just
asked any non-dancing lady if she'd like to dance,
regardless of her looks, size or dress sense. A lesson
indeed for a perfectionist like me. Eric on the other hand,
was very much in the game, looking for his perfect match,
and Billy wanted to help.
After a few beers and a couple of dances, Billy spotted
three ladies sitting on their own in a quiet alcove near the
door at the far end of the bar. He was steaming drunk, and
on another day I might have steered him back towards his
beer, to give the poor ladies the peace, if not quiet, they
clearly sought. But I didn't, and he was straight over there.
215
Although I wasn't privy to the opening conversation as it
happened, I was told how it went down a little later. A
candidate for 'worst chat-up line' ever.
"Hello," said Billy, swaying. The ladies looked up, but
didn't look friendly. My guess, looking on from the other end
of the bar, was that they were happily immersed in their
chat, and didn't need a drunk expat - they looked like locals
- intruding. If they didn't look friendly at that moment, two
seconds later they looked furious and ready to fight. One
stood up in total outrage.
"Are you lot working girls?" Billy had asked.
No wonder they were mad. And obviously they weren't.
Billy, as drunk as he was, staged an incredible recovery,
as he is a good man who knows the truth always prevails.
"I'm only asking cos if you are we won't bother you, you
know, we're not punters, and we don't want to spoil your
chances. If you're not, then we'll come over for a chat. D'ya
want a drink?"
Having gauged that they weren't working girls by their
reaction, and from where Eric and I stood, the tirade of
expletives they hurled at him, he turned around and waved
us over. "They're alright, they are", he either mouthed or
shouted to us, the music too loud to know for sure.
That's how we met Jemima, Victoria and Natasha. 216
Eric was over there like a shot, but I dawdled behind,
slightly put out that I couldn't stay where I was, close to the
stage, watching the band. There's lots of great live music
around KL, and since Vipassana, and on Billy's insistence 'we'll just go for a couple and the first set' - I'd gotten back
into it. I had gotten out of it as the venues and bars are
always so smokey. It was an issue I had with various friends
who came to stay at my place too; even though they
smoked on the balcony, the smoke came in with them, and
sometimes I'd need days to air my guest room.
I struggled with it so much that I brought it up with the
teacher during the Vipassana course!
"Teacher, I have a terrible aversion to smoking, and
keep attracting all my smoking friends to come to stay at my
apartment. They smoke outside but the smoke comes in
with them. How can I get over this?"
He smiled, and no doubt thought I was crazy.
"Do you love your friends?"
I wasn't expecting that.
"I do. They are good friends."
"And the smell of smoke goes once they leave?"
"It does. After a few days."
"What's a few days compared to good friends?"
217
I nearly cried. "Just remain equanimous, why react?" He added.
Then, surprisingly, he had more for me.
"Try buying one of those Lampe Berger burners, they
have oils that eat the smoke."
"Do they? I will. Thank you Teacher."
Back in the bar, introductions behind us, Billy dragged
'Jem' off for a dance, whilst Eric and I talked to 'Nat' and
Victoria. Both wore serious tattoos, smoked, and drank pints
of stout. As attractive as they were, they were a million miles
from 'my type of girl' back in the day. Then it got worse, they
were Catholic too! I'd have been running in the opposite
direction.
Unlike Jem, who was Chinese Malaysian, Nat and
Victoria were Eurasian, from what's known as the
Portuguese settlement, down in Malacca, South-East Asia's
oldest port. They had many nationalities in their heritage,
and not surprisingly Victoria had a British great-grandfather.
Billy and Jem came back, and we all moved around
talking to each other. Billy, now sat at the bar next to the
table we were at, kept trying to buy drinks, but the ladies
were driving so politely refused. I was on water by then, and
Eric was drinking slow. It looked like it could be his lucky
night: Jem was divorced and had been single a long time,
218
Nat had just split from her boyfriend after a decade as he
didn't want to settle down and have a family, and Victoria
had been divorced, officially, only a week. Eric, an intuitive type, seemed to be keener on talking
with Jem, I'm guessing seeing greater baggage with the two
newly single ladies. For all his meditations and spiritual lilt,
poor Eric's life was still tortuously incongruous, wanting
everything yet rejecting it all. Thus is the life of the 40-yearold bachelor.
I asked Victoria if she'd thought about dating again,
remembering how long it had taken me after splitting from
my wife.
"Not until my daughters are through school and in
higher education," she replied.
"Wow", I said, "That must be a long time away, you
don't even look thirty."
"Ha," she scoffed, "I'm older than that. A little. My
daughters are 10 and 12."
"So you're not planning on dating for about eight
years?" I asked, eyebrows raised to the max.
"Nope. I've got to support my daughters, and I have a
business to run. No time to waste on men."
I could feel the depth of her disdain.
219
"Hey, you could meet Mr. Right tomorrow morning.
Keep an open mind, you never know..."
Again she scoffed, then a waiter tapped my arm and
pointed to Billy, asleep on his bar stool, beer bottle sitting
precariously in his hand.
"Looks like I have to go," I said, happy it was home
time.
"We do too," said Nat, who was riding home with
Victoria.
Jem, however, had her own car, and in a reluctantly 'ohgo-on-then' type of way, accepted Eric's offer of a dance, so
they stayed on.
And that was that, as far as I was concerned. That was
that as far as Nat and Victoria were concerned too. Next
morning Billy couldn't remember much after his opening line,
but was glad he'd avoided being beaten up, and at the same
time helped Eric meet Jem, as they had hit it off and had
plans to meet again.
I had no plans. So the Universe made some for me.
220
Days Zero to Eleven Again
(Tales and Confessions) "There are only two ways to live your life. One is though
nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a
miracle." ― Albert Einstein
It seems a long time ago that I was embarking on the
'first day of the rest of my life', a hackneyed expression, but
apt nonetheless. It applies as strongly today as it did then,
powerful enough to be a wake-up mantra. Adapt it a little, to
'the first moment of the rest of my life' and it loses its power,
yet that's what every moment is; it's an ever-changing
constant.
How to make head or tail, or tale, of those extraordinary
eleven days imprisoned in a hell that became a heaven?
Hades to Elysium in a week and a half. Externally,
physically, nothing much changed other than the gardens
becoming a tad more uncultivated. The sun still shone, the
clouds continued on their endless journeys, and the wildlife
remained as indifferent to the Me that left on Day Eleven as
it was to the Me that arrived on Day Zero. 221
If I take this to a personal level, externally and
physically, I looked just about the same. My facial hair, like
the gardens, had grown a bit, without the loving care and
attention that hair, and gardens, usually receive. My
bodyworker friend suggested, when she saw me, that my
hips had opened up from all of the sitting, and the strong
determination. Physically that's good news, but I'm not sure
open hips are one of the major keys to contentment, let
alone enlightenment.
All around me, everything I can see, is the same. If you
took me to a state-of-the-art hospital, wired me up all over to
analyse my internal self, it too would be little different to
before the meditation course. There's research that has
highlighted subtle shifts in brainwave activity during
meditation, but right here and now, I'm not meditating, so
even on that count I'd be the same.
Yet I'm not.
I've never been one to dwell on the 'whys' of things;
when something feels right I'm happy to take it for what is
without needing to pull it apart logically or scientifically. But
conversations inside my head, trips back into past lives,
trips into the unknown, and even a trip into somebody else's
head over six decades ago, surely that's worth exploring? I've tried. With limited success. I can however divulge
the following.
Breath is me. I am Breath. 222
Do you ever talk to yourself? I've done it for as long as I
can remember, as did my father before me. Mostly it's
'under my breath', but it's me, talking. To myself. I've always
assumed everyone does this, it's a fabulous way to
prepare... for talking, and I've done a lot of talking. I'd posit
that it's essential if you are about to enter a serious talk, be
it for business, with a friend or your child, any time you know
you'll be communicating by voice. Practice may not make
perfect, but I have talked my way through certain scenarios
ahead of the actual conversation, and have been able to
avoid all sorts of problems.
In such an instance, I'm play-acting the part of who I'll
be talking to, second-guessing what they might say, or ask.
But I give myself the chance to examine my own discourse,
to see if I might be heading down the wrong road. You can
think of it as an extension of an actor learning their lines,
except it's a live event, in the 'now'.
Vipassana takes away your ability to talk to yourself,
even on the inside. You are encouraged to still the mind,
through the distractions of focussing on your breath and
then your sensations. Talk is the product of thought. We all
occasionally talk without thinking, and know how that usually
ends up... look at Billy in the bar. The usual process is
thought, verbalisation, action. Acting without thinking can be
even worse that talking without thinking.
During Vipassana not only talking but action too is
taken away from you. There's very little you have to do. Eat
a bit, some washing now and then, and a few laps of the
centre during free time. I did some yoga and stretches to
help with tight and sore muscles, but there is nothing else to
223
do. In fact, as all your mind has to be concerned with is
breath and sensations, even that gets, or should get, a
break from its standard operating procedures, as involuntary
as they can be.
All of this is designed to allow the body's energies to
turn their efforts towards uprooting the defilements, digging
deep not just into me, but beyond me, beyond this form I
now inhabit; this is what took me back to past lives,
triggered by events of the present. It's accepted that the
defilements can have roots in past lives, which makes some
so hard to unearth.
Somewhere from within, or perhaps from without, those
energies gave Breath her voice, and allowed her to be,
within me. I can't say for sure from where she emanated, but
have settled on her presence being the result of excess
energies finding a purpose. I needed her, as I did
Sensations, and they undoubtedly taught me stuff I needed
to know.
Then again, I did tell Athos/Richard, 'teaching is
reminding others that they know just as well as you'. Maybe
that's what they were doing, in which case they are me. Now
I'm back to where I started:
I am Breath. Breath is me. And Sensations too. ********
224
This too I can divulge: our past lives are available to us
whenever we need them. Access to them exists for the sole
purpose of healing ourselves in the present. That healing
may come from a lesson, or realisation, and is not always a
physical healing, as psychosomatically, the emotional
wound may not yet have manifested in the current energy
field and body, or 'bodymind'.
I am quite sure it was the sight of the coughing monk
sat in the hall with us that triggered my trip to my dying
monk. Monk(ey) see, monk(ey) do, as it were. I know from
prior experiences with hypnotherapy that when you go back,
you have outstanding recollection, and can 'sense'
everything as if you were there. Which in a way, you are,
once you move from World Time into SpaceTime. But that's
another story.
I just wonder if he experienced anything? I was
convinced he was aware of me. I've tried paralleling it with
unexplainable experiences I have had, but can't pinpoint
anything that I could classify as visits from a future me, or a
future anybody else.
My efforts to understand why I went back to Athos/
Richard, where I seemed to be the one healing or helping
him, is that it has helped me, here and now, with the idea of
teaching, or mentoring. I'm not making a profession of it, but
I am attracting plenty of friends who need some simple
wisdom, like that John has shared with me. I've been doing
this for years, under the name of 'having a chat with a mate'.
Now, I see that I learn, or grow, as much from any chat or
225
mentoring as the person I'm talking with. More so even. And
I'm finally learning to listen more than I talk.
As for my seating position triggering the trip back, I
wonder if the 'trip back' was calling me there, and
manoeuvred me into a suitable position so I could travel? The 'board meeting' with my body-parts amuses me to
this day; again I see this as excess energies combined with
the heightened awareness, and a dose of my own skewed
sense of humour. When I try to relive that night, with
focussed meditation, or after a day of anapana in the hope
I'd create greater awareness within, or even when I smoked
some weed to see if that could help get me onto the right
plane, all I'd come up with is how I was in 'real life'; the Me
in the meditation hall, the Me raising my hand, changing
facial expressions, and even moving my lips. I can't have
actually spoken aloud otherwise someone would have
poked me or dragged me out! It remains a mystery. The most prevalent emotion that I
carry from that night is the promise I made to my hands
about playing the piano. A promise I'm yet to keep.
One thing has come out of my endeavours to
comprehend all that occurred; I've become aware that
during those times when something significant happened, I
was never sat still. I rocked and rotated, and on
examination, moved to a rhythm, or beat. 226
As so often happens to me, when I'm wondering if there
might be a book to throw light on something I'm interested in
or investigating, the book I need to read appears. I've had
books - the exact book I was looking for even when I didn't
know exactly what book I was looking for - fall off the shelf
onto my feet! It happened with a book about 'brain wave
vibration', by Ilchi Lee. This, with some reading up on
Schumann Resonance, confirmed to me that energies, and
frequencies, were at play during the big stuff. Precisely how
I don't know.
As for the trip to the mental asylum, my terrifying ordeal
in the mind of a multiple split personality, this one I believe I
can pin down precisely.
I'd read much about meditation before Vipassana, stuff
John had directed me towards, and stuff that people here
and there - yoga classes, macrobiotic restaurants - mention
and you find it sticks. It sticks enough for you to search out
further info. This is what I was lead to:
“Follow the wandering, the distraction, find out why the
mind has wandered; pursue it, go into it fully. When the
distraction is completely understood, then that particular
distraction is gone. When another comes, pursue it also.” ― Jiddu Krishnamurti
I'd taken this with me to Vipassana, but it completely
slipped my mind - no surprise as my mind was being kept
plenty busy - until Day Seven. As soon as I remembered it, I
got excited and gave it a go. For so many days I'd been
curtailing any wanderings, adventures and fantasies that my
227
mind wanted to take me on. I thought it would be some lighthearted fun, to relieve the weight I was feeling by then, to let
my mind roam.
It was a weird feeling letting my mind go, I mean
consciously letting my mind go, as for seven days I'd been
doing everything to stop it going anywhere. But once I
breathed and relaxed into this new game, I quickly found an
intricate and complex 'distraction' that kept me occupied for
the best part of a whole one hour session. My mind was
trying to identify all the personalities within me; it came up
with seven, just as there were seven in the man whose head
I found myself later. Why this particular thought train I
cannot say.
If I'd had a pen and paper I could have noted down the
seven personalities, but I didn't, and I cannot recall them all.
Not now, and not even on the day after I'd got home. I didn't
feel I'd pursued it enough to say the 'distraction was
completely understood', hence I wanted to pursue it further.
What came later that day shock me so strongly that I was
reluctant to meditate with that intention in mind again.
I'm quite sure I got to the asylum via a dream, or due to
its nature, a nightmare. It was the end of the day, the end of
a tough day, I was at my lowest ebb, mentally and physically
shattered, and I simply nodded off. A combination of the
heightened awareness, the distraction I'd pursued a la
Krishnamurti, and the general weariness of where I was at,
took me down. Dreams can happen in a flash, and I'm sure
it did, but my state of mind made it seem and feel very real.
228
It would have been cool to be a time traveller, even
though Goenka would dismiss such frivolous preoccupation
as mere intellectual entertainment.
One thing that sticks in my mind, and bugs me to an
extent, is that I never did engage Breath in a conversation
about the dreams. Only on revisiting the major events, the
'travelling', did I realise how she and Sensations craftily
side-stepped the issue when we discussed the trip to the
looney bin. The 'bin' being my head and the 'looney' being
what's inside it. Or me. I'm convinced it was the product of a
dream 'plus, plus', surely something they could have told me
straight after when I sought an explanation from them. Tricky characters, these voices in my head.
On trying to comprehend my 'trips' to meet the Buddha,
Goenka, and the Alien, who I've since found myself referring
to as 'Al', I have hit a brick wall. At times this has frustrated
me, and at times I allow it to make me smile. It kind of feels
like They are putting up the barrier, as if I was given a
sneak-peek but need to do something more to get back into
the club. More than anything, I have come to know that I will
not find Them by searching for them, itself a sign of a desire
that I'm meant to be moving past. I then see it as a test of
my ability to accept it for what it is, or was, and not go
chasing after an explanation. But I have been chasing, searching far and wide. Selfhypnosis, meditations, not even the ubiquitous internet has
come up with an explanation that throws any light on it. I
229
listened to hours of Terence McKenna lectures, and
considered psilocybin and ayahuasca as possible gateways
back to where I'd been. Is this the 'something more' I have
to do? So far, my gut-feeling is saying 'no'.
It's still one to meditate on.
********
One thing that didn't take long to workout, once back in
the world of wifi, was the upside-down rainbow. When I first
looked up and saw it, I was genuinely astonished, having
never seen anything like it before. The sun was high in the
sky, with plenty of white clouds, but there it was, a perfect
upside-down rainbow smiling at me. The sort of thing that
would send a very stoned individual either running for cover,
or into a deeper hallucination. The heightened Vipassana awareness goes way
beyond any 'high' I've ever experienced. Total control, no
paranoia. As I stared at this crazy phenomena, looking
around to see if anyone else was seeing it - they weren't,
which made me wonder if it was a show just for me - I could
only link it to the adventure I'd just had, which made perfect
sense really. Einstein was right - wasn't he always? - once
you accept everything as a miracle, any and every thing can
make perfect sense.
But five minutes online and I discovered 'sun halos'.
Einstein would have known that. What was miraculous was
that in nearly fifty years I'd never seen one before.
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********
If there's a confession I'd like to, or need to make, it's in
regard to the blurring of lines between reality and illusion,
fiction and truth, what is and what seems to be. As I live, as
my mind opens, as I see and feel, as I continue to be a
better me, following the path that can only be my path, the
'experiential reality' that Goenka so often mentions becomes
the verisimilitude of Life: my life, your life, All Life.
If the 'Universal Laws of Nature' were a book, and you
were to seek it in a library, you'd find it sitting comfortably on
the floor in the aisle between the fiction and non-fiction
sections. Should you pick it up, you must then decide on
which shelf it belongs. Or you might pick it up, tuck it under your arm, and walk
straight down the middle of the aisle back out the door into
the world you've always imagined to be real. Then you'd be
on your way; your very own Middle Way.
I still don't know where I'm going. But I'm on my Way.
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Day Eighty Seven
(And Day Eighty Eight) "This being human is a guest house. Every morning is a
new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some
momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor...
Welcome and entertain them all. Treat each guest
honourably. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet
them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for
whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide
from beyond." ― Rumi
A week and a half after Eric had met Jem, he implored
me to join him on a night out with them to watch his
favourite 70s band. Same bar as where they'd met. I knew
the band, they were good, and it was close, so I agreed. He
said Victoria would be coming too, and being the hopeless
romantic that he is, I know he harboured dreams of us all
'double-dating'. He'd seen Jem a few times since that first
night, and said things were progressing well.
The idea of a 'date' - something Eric gently ribbed me
about although he too had had periods of celibacy and
austere living - amused me. It was seven months since I'd
made the move, and I was loving it. I didn't miss the
intimacy, or close friendship, or the physical release, and
still had good lady-friends to share lunch and chats with as
required. Rather like the quietening of the mind that
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meditation can bring, celibacy had a similar effect; now
when I meditate I am far more adept at spotting my mind
wandering and bringing it back; it's the same when I see an
attractive lady: instead of allowing a fantasy to evolve I can
pull myself back in a flash. I do this without castigating
myself for having had the momentary thought, and I do it
smilingly, as Goenka always said we should.
I wondered if Jem was selling the idea of a 'doubledate' to Victoria. It would be only natural that her friend
might want to see her dating again now that she was
divorced. I decided I better tell her early on that I was not a
candidate. I hadn't actually ever told a woman that I didn't
know about my celibacy, only telling those I knew well. It's
not exactly something you shout from the rooftops. It was
only recently, on nights out accompanying Billy, that I'd
come into situations where I'd be talking to, or dancing with,
an unknown lady, but things never progressed to a point
where it became an issue. Eric, on the other hand, had felt the need to make a
statement when he'd been 'on the wagon' as he referred to
it, and had had a t-shirt printed:
I'm Celibate
So F**K Off
On the flip side, he said it was great for attracting
women as they saw him as a 'challenge'. I saw him as a
challenge too, but to himself. The epitome of a preacher not
practising what he preaches. He's gone from our lives now,
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leaving in a huff, over not much. I wish him well, as I
wouldn't be where I am without him.
He and I arrived at the bar and disaster struck
immediately. Our great 70s band was replaced, for one night
only, by a Swiss rockabilly/boogaloo/doo-wop soloist, just
one man and his keyboard. A cross between Shakin'
Stevens and Bobby Valentin. He was remarkably good at
what he did, doing dance moves to the side and under his
keyboard as he played with great verve, but the crowd had
come to listen and dance to 70s funk and disco classics,
and weren't impressed. He might be able to dance to what
he was playing, but no-one else could.
Eric called Jem, who was still on her way. She said
she'd find another venue. Then Victoria walked in. With a
handsome man by her side. Eric's heart sank, I could see
the disappointment wash over him. First no 70s band, now
no double date. He was gutted.
The strangest thing however, was that I felt a little let
down myself. It was hardly the place to spend a couple of
minutes breathing, trying to access and assess my inner
self, to find out why. So I went back into 'normal' mode.
"Eric," I shouted, as the Swiss guy pounded out another
number, "I'll just head on home man. No worries."
"No. No! We'll go somewhere else. Jem will be here
soon, she's finding out what other bands are playing tonight.
We'll be fine. Let me talk to Vicky..." He moved over towards
the door where she and the guy were standing.
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But I didn't want to hang around. Something had
twanged inside me, and I just wanted to be out of the
smokey bar, and back into my sanctuary in the sky - my
apartment was on the 27th floor and had fabulous
balconies. Ideal for a little meditation, which was what I
needed. I had to walk past them to leave, it would be one of
those 'Hi' and 'Bye' moments. As I approached them Eric
turned around, his face now beaming with joy. He beckoned
me to come faster, excited like a child. As I reached them he
gave me a little wink, and introduced me to Peter, Victoria's
brother. They didn't look alike, but then Eurasians rarely do
due to the highly mixed genes they come from. Peter knew
another bar with a good band only ten minutes away, so we
said we'd follow them - I'd bought my car as it was raining
when we'd left my place.
We got to the other bar just as Jem arrived. There was
only one table left, right in front of the band. Peter seem to
know many of the people there. Victoria told me she'd
brought him along as he needed cheering up, having just
split from his long-term girlfriend... Natasha, the third of their
group the previous week. We ordered pints of stout, as
there was a 'buy two get one free' promotion, Victoria telling
me she'd have no problem drinking three and could
probably manage six! Peter was the designated driver... She
then bought a new pack of cigarettes. I wished I'd bought my Lampe Berger burner with me!
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Eric and Jem were dancing, and smooching, and
generally behaving like people whose ages added up to 32
not 92, and it was great to see both looking so happy.
Victoria told me Jem had had some rough times. Peter was
cheerfully socialising, which was also good. That left just
Victoria and I, the chain-smoking, stout-swigging misandrist
and the celibate Vipassana yogi, on what you might call my
night off. I will never enjoy smokey atmospheres, but I do
enjoy a good pint of cold stout.
The band were good. The band were also loud, which
meant that for Victoria and I to talk we had to be very close
to each other's ear. We talked a lot, so were cheek-to-cheek
the whole evening. It was the closest I'd been, or felt, to a
woman for seven months although I did have one good
friend who was still very generous with her cuddles. We found some common ground, as I'd been a single
parent for many years, a prospect Victoria now had to face
(although rather oddly, her ex-husband was still living in her
spare room). She too was an aficionado of yoga, something
she'd immersed herself in when her marriage went sour, five
years beforehand, having, like me, originally discovered it
through a back injury. She liked to cook, or bake, but
wouldn't believe that cooking was my thing too.
"Eric. ERIC!" I prised him away from Jem's clench.
"Would you please confirm to this woman that I can cook."
"Ah yeah, he's a great cook!" Eric enthused.
"I don't believe it," Jem added, siding with her girlfriend,
Victoria jeering in my general direction.
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"That sounds like a gauntlet has been dropped to me.
Are you both free tomorrow night? I shall cook you a feast!" I
offered with alacrity. I may have been on my third pint by this
time. Already one too many.
"Peter," I grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him
to within earshot, "fancy joining us for some fine home
dining, courtesy of yours truly, tomorrow night?"
"Thanks but no thanks. I don't want to be the fifth
wheel..."
And so it was decided. Jem and Victoria would come
early, for sunset drinks, followed by a three course organic
meal, fine wine, and... well, we'd have to see. Eric was
excited as he'd only been in bars and restaurants with Jem,
not anywhere that they could 'take things further'.
I was excited too. I love to cook and knew I'd be at it all
day, the perfectionist in me pulling rank on the Yogi. I'd buy
flowers for the apartment, choose some excellent wines,
and put together a playlist of songs to flow with the changing
moods of the evening.
I was excited too about the prospect of a double date!
Carpe diem!! What was happening though? Seriously, what
was I thinking? When we got back, it must have been 2am, I
wasn't tired at all. Eric was floating on a cloud of love, or
longing, and expectation, and suggested I meditate to see
where I was at. I did, and quickly realised what I had to do.
237
I had to email John.
********
As I've discovered time and time again, when one thing
shifts, everything shifts. As I went about my day that next
day, shopping, digging out vases not used in months, and
generally preparing for the evening, I found I fell into a
meditative state. I was on auto-pilot for the chores, and
cooking a meal I'd cooked many times (spiced pumpkin
soup, a quinoa veggie stir-fry with baked salmon, and a
dairy-free berry parfait) allowed me to do so whilst my mind
wandered. It must have been almost a year since I learnt of
Vipassana, and booked myself in the very same day. It was
seven months or so from the 'I want nothing' moment and
the birth of the modern-day ascetic, quickly followed by the
grand master plan of total renunciation. Yet on this day, less
than three months since Vipassana, I'm preparing for
something that resembles a date. Carpe diem indeed, living
to 'see what happens', just as the master-plan had it.
Where did it all go wrong? Or, as I don't buy into 'wrong'
(thanks Eric...), or mistakes (thanks Richard Bach), then
'where did it all go right?' As I sat at the computer putting the
evening's playlist together, I found myself looking back at
the email I was planning to send out as 'goodbye'. It ended
like this:
238
'I want to empty my plate, see how it feels to live
without encumbrances, without commitments or plans, to
live with nothing more than the moment. If I don't like it then
it won't be hard to fill my plate again, as I choose.
Apartments, cars, all the stuff so often considered to be 'life'
are readily available at the drop of a credit card (one thing I
won't be leaving behind...so not much of a true yogi then!)
If I don't try I'll never know.'
I didn't try, but I do know. I won't ever say never, but
having been to the brink, peeked over the edge, and turned
away from the abyss, (or was it the Light?) I know it was
right. It was right because there is no wrong.
I'd already conceded I couldn't leave my son with an
email as 'goodbye'; the thought of telling him face-to-face
was beyond contemplation. I don't possess the emotional
fortitude. It was tough enough telling an old girlfriend who
piqued me into confessing my future. Then the plan was lost to the Universe when the depth
of it became clear. It was just a week or so before
Vipassana.
Tragedy befell a local family close to ours, the father
passing away suddenly from a heart-attack. There were
children, the oldest of which was overseas at university. He,
and his siblings would be feeling how my son would feel if I
were to say, 'I'm going and not coming back'. It's all well and
good talking about death and resurrection, but I'd be the
only one getting the benefit of the resurrection.
239
More than anything I wished I could comfort those
children, 'be there for them' in some way. In that moment I
realised I would want to be there for my son. Always. What if
he were hurt? Yes, he has a loving mother and step-father
(who happen to live on the other side of the planet), and
there's my siblings and friends who are physically closer, but
I'd want to be there. When I discussed the full renunciation thing with John,
I found out that he too was held back by a family
relationship. To an extent, he said, it's ego that makes us
think we are the important, powerful ones who must be
there to pick up the pieces for those 'weaker' than us. But in
reality, when all is said and done, our growth is their growth,
so there shouldn't be anything stopping us. But I'd want to
be there. Vipassana says wanting is craving. So be it.
Anyway, my son is one of my best friends. That's good
enough for me.
********
Jem and Victoria arrived early, the first test of my
equanimity. I hadn't even showered. Nothing back from
John, not surprising as he's hardly my private guru on-call
24-7. He could be half way up a mountain, in the middle of
the ocean, or somewhere out in the cosmos for all I knew.
He didn't limit himself, and he wasn't a slave to emails or
anything else.
240
The ladies then passed up my offer of an array of
cocktails and wine, asking instead for beer. Luckily I had a
few. I decided not to drink. If I was to 'see what happens' or
'see things as they really are', I didn't need an alcohol buzz
changing the angles.
Dinner was great, although neither of the ladies were
big eaters, and I'd cooked enough for six. Eric, either
through nerves, over-excitement or a combination of the
two, got hammered quickly, and needed to lie down on the
couch. Jem stroked his brow, like the good mother she was.
Then he decided he really needed to lie down properly, so
they moved to his room.
That left Victoria and I alone. We sat on the couch. I
was the first to speak.
"If that was Eric's ploy to get Jem into the bedroom, it's
a very lame, corny tactic."
We both laughed.
"Well it worked," she said. "He did seem to get drunk
damn fast though."
"It's the formaldehyde in the beer here. He's been living
cleanly for many months, lots of fasting, the draft stout
doesn't have it so he handled that okay. He'll have a stinking
hangover tomorrow."
"And why aren't you drinking? You're making me feel
very unhealthy." She been out on the balcony for plenty of
cigarettes. My Lampe Berger was working overtime.
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"I've become, or are becoming, more attuned with my
body, and it's felt like the right thing to do. Just as drinking
last week, with Billy, and last night, with you, also felt right. I
try to flow, to 'be' whatever is required in any given
situation."
"And what does this given situation require you to be?"
"That's a good question."
It was a good question. One I answered with a kiss.
Fortunately it was the right answer.
********
We kissed for ages, close to an hour. It had been a long
time since either of us had kissed with any passion, and
kissing was exactly what the situation required. It was bliss.
I kept my hands to myself, but after a while the onus,
perhaps imagined on my part, of being the 'man' and the
one expected to make the next move started playing on my
mind. Eric saved the day.
We heard his bedroom door opening and jumped up
like two teenagers caught canoodling by their parents.
Funny! We shared a coy glimpse, then I moved back into
human mode.
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"We were just wondering if you two were still alive." Oh
the pretence.
"Yeah man, I've been fast asleep. Jem woke me up to
say goodbye." More pretence, I suspected.
"I've got to get going, work tomorrow." Jem said.
"Me too," Victoria added. "Thanks for dinner, and the
company."
We continued the courteous, end-of-evening
politenesses, and I walked them down to Jem's car. By the
time I got back up to the apartment Eric had gone back to
bed. I checked my emails one more time, and sure enough,
John had replied. His message was entitled: Love,
Devotion, Surrender:
...from everything you've told me about your self and
what you are heading towards, I would have bet the farm
this was gonna happen. It was guaranteed.....
In my experience, either choice - go with it and have fun, or
reject this and walk away - fails the test. The sole way to come out ahead and pass the test is to
surrender to the entire dynamic of this, in advance, right
now, and see where it takes you. Relishing in her company
is not the surrender I mean, but neither is rejecting her and
"resisting temptation". Such arrogance will only cause you to
undergo a much more difficult test later on. 243
That which you must surrender to is neither your spiritual
path nor her charms, but the admittance that there is a
power greater than you, and it has just appeared in your life.
Surrender to that. What the actual outcome will be is
irrelevant. Didn't I say the Universe had made some plans for me? Surrender? I can do that. With no attachment to the
outcome? For sure... I'll look forward to all the surprises.
And I'll be doing what I said I wanted to do all along: living to
'see what happens'. The Grand Master Plan is back!
And I'm loving it.
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Vipassana
- OneYear On
(Today)
'And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it
finds you worthy, directs your course.' ― Khalil Gibran
On this day last year I was packing my things for
Vipassana. It was the eve of the first day of the rest of my
life.
Last night, Victoria moved in with me. Not my sanctuary
in the sky, but a new place we found together, close to
where she works. And close to where her daughters will
soon be starting at a new school; they are with us too.
We decided we wanted to do this two months ago,
when our relationship was less than six months old. We
located an ideal low-rise apartment, set amongst the trees,
overlooking parkland and a lake. I moved in a month ago,
and slowly got the place into shape. Into shape for a family.
245
It may not have been love at first sight, but for me it was
love within a fortnight. We nearly didn't make it that far. A
few days beforehand she'd been wanting to 'leave it at that',
ten days of joy, and out the door. I negotiated a 'cooling off,
time-to-think' period, but then the Universe got involved
again. It's what happens when you surrender. Once you're
following your path, without resistance, your Grand Master
Plan shines so bright that the road ahead looks straight and
clear. But sometimes you take your eyes off the road, or
move to take a turn you needn't take. That's when the
Universe takes over, grabs the wheel and keeps you on
track.
On the night when I found myself telling Victoria I was
in love with her - in a roundabout way; unplanned, and a
surprise to me as much as her! - Natasha pulled me aside to
tell me Victoria was still hurting from five years of betrayal
and pain, and that I'd have my work cut out breaking her.
She was right. It took about five months. As soon as she'd
confessed her love for me, we started looking for a place
together.
Her girls, Sophia and Susanna, were excited about
having their own rooms. But nothing ever goes as planned.
In the last month Victoria's mother, Hope, has been
diagnosed with breast cancer. She's already diabetic, has
high blood pressure and cholesterol, and only one good
kidney. During the operation on her breast, the docs located
another tumour, close to the good kidney. It's been obvious for a while that she won't be able to
go back to live with Victoria's oldest brother George just yet,
as he lives over an hour away from town, and she has lots
246
of follow-up hospital appointments. We're happy to have her
stay here. The girls don't mind either, they are happy to
have their grandma living with us, and are looking forward to
her cooking for them. They'll take it in turns to share a room
with her.
But yesterday it all got a bit crazier, as Hope, only 61,
got her final diagnosis, just as she was being discharged
from the hospital. The docs say the other tumour is stage
four, inoperable and beyond chemo or radiation therapy.
They've given her six months.
********
I've learnt so much in this last year. Equanimity,
compassion, unconditional love, and to see things as they
really are. I've learnt to balance reality and illusion, and to
surrender to the moment. Any moment. Every moment. I
continually 'see what happens', and have the very thing, and
the only thing, I professed worth living for.
Goenka often mentioned the vicissitudes of life, and
how Vipassana would help overcome them. I've come to
know, and like to tell people, that everything not only
happens for a reason, but for a Good reason. No wrongs.
No mistakes. It's time for me to truly practice what I preach. Today is the first day of the rest of Hope's life.
Another one to meditate on.
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The End
(or is it the beginning?)
****************
This story is free
As are you
All Vipassana courses are run solely on a donation basis. All
expenses are met by donations from those who, having
completed a course and experienced the benefits of
Vipassana, wish to give others the same opportunity.
Neither the Teacher nor the assistant teachers receive
remuneration; they and those who serve the courses
volunteer their time. Thus Vipassana is offered free from
commercialisation.
If you feel you have benefitted and would like to know more
about Vipassana, contact your nearest centre: www.dhamma.org
248
My heartfelt gratitude goes to all the great people, especially
writers and teachers, who have helped me get to this
moment. We are all great, every single soul on the planet,
but most of us need others to show us our greatness. My particular thanks go to those whose words I have quoted
in this story.
COMING SOON:
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VIPASSANA II
TRIALS OF A
WANNABE BUDDHA
A NOVEL EXPERIENCE
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