Each time the large meditation gong rang, I would find myself back in a sit in the main meditation hall. Along the way, there were many momentary vignettes that provided some celestial seasoning to the week: the huge Clover Dairy truck that pulled into the commissary with a cartoon of “The Now Cow” meditating in a pasture on the side of the truck; the “stomach sonata” that Vanda and I performed – our only form of communication at times – when I was doing a compassion meditation for her as she sat next to me and our stomachs were gurgling at a high soprano pitch in tandem with each other; and the fact that the more silent I became, the more it felt like I could hear the emotions of those around me and I could send them good wishes just as they would look up and into my eyes with a knowing smile. Yes, I was starting to like this place.
But, human as I am, after three days the good vibes for the man I felt drawn to earlier in the week started to diminish as he consistently chose to sit right behind me and constantly fidgeted during our meditations. He loved sucking loudly on a lozenge or thumbing through his “Awakening Joy” book (authored by one of our teachers). My silent friend became my silent enemy. But, with all this time to ponder, I began to see that he was just a mirror for my own restlessness and frustrations within myself – struggling to have a voice as I became more enraptured with this meditation thing. And, then, poof, he was gone. Never saw him again. Another MIA…Meditator In Absentia. He wasn’t the only one who ran from the ghetto of the mind and didn’t finish the retreat. Again, I was visited by judgment. But, on this day, he was quickly replaced by compassion and empathy.
It is now mid-retreat and my questioning mind has stopped wondering why I am here. I’ve come to glimpse the reservoir that feeds my suffering. It’s my constant proclivity to believe I’m separate. My ego, my personality, my successes and failures, and American society all propagate this power of the self. But, so often, this pattern of mind that incentivizes separation creates a zero-sum view of the world. Your success can feel like my failure. So much of the world’s suffering comes from these unhealthy comparisons. By midweek, I’ve stopped comparing and contrasting, imagining how I’m measuring up versus my fellow retreatants. Instead, I am focusing on my own experience. And, blessedly, palpably, my busy-ness has settled down.
My heart is thawing. This Buddha quote comes just at the right time: “You as much as anyone else in the universe deserves your love and compassion.” As cliché as it may sound, I guess my love of myself will have a more profound impact on my life than anyone else’s love for me. One of the teachers asks us to imagine meeting someone who gets all of my jokes, can finish my sentences, truly gets my world view, and knows how my history has made me who I am. I’d probably fall head over heels in love and ask this person, “Where have you been all my life?” Welcome to yourself. My heart thaws a little further.
Somehow this great thawing makes me feel less alone. My “aloneness” morphs into some cosmic “all-oneness.” I start to feel a oneness with these nameless, voiceless, title-less people who surround me meditating. And I feel it with the scampering lizards and the busy beetles. On one hike, I lock eyes with a stag (male deer). No averting gaze here. This graceful creature has a broken antler and stands right next to a gigantic stump that’s been paralyzed by some fire or lightning bolt. I marvel at the majestic beauty and time stands still.
In nature, there’s beauty in the imperfections: a broken antler, a stunted stump. I expect less than perfection in nature and still find the beauty in it. But, if my blind date shows up buck toothed or with an errant spot on his shirt, the evening is over. If only we revered human nature as we do nature. Once more, I am reminded that life is one endless practice. And I’m not perfect. And, practice will never make perfect. I’m starting to feel okay about that.
-Chip