This is the story of what the meditation retreat
I went to in the South of Thailand in a Buddhist monastery ( I don’t want to
name them in case they find out I killed mosquitoes while I was there) was
like. There were about 136 of us of which about 130 were Caucasians with about
a 60:40 guy to girl ratio. Most of them were, I suspect, between 20-30 years,
with a handful of seniors and some who seemed to be going through a mid-life
crisis. About 20% of them would drop out over time before the course was over.
On Day 0, we were told to surrender all our electronic
devices, watches, books and writing material and warned not to talk to each
other or risk getting expelled from the monastery. I sneaked some writing
material in but, like most others, adhered to the other demands to embark on a
journey when every day was pretty much like the other.
This is my story.
Waking up
The bell at the 2 storey bell tower ran punctually at 4 am
every morning and the ringing went on for a while, perhaps as long as 5 minutes
to make sure everyone had heard it. Given that we slept on cement beds and
wooden pillows (one of the monks loved to joke about this, perhaps a tad too
much), one rather woke up instead of sleeping on. We had 30 mins to settle all
business and assemble at the sheltered meditation hall where we spent most of
the day in sitting meditation. Even the sun was wise enough to realise that 4
am was too early to wake up, so while darkness still engulfed the whole
monastery, we would make our way to the hall with our little torchlights,
smelling like insect repellent.
Before Sunrise
The first session was a lecture that lasted
about 45 minutes. The logic was that the head was ‘clearest’ in the morning and
thus able to absorb the information with least distraction. I used to have
trouble staying awake during 8 am lectures in university, so 4 am lectures were
a no–brainer when it came to my attentiveness.
The monk would wake me up from
my slumber with a small bell of his and we would proceed onto yoga and taiji,
which I really enjoyed. My favourite pose was Savasana, which entailed the
person just lying on the ground, dead flat. The taiji made me feel like I knew
kungfu and I took it pretty seriously, thinking myself superior to everyone
else around me because I had more Chinese friends than them. How a lanky Indian guy looked doing Taiji, only they knew. Following that
would be one more round of meditation back in the hall followed by Breakfast.
Breakfast
Always porridge, mixed with some small slices of vegetables
like corn and peanuts. Though repetitive,
I enjoyed its simplicity. The men had their own portion on one side and
women on the other (we were strictly segregated from each other throughout the retreat). I would serve
myself from the huge pot in front, grab some raw leafy vegetables, always
cucumber, lettuce and some other leaf I knew nothing about, and take a seat on
the men’s side. Nobody could eat until everyone had filled their plates, after which,
a fellow female meditator with a German accent would lead an abstract prayer
about food. We would proceed to eat. Once finished everyone washed their own
dishes and went onto our chores.
Mine was to sweep the canteen, a relatively easy task,
except for the fact that some people, even after their breakfast, just sat at
the table staring into open air. I would go near them and sweep the area around
them, which was my pacifist way of saying ‘Time for you to fuck off’, which
they usually understood. Once done sweeping, I headed back to my room for some well needed sleep.
Post Breakfast
Lecture, walking meditation, sitting meditation, all about
an hour each. I woke up around this time and started taking the meditation
seriously. However, the mind would start daydreaming within a few minutes.
Sometimes I brought it back to my breath. Rest of the time, I let it wander. I
never daydreamed this much since I was a kid wearing just shorts and jumping
from one sand mount to another thinking I was He-Man.
Lunch
I strongly propose, given our mutual love for coconut milk,
that Thailand and India form a union. There was never a lunch without coconut
milk. If it was not in the curry, it was in the dessert. Though vegetarian, the
food was well prepared, fresh and tasty. It was almost always brown rice with a
two or three different side dishes like curry and fried vegetables, a fruit
(watermelons never tasted this good) and the occasional dessert. I would stuff
myself at times, though the prayer suggested I should not. I figured prayers
would not be enough to feed me when I got hungry later.
Post Lunch
Meditation. Walking meditation. Meditation. Chanting. The
pattern in the afternoon repeated except for the chanting. I went for it at
first, got tired of the monk’s wooden pillow jokes and started skipping it in
favour of sitting on the banks of a very zen like pond, one of the few occasions
I felt really calm. I would start harbouring ambitions to go into entomology
(study of insects) while watching the dragon flies buzzing around above the
water or the spiders spinning their web between the stalks of the plants that
stuck out of the water.
I did eventually go back to chanting because of an incident
that happened one day. For some reason, the monk decided to break down the
prayer into two different segments, with the females singing one segment and
the males singing the rest. I was seated an audible distance away from where
they had the chanting, but that day, when the women sang their segment, I was
totally unprepared for the melody that was not coarsened by the broken voices
of men. I remember thinking that it was the most beautiful thing I had ever
heard in my whole life, like something out of a choir.
Next day, I rejoined the chanting.
Shower
There was no shower but a large tank full of water. People
stood around the tank and used mugs to pour the water on ourselves. The toilets
had no flushes nor any toilet paper. Water was the remedy to all problems.
Communal living at its best.
Dinner
Well there was no dinner. It was just chocolate milk, which more
than made up for the disappointment of not having a dinner. I strongly believe
it was something everyone looked forward every single day.
Reason I say this is because I remember on the third day,
for some reason, there was no chocolate milk and its substitute was some
sweetened water. The first person to open the container to serve himself the
chocolate milk looked visibly shaken with a what-the-hell-is-this impression
and then amused at this undesirable surprise. This amusement passed along the
line and it was one of the first times I saw people smiling.
Post Sunset
Sitting meditation, walking meditation (in the dark around a
lake) and end of with sitting. I just wanted to go back to sleep and wondered
why it took forever for the monk to ring the bell.
Once the bell was rung, I rushed to my cement bed with its
natural ventilation and musky smell. The 20 cm gecko would always be at the
corner of the wall guarding its eggs, about 30 of them, that stuck like white marshmallows
onto the the wall. I would switch off the single dim light and curse
the bed and the pillow, which pressed hard against my bones and made me sore when
I woke up the next day.
Apparently, the head monk did not use a wooden pillow.
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