Vipassana (1/3)

Lazily, I surf the internet, snuggled in the corner of my couch, wearing fuzzy socks, and a cuddly sweatshirt. “Meditation retreats near me.”

Fancy, expensive ones are listed. These are tailored more towards wealthy debutantes than crunchy, down-to-earth optometrists. And then… Vipassana Retreat Center in Delaware appears.

30 minutes away. 10 days. Silent. Abstaining from lying, sex, communication of all kind, killing, stealing, intoxicants. And NO cell phones.

Something about the poorly designed, simple, mono-font website spoke to my heart. I’m not a hardcore meditator and mostly use apps to hold my hand through guided meditations. But lately, I feel more agitated, quicker to react rather than to respond, and more in need of a distanced, intense respite.

As a calculated risk-taker, I start my research. I order a book written by the founder SN Goenka outlining the history, theory, and principles behind this method of meditation. I read a few blogs that describe the retreat experience. Driving past the center, I scout it out to assure I’m not entering a Waco-type experience.

The more I read, the more I love. They have a strict pay-it-forward policy. You can’t pay for your retreat. You can’t donate to the center unless you have attended a full 10-day retreat. If you enjoy your retreat experience, you are permitted to pay for someone coming behind you.

I scour the book, pen in hand, highlighter nearby. Holding the book six inches from my face, with my glasses perched on my head, I feel the closer I hold it, the more thoroughly I will absorb the contents.

I read it in the mammogram waiting room, and in my car when I arrive early for work at a nursing home. While sitting on a park bench when eating lunch, I peruse the contents. I study while walking on my treadmill at night. I read it while lying on the hammock in my backyard, cuddling with Abby. While struggling to keep my eyes open in bed at night, I highlight more pages. I read it multiple times, each time with a different color pen in hand.

Soon, my book has a watermark from a cold drink placed on the cover, and rainbow-underlined words on the pages. There are notable phrases written on the inside of the covers. It is battered, worn, and wrinkled, like an elderly face with the ravages of life and time apparent.

The message of the book gives me a deep sense of calm within the chaos of my thoughts. My book has the same aura as a devote Christian’s bible. Like that follower, I get varied and new meanings each time I read it. New information comes forth from old words.

With my questions satiated, I check the website schedule for the next open slot. There is an opening about two months away. The other slots are full until the end of the year.

I click on the application. 

Part of the process is to agree to the code of discipline:

You must stay the full 10 days.

The founder discourages all other forms of meditation to allow for the purity of Vipassana.

You will observe noble silence, which means silence of body, speech, and mind.

There is no communication with fellow students, including gestures, notes, and facial expressions.

The only form of permitted exercise is walking.

Simple vegetarian meals and accommodations are provided.

Clothing must be simple, modest, and comfortable.

No electronic devices are allowed.

No reading, no writing, no musical instruments are permitted.

I click “I agree.”

Anxious to hear back, I check the schedule in a few days. My anticipated class is now marked “Waiting List” instead of “Open”. My shoulders slump. My heart sinks. I am surprised by the depth of my disappointment.

Sometimes, I play this game with myself. I watch my actions as a detached observer. And then use that information to interpret what I really desire. My observer interpolates that this retreat is more important to me than I realize.

One week later, the center sends me an email, saying that I am accepted into the retreat. I need only to confirm it. I hesitate, briefly holding my finger over the mousepad. Can I take 10 days away without my cell phone, my dog, my job, Taylor Swift, and my family and friends? Can I last 10 days emotionally alone and silent with the sole goal of clearing my mind?

Click.