Vipassana (3/3)

“Begin again!” booms the resonant voice from the wall speakers that surround us. The voice combines James Earl Jones, a vampire, Michel from Gilmore Girls, and a belching bullfrog. It belongs to S.N. Goenka, the lead teacher of the Vipassana technique. “Begin again!” We arrived at the center just yesterday, but it seems like it’s been forever.

Although Indian by descent, Mr. Goenka was born and raised in Myanmar (Burma). There he learned the technique of Vipassana from teacher Sayagyi U Ba Khin. After receiving training for fourteen years, Goenka settled in India and taught Vipassana. Since 1969, the courses offered by Goenka attract thousands of people from every part of society and from around the world.

It’s 4:30 am, I am dressed in clothing that doubles as both pajamas and apparel- soft, flowing and neutral. I am sitting on my assigned meditation mat in the Dhamma Hall. There are two entrances to the Dhamma Hall, one female from the living quarters, and one male entering from outside. The male quarters are attached to the dining room. The men file into the room and find their mats.

The Dhamma Hall is a large room, with small, high windows draped with navy curtains. The walls are  unadorned, and large, soft oriental rugs cover a Pergo floor. In the front of the room are two squat table-like seats, one for the male teacher and one for the female teacher. There is a higher table between them, which holds an iPad and a small light. A large TV is mounted on the wall above the female teacher’s head.

The aisle that separates the sexes slices down the middle of the room, like a center part in a woman’s hair. The cushion checkerboard is eight columns across, and eight rows down. There are some extra spaces for servers and old students in the front of the room next to the teachers. I am assigned the third row back, on the female side, on the aisle.

The Dhamma Hall rules include no talking, no stretching, no yoga poses, no reclining, no drinking, no eyeglasses, no leaving the room during Determination Sittings, no feet pointed towards the front of the room, no snoring. As well as the all of other rules from the rest of the retreat.

The schedule is as follows:

4 am: Wake-up gong

4:30-6:30 am: Meditate in the Dhamma Hall or in your room

6:30-8 am: Breakfast and rest break

8 am – 9 am: Group meditation in the Dhamma Hall

9-11 am: Meditate in the Dhamma Hall or in your room, according to the teacher’s instructions

11 am -12 pm: Lunch

12 -1 pm: Rest and interview with the teacher

1- 2:30 pm: Meditate in the Dhamma Hall or in your room

2:30 – 3:30 pm- Group meditation in the Dhamma Hall

3:30 – 5 pm: Meditate in the Dhamma Hall or in your room, according to the teacher’s instructions

5 -6 pm: Tea break

6 – 7 pm: Group meditation in the Dhamma Hall

7 -8:15 pm: Teacher discourse in the Dhamma Hall

8:15 – 9 pm: Group meditation in the Dhamma Hall

9 – 9:30 pm: Questions time in the Dhamma Hall

9:30 pm: Lights out

Yes, that is 11 hours of meditation each day.

My favorite part of the schedule is the teacher discourse at 7 pm. Videos of the late Goenka play. He teaches us the steps in the Vipassana process through direct instruction and meaningful stories. Goenka is a roly-poly character who is scientific and serious, yet humorous and a great storyteller. He has a cute accent, though often I can’t understand him. He says “Troot” for “Truth” and “sunsation” for “sensation.” All I need is some popcorn and it’s like watching a movie at home, minus seventy-nine people and the ability to recline.

Days One, Two, and Three are grouped into a technique known as Anapana. Anapana means “mindfulness of breathing.”

Day One Lesson: Day One begins with focusing on the breath going in and out of your nostrils. (The word “nostril” is said so many times, that now I can only hear it in Goenka’s reverberant voice.)

This is how my Day One positioning evolves.

I sit on the edge of my meditation cushion, with legs crossed, right foot in front, and knees on the ground. My back and neck are straight as if there is a string pulling me upwards by the top of my head. This is comfortable. For about three minutes.

Then, I try switching to my left foot in front. Ahhhh, that works. For another two minutes.

Next, I flip one foot all the way behind me, next to my butt. Relief. Short-lived.

Then, I move my left foot to behind my cushion, so both feet are now behind me and my knees are on the ground in front of me. Bliss. Temporarily.

Next, I put both soles flat on the floor in front of my cushion and my elbows on my knees. I no longer have a straight spine but a spine more resembling a C. Ooooooohhh, that helps. For a time.

I try the soles of my feet together and knees splayed out in butterfly position. Oh, release.

The happiness I feel with the beginning of the closing chant is akin to when, at age 8, I opened a present on Christmas morning and a kitten popped out. Sudden, complete delight. If my muscles weren’t cramped and my joints needing cracking and realigning, I would break into a celebratory dance.

Day Two Lesson: Day Two observes the sensation where the breath first touches the outside of the nostrils.

I am acutely aware that someone near me smells like cat urine, and another person reeks of unwashed hair. The varied fart smells are obnoxious as well as surprising, as the meditation cushion muffles the usual warning sound. Although scented potions aren’t allowed, I would welcome any vulgar cologne over these scents.

Day Three Lesson: Day Three expands the observation zone to the entire triangle made by the two nostrils and the upper lip. Any sensations that occur on the skin in this area are noted and ignored. We are taught not to react to them.

I compare this experience to opening a soda can. When the seal is first released (Day One), there are a million bubbles (thoughts, distractions). As the soda settles (meditation, diligence), the bubbles slow down and then dissipate. Released bubbles are viewed as joyful and lead to more peace.

I can see some progress. Things that were hard for me on Day One are much easier on Day Three. I used to hear Taylor Swift’s Getaway Car in my head while walking. Now, I chant. Granted, I don’t know the words and make them up, but the melody is there. “Jean Nate, vegemite, eighteen.” On Day One, my hands were clenched together, fingers intertwined as if waiting for a pivotal job evaluation to commence. Now, they rest peacefully in my lap, all fingers together and perpendicular, as if comforting a dying friend.

Days Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine are grouped for learning the technique known as Vipassana. Vipassana is the practice of noticing sensations but approaching them with equanimity. They are neither good nor bad, just balanced and neutral. Everything is changing and is always impermanent. We shouldn’t cling or crave, nor should we avert or avoid. Each sensation should be brought to our awareness neutrally, then dissolved. This approach is applied to occurrences in past and present life.

Day Four begins the Strong Determination sittings. For three one-hour sessions each day (in bold on the previous schedule), we meditate without moving or adjusting. The instructions are to not “open your eyes, hands or legs”. If you change your posture in this sitting, you should try to do so less frequently in the next sitting.

Per Goenka: “The purpose of the ‘Adhitthana’ sitting is to strengthen the mind, to discipline it. The aim of meditation even during Adhitthana sittings is to be aware and equanimous; to observe sensations with the understanding of impermanence.”

For example, you notice an itch on your arm. You are to observe the sensation without a positive or a negative association. Note that it just IS. Life is always changing, and this will change too. And then (surprise, surprise), the itch fades away. Really!

Day Four Lesson: Day Four teaches us to scan our body for sensations, head to toe, using a three-inch circle of awareness. We search part-by-part, starting at the top of the head.

Still feeling quite confined and restricted by the Noble Silence, I dance and whisper-sing in the shower. My cramped limbs want to be thrown akimbo and my face wants to make every expression. I look in the mirror and smile as widely as possible. Opening and closing my jaw, I use muscles that have been held too still. I look myself in the eye and wink, first with one eye, then the other.

Day Five Lesson: Day Five reverses the body check from toes to head, using the same three-inch circle.

Today, my senses shift to touch. I am aware of the soft, fleece blanket surrounding me. My sweater is chenille and velvety. I wear socks that are wool and itchy. I feel the beans of the cushion below my sitz bones. I release those sensations as neither positive nor negative and focus on mental balance.

Day Six Lesson: The Day Six instructions change to scan large chunks of the body, for example, the scalp, the face. We learn to search the surface from head to toe and then toe to head.

The hushed experience in the Dhamma Room is an ASMRists dream. ASMR (Autonomous sensory meridian response) is a calm, pleasurable feeling accompanied by a tingling sensation starting at the top of the head and traveling down the spine. ASMR occurs in response to certain stimuli which vary from person to person. Some of the most common include whispers, white noise, tapping on hard surfaces, and brushing sounds.

When someone stands to exit, you can hear the floor crackling underfoot. Feet make small popping noises as small bones rearrange themselves. You can hear soft breathing, rhythmically in and out. The swish-swish of fabric on fabric, cotton passing cotton. When the door opens, there is a whoosh of air that is displaced, as well as the faint sound of the well-oiled hinges.

There are rare moments where everyone manages to be completely silent at once. Eighty people making no sound is an interesting void. No cracking of necks, backs, shoulders, arms, legs, ankles. (Usually, I am tempted to congratulate with, “Good one!”) No one is fidgeting, sniffing, clearing their throat, or shifting. No bellies are growling. The heavy blanket of tranquility settles on us like a foot of newly fallen snow. For a few seconds, we relax into utter stillness. Until someone sneezes.

Day Seven Lesson: Day Seven allows us to examine the body symmetrically, both arms, both sides of the body, head to toe and toe to head.

All I can think about is cake. Super-moist vanilla cake with custard between the layers smothered by an inch of buttercream icing. So much icing that normal people scrape it off. In my head, I eat mine and theirs. I imagine eating this over and over.

What does this mean? Is it for comfort in this barren existence? Is this my sugar addiction rearing up? I decide this is my brain’s way of telling me I need to deal with this Sankara. 

A Sankara is a stuck habit resulting from reacting to a situation with craving or aversion. Sankaras are what we are trying to find and release. I need to make this yearning neutral, balanced. Vipassana would teach not to crave sweets, but also not to avert from them. Balance is key.

Today, my diabetes Sankara comes out full force, on a few levels.

Before the retreat, I put my insulin pump on vibration mode. But, it still makes a slight buzzing noise. It’s especially loud in a silent setting. Because the schedule arrangement- long hours of sitting, followed by a high carb meal, followed by a frantic pace to get some walking exercise, followed by a motionless Determined Sitting- my pump is alerting for highs or lows at the worst times. Each warning requires me to look at my pump and clear the alarm. If I don’t, the pump gets more insistent until it turns into an auditory alarm regardless of the vibration setting.

Heres an example of how mediation with an insulin pump goes:

Focus on my breath. Scan my body, starting at the top of my head.

Bzzzzzt. Bzzzzzt. Look at my pump. Down arrows. Blood sugar is dropping. Try to quietly slip the already-unwrapped SweetTarts hidden in my scarf into my mouth.

Focus on my breath.

Oh, hell. Now I am sweating because I am going low. Suck harder on that candy. Try to chew them without making loud crunching noises. Still making sucking noises though…

Bzzzzzt. Bzzzzzt. Look at my pump. Insulin delivery is now shut off, which is my pump’s attempt to get my blood sugar to rise.

Focus on my breath.

I am starting to feel better. Look at my pump, arrows are now evening out. Blood sugar is stabilizing.

Focus on my breath.

Bzzzzzt. Bzzzzzt. The pump is telling me that it’s turned the insulin delivery back on.

Focus on my breath…

This is one example of what happens during a Determined Sitting. There is no chance that eyes or hands aren’t opening. At least I can usually manage the legs…

By Day Seven, I am ready to throw my pump against the wall. I am more agitated because, without the chaos of normal life, my diabetic trials are glaringly obvious. They are clear to others and clear to me. I am affecting the mental stillness of others and that concerns me. Usually, these alerts are visible only to me and are easy to hide or make disappear. I am affecting my own mental stillness and that concerns me.

“Begin again” at the beginning. I try to breathe, focusing on bringing my stress level down. My heart is slowing. I remind myself that my pump is keeping me alive, that these notifications are necessary for my life to continue. I try to send my pump loving kindness. Managing to get myself to a place where I can see my pump as neutral, finally I can be grateful for every indispensable pump function.

Day Eight Lesson: Day Eight instructs us to use a sweeping flow to scan the body to find surface sensations.

Today, I am more aware of the male energy to my left. I am estimating their ages to average thirty, with many full beards and long hair. I am curious to know their stories, as I don’t know any men in my life who would attend this retreat. The men seem to respect their teacher. When they kneel in front of him to ask their questions, they are open-hearted, sincere, and vulnerable. Their group aura is peaceful, calm, passive, gentle, earnest, and kind.

I reach the point where I am done meditating. Over it. By lunchtime, I can’t force another minute. I allow myself a little diversion. During the time when we are permitted to meditate in our own spaces, I crochet covertly. We keep the lights off in our room because, at any moment of the day, someone is either meditating or sleeping. I sit crosslegged on my bed, a blanket over my lap, with my flashlight lying on my pillow, shining on my fingers, rebelliously crocheting. Deviant.

Needing comfort, I imagine my reunion with Abby. I picture myself opening the door to my parent’s house without making a sound. I creep around the corner and kneel on the carpet, arms outstretched. Fast asleep in her bed, Abby senses my presence, raises her head, and races toward me. Barking, licking, and jumping ensues.

I also envision greeting my niece. I stop on my way home and knock on the French doors at the back of her house. She looks up from playing, yells “Mare!”, and comes running. She jumps into my arms for a tight hug from those tiny arms. I spin her round and round, joyous at being reunited.

And yes, still cake. Mouth-watering cake…

Day Nine Lesson: Day Nine encourages us to penetrate deeper into the body to find sensations below the surface. Goenka suggests imagining a penetrating poker. I prefer the less bloody imagery of a penlight shining through my innards. We scan the spine, skull to tailbone. Deeply-rooted sensations and related experiences surface with intense emotion. Observe and release. I scan through my life and bring hurtful memories to my consciousness. Then, I change my view of them to equanimous and allow them to release. Once you do the work and absolve all the surface and deep sensations, you may experience a tingling, peaceful, balanced state.

Throughout this course, I have observed the women more than the men. I make up many stories about them, noticing their mannerisms and physical appearance.

One woman is uber-fit, wears knee-high socks, does pushups in our room and lunges in the parking lot. In my head, she is a Crossfit champion. This retreat is helping her to get her head together for the Crossfit games. Her best friend, Christmas Abbott, is keeping an eye on the competition at home. On Day Two, I have a brief reverie where terrorists break into the Dhamma Hall and start shooting. The girl and I lock eyes and immediately communicate a plan. I distract the shooter while she takes him out with a swift roundhouse to the jaw, breaking his neck. When we could speak, I learn that she is a yoga instructor who has a career as a world-traveling event planner. No Crossfit. No assassin.

Another woman obeys every rule of the retreat. She attends all meditation sessions, meditates during rest hours, and walks to meals as if she is meditating. I imagine that she is a work-at-home mom, a straight-laced rule-follower. In my head, she drives a minivan. After silence is broken, I learn that Ramona has gone to Burning Man yearly with her children. She experiments with psychedelics and their effect on depression and anxiety. She is a super-cool lady. No goody-goody.

I observe a woman meandering across the grounds of the center, looking at grass patterns and bark on a tree sapling. The birds in the branches and the rings on the trunk of a fallen tree captivate her. I conceptualize that she is a world-class botanist. Her current focus is marijuana and how to get it legalized federally. After the mute rule is lifted, I learn that she works for ABC in NYC. No botanist. No marijuana.

I learn an important lesson from this mental story-writing. I conjure stories and believe them in real life too. This exercise shows me how wrong I can be.

Day Ten Lesson: The last lesson is Metta. Metta allows you to take this calm, vibrating state and send it out to the world in the form of loving-kindness.

Halfway through Day Ten, the teachers lift the Noble Silence. It’s like when The Wizard of Oz goes from being black and white to full color. Sepia to technicolor! Life is brilliant with voices, connections, and eye contact.

The schedule for Day Ten is lighter than the other days, to allow for conversation and connection. For the first time, I understand the need for Noble Silence. Chaos has erupted. There is no controlling the talking, laughing, and bonding. Once we were let loose, we gravitate to the women of whom we had questions. It’s not unusual to call to a stranger, “Want to walk with us? Tell us about you.” The most common question asked of me is “What are you crocheting?” As a funny little souvenir, I pass out dish scrubbies to my roommates. We quench our thirst for information about the people we observed all week.

Helga has to wrangle us for each meditation, because, where we were once overly prompt, we are now lost to time and distraction. You can tell that Helga misses Noble Silence, but we learn that she has a good soul. She wants us to learn the technique purely, without straying from the doctrine. Helga is kind-hearted and finds comfort in keeping us controlled and contained. She wants to do right by the teacher. Noble Speech messes with her orderly state.

There is a brief presentation on Dana, the Vipassana quality of generosity. Vipassana retreat centers are funded solely by old students who have attended a 10-day course. While construction plans for the center and the required funds are discussed, there is absolutely no pressure to donate. Someone takes donations at the back of the room, and there is a website where you can donate at your convenience.

Day Eleven: I didn’t sleep at all. I am so excited to be going home tomorrow. We still wake at 4:00 am, and we still have meditation from 4:30-6:30 am. At the end of this last mediation, the teachers stand and silently walk out of the room. No goodbye. No graduation. Anti-climatic.

I rush to my room, strip the bedding, and stuff it into a pillowcase. Following the instructions for cleaning our room, I leave my space as I found it. I beeline to the dining room, where breakfast is being served, and valuables are being re-distributed. I skip the breakfast line and head straight for my keys.

The same Indian woman from registration is in charge. Remembering my experience at check-in, I have my name, room number, and equanimity ready. She gives me my keys uneventfully.

Shaking with excitement, I begin walking, then skipping, and finally shamelessly running to my car. I talk to myself the whole time, saying, “I am going home. I can’t believe it. Home. HOME!” Within three minutes, I have pulled my car up to Building One and hurl my stuff into the back seat. With a wave, I flee through the front gates.

With a huge smile, I actually yell, “Goodbye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” It is 6:45 am.

What have I learned from this experience? Look neither forward to the future nor back to the past. Look only at the present moment, by focusing on the breath. Lean towards neither craving or good, nor aversion or bad, but maintain equanimity and mental balance. Only impermanence is real, because everything changes.

The most common question people ask me back in regular life is “Would you do it again?” My honest answer is “not anytime soon.” I may do a repeat course once the memory of the difficulty fades. I may do it again if I need a reminder of the principles. It was more wonderful and much harder than I expected. I am grateful for the opportunity to learn the technique and know I was in the right place for that moment in time. But, there wasn’t a single hour when I didn’t calculate how much time was left until I could go home.

At the end of each meditation chant, students respond with a chant of their own, “Sadhu, sadhu, sadhu.” This means “thank you”, “well done”, and “I agree”.

Sadhu, sadhu, sadhu.