Vipassana Mediation: A Journey Inward

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The following week he took me to a temple where a revered monk resided. Unlike the Tibetan monks I had previously met, I didn’t find the man overly warm. Instead, he had a sense of neutrality about him. But as our discussion progressed, I also realized he was far more aware of everything going on around him than anyone I had ever met. Additionally, he had an uncanny ability to see the heart of nearly any problem.

After meeting him, I decided to go on retreat, committing 21 days of my life to practicing Vipassana.

Upon arriving at the monastery two weeks later, I was greeted by a nun who showed me to my kuti—very basic private sleeping quarters that usually include a bathroom. I settled in and returned to the office, where I was then taken to a monk for opening ceremony. Over the next half-hour, I would take refuge in the Eight Precepts, amongst other things agreeing not to kill anything, to remain free of drugs and alcohol, and to avoid all sexual contact while at the monastery. Towards the end, I was instructed to ask for forgiveness for any ill thoughts or feelings I may have towards my teacher in the coming weeks so that he could forgive me ahead of time. This last step clued me in to just how difficult the retreat could be.

After the ceremony, I met with the teacher for the first time. He went over the basic layout, telling me I would be fed twice a day, once at 6 am and again at 11 am, and that I would meet with him each morning around 9am, at which time he would measure my progress and give me further instructions.

He then gave me preliminary instructions for my first day. To begin, I had three practices: a warm-up prostration, a walking practice and a sitting practice. He instructed me to spend the rest of the day cycling through them, spending five minutes on each, and finishing with a 15-minute break. In closing, he gave me instructions for going to sleep and also for waking.

“When you lay down to sleep be mindful of your body,” he said. “Take notice of any feelings, including how it rests on the mat [one of the opening precepts is to live without luxuries like mattresses so I would be on a wicker mat for the duration]. After you’ve done that, move your awareness to your breath and remain there until you drift off to sleep. When you awake, acknowledge the transition with “waking, waking, waking,” and begin your practice at once. If you go back to sleep it’s likely you will fall into dreaming which is another form of mind chatter. Since one of the intentions of Vipassana is to still the mind, you should avoid doing this.”

Of the following 12 hours, I spend five meditating, nearly two eating, and the rest on break.

I meet with the teacher the following morning at nine. I tell him of my doubts, my boredom, and my thoughts of leaving. “Maybe it’s not right for me?” I say.

He smiles and assures me all my feelings and thoughts are normal for a first day. He then ups each exercise to ten minutes and sends me back to my kuti.

As the first week continues, more doubts, more boredom, and more desires arise in me. I experience a fair bit of anger and frustration, and at times feel very lazy or tired.

I express these things each morning. In response, the teacher assures me that everything is fine. Then he adds to my practice, either upping the duration of each exercise or adding to the actual practice itself, or both. I go back to my kuti and continue the practice.

Slowly, very slowly, I start to have results.

By the fifth day I’m seeing how my beingness, particularly in speech and action, affects my relationships. Certain events from my past arise and I gain insight into why they occurred as they did. Sometimes I’m saddened by my mistakes and how hurtful I was. Other times I am more detached, gaining understanding without feeling emotions. Ultimately though, I begin to see how my speech and action is closely tied to my results. The teacher explains that I am learning about the Eightfold Path and receiving a lesson in personal responsibility. As a result, I begin to feel good about my practice.

The next day is a new day and with it I receive new instructions. I go back to my practice expecting even more results. When they don’t come, I get frustrated and want to quit again. I even think about going to the teacher ahead of time to tell him I’m leaving. In the end, I can’t bring myself to do it, though. I’m not a quitter, I tell myself, and continue on. It makes for the longest, most tedious day yet.

The seventh day passes in similar fashion.

Then, on the eighth day, with the durations of each exercise up to 35 minutes, as I’m sitting in agony, my right leg just disappears. I mean one minute it’s there, aching like hell, and the next it’s gone. No ache. No pain. Just gone. And it doesn’t come back until the 35 minutes is up and I move to stand.

For the rest of the day, as the pain returns, I continue to wish it away but nothing makes it go. I realize my attachment to the earlier experience and slowly let go. My practice returns to normal.

On the tenth day I really begin observing my mind and how it interacts with the senses. I see how awareness moves. It goes from sight, to smell, to thought, to sound, and back again. Often the smell or the sound is already there but only when I bring my attention to it do I take notice. From this, I begin to see how my mind interacts with pain, causing it to stretch on, and even to intensify. I see how it turns pain into suffering.

When I express this to the teacher in our next meeting, he is very pleased. “What you are seeing is one of Buddha’s Four Noble Truths,” he explains. “It is about the true nature of suffering and how the mind, in attaching to pain, actually leads us into more suffering. Yes, the pain is there. But it is the mind that causes the pain to become suffering.” Again, I feel good about my practice.

On the fourteenth day I am without desire. I don’t want anything, let alone to do the practice. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to eat. Nothing. I have to will myself to practice. It takes everything I have to do it. But this condition of the mind passes too. That is what I am seeing now—conditions of the mind. And I am learning they are simply illusions, all I have to do is push through them

Finally, on the seventeenth day, as I walk to my teacher's quarters for our daily meeting, I experience everything with a newfound lightness and beauty. The trees, the birds and the flowers, the ants and buzzing flies, even the ragged old dog that’s always sitting out front—they’re all beautiful somehow. It’s as if life itself has been polished, refined and perfected.

Inside me, I feel the same radiance that I’m feeling and seeing outside. I notice a stillness has taken hold inside me and that I’m filled with serenity and appreciation because of it. I see how peace truly can prevail because it is prevailing inside me.

I meet with the teacher and share with him what I am experiencing. In response, he tells me I have reached an important stage in the practice and that it’s time for the most difficult part. He gives me my new instructions and the peace that was inside me turns to fear. I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I want to but I must, I’m no quitter.

In the following 24 hours, I meditate a total of 16 hours. My breaks are short, my practice long. But time begins to disappear. I am “losing time,” as the monks say and I am experiencing more and more bliss, deeper and deeper peace. It becomes natural for me to send out loving thoughts to the world—“meta” as they call it, and I am much more graceful at accepting what is as it arises.

The following two days are similar, and I know I’ve found what I’ve been searching for. As I was once told, it never was outside myself. I just had to stop and look within to see that.

That was three years and several retreats ago, and though at times the practice is still exhausting and self-confronting, I have continued it because of the value I have derived. I now live with a peace of mind I never had before. And where there is peace of mind, I have found there is also peace of body. At times, this involves insights into situations at hand, saving me from potential pitfalls. Other times, it’s simply recognizing what I am and am not in control of, and being able to let go of the latter. As a benefit, I no longer get frustrated by everyday occurrences such as traffic or crying babies. I have long since realized they are simply aspects of reality that I have a choice whether or not to attach to.

Above all else, practicing Vipassana has given me a sense of faith. It’s not a faith in any religion, rather it is a faith that everything will be all right no matter what happens; that it is exactly as it should be right here, right now; and that I have everything I need in order to be part of the perfection arising each and every moment.

We live in a world with over 6 billion gods. What we see around us is the creation of those gods and the billions that came before them. I don’t know what the coming day will bring but I am sure I can handle it with acceptance and grace. In the end, that is what Vipassana has lent me.

Sean Enright initially caught the travel bug after a near-death experience in 1996. He has traveled in India, throughout South and Southeast Asia, the UK, Australia, New Zealand, and bits of Latin America and the Caribbean. He now lives in Thailand where he runs a fine bedding export company, Emily Enright.

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