Reflection On My Second 10-day Retreat

 

  As a high school teacher, I have about two weeks of winter break every year. Some of my colleagues wonder why, for the past two years, I have chosen to spend my winter break attending a 10-day meditation retreat in which we turn in our phones at the entrance and are, for the most part, forbidden from talking, reading or writing for the duration of the retreat. The answer I usually give is that “it helps to clear my mind.” Indeed, this is one of the main reasons I attend meditation retreats, but after each retreat I’ve attended, whether half-day, one-day, three-day or ten-day, I’ve found that I’ve gained something new and unexpected, and this most recent retreat was no exception.

  As this was my second ten-day retreat, I felt fairly comfortable going into it. I was looking forward to learning from the wisdom of Guo Guang Fashi, whom I had met once before and whom I knew to be one of the rare contemporary monastics who has completed a six-year solitary retreat. As I live in Hawaii, this was my first time back to DDM Los Angeles Center in about seven months, and it felt like coming back to my second home. That first evening, as I leisurely paced up and down the parking lot, I was struck by the beauty of the San Gabriel mountains in the distance.

  The retreat began smoothly for me. I brought my own meditation bench to avoid aggravating a knee injury, and I didn’t suffer the intense leg pain I experienced during my first 10-day retreat. I immediately liked Guo Guang Fashi’s style of lecture and, like usual, I savored the delicious vegetarian food cooked by the volunteers.

  Even I was surprised, then, that as I woke up to the second morning of the retreat, in a room of about 18 tents set up for the male retreatants, I felt an intense urge to quit the retreat right then and there. I’m not sure where the urge came from, but I think it was a reaction to what I felt was a sudden loss of freedom. In my daily life, I spend much of my day talking, and when not talking I’m interacting with my phone or pursuing other entertainments. I knew it was necessary for my mental health to remove myself from these distractions for a period of time, but I still felt a momentary surge of rebellion. Having also experienced the urge to quit during my last 10-day retreat, I decided this time to simply stay with my breath for a while, and I quickly calmed down. I asked myself “Do I really want to stay at this retreat?” I decided that the answer was “yes,” and for the remainder of the ten days I felt confident in this decision. From this experience, this brief urge to quit, I learned that I shouldn’t trust my every passing thought or feeling - sometimes it’s best to give a decision some time.

  Throughout my retreat, my thoughts were like my shadow, following me wherever I went, or perhaps more like a faithful dog, sometimes yapping and sometimes quieting down. For the first few days, I ruminated over small issues related to work and how I would handle them when I returned home. Even when learning new things at the retreat, I couldn’t help but think about how I might share these teachings with my students back in Hawaii.

  By the fourth or fifth day, however, thoughts of work and home mostly dissipated and were replaced by my worries that I wasn’t practicing the method correctly, as well as my habitual paranoid thoughts that everyone else could see my absent-minded mistakes. During the evening lecture, Guo Guang Fashi asked the room if anyone was still having trouble using the method, and I think I was the only one who raised my hand. I was encouraged by Fashi’s response, telling us not to get frustrated and that it was ok to have wandering thoughts, so long as we refrained from following them.

  One thing I’ve noticed is that several days into a retreat, memories that I haven’t thought about for months or years will start to bubble up. Actually, this is one reason that I attend retreats: they’re a way for me to process some unresolved feelings about my relationships with my family members, particularly with my mother, who passed away about 12 years ago. Because she passed away unexpectedly, I didn’t have the chance to say goodbye to her, express my gratitude to her, or apologize for the times I was unkind to her. During my daily life, I rarely think about my mom, but during meditation retreats I will sometimes feel very close to her. When Guo Guang Fashi gave us the opportunity to do repentance prostrations, I knew that this was my chance to apologize to my mother and lay down some of the guilt and regret that I’ve been carrying with me since her death. During those repentance prostrations, I cried more deeply than I have in a long time. I made a vow to live a life that my mom would be proud of. After the repentance prostrations, I indeed felt lighter, like I had laid down a heavy load.

  As the retreat progressed, I continued to apply the method that Guo Guang Fashi taught us in fits and starts. The method involves continuously keeping our attention on our “renzhong,” which is the area right below our nose and above our upper lip. Since I couldn’t feel any physical sensation on this area, I wondered how I could be sure that I was placing my attention on it. I found more success when I simply stopped worrying if I was using the method correctly and instead just made a sincere effort. It helped to have a little faith that I would succeed in time, so long as I kept trying.

  Although my thoughts continued to wander in and out for the remainder of the retreat, I found some moments where I was able to stay with my method for a sustained period of time. These moments were followed by unique feelings of calm and clarity, like a feeling of waking up and being truly present to my surroundings. Although these moments only lasted a little while, they encouraged me to continue practicing.

  In the last few days of the retreat, I began to wonder how I would adapt to returning to my busy life as a teacher. Fashi suggested that we remain mindful in our daily life. Like someone picking through vegetables, discarding the rotten leaves and keeping the healthy ones, we should carefully monitor our body, speech and thoughts. Mindfulness of our actions helps us to establish a good karmic base for practice while simultaneously helping us to cultivate the concentration we need to develop insight.

  I know from past experience that it’s important to maintain the right attitude when the retreat is over. Otherwise, the benefits of the retreat may quickly dissipate. I had thought that as soon as the retreat ended and I was on a plane back to Hawaii that I would want to binge on the in-flight movies and other forms of entertainment I’d denied myself for the past 10 days. Instead, sitting on that plane, I felt like I needed to sit in silence for a while and digest the experience I’d been through.

  I had to return to work the day after the retreat, and my thoughts quickly became occupied with planning lessons and other responsibilities. At the same time, I knew that I needed to continue to practice throughout the day, even if only sporadically, if I wanted to retain any progress made during the retreat. Three weeks after the retreat, I'm still a fairly scatterbrained person, but I feel there's been a subtle yet perceptible improvement compared to how I was before the retreat. It’s harder to fool myself now or justify frivolous distractions. Although my retreat experience was filled with wandering thoughts, the few moments of clarity I experienced during the retreat showed me the value of this practice. The retreat also showed me that, while I’m aided by the generosity of countless teachers and volunteers, I’m ultimately responsible for choosing my own path. Whether I move towards awakening or retreat into distraction is up to me.

by Henry