The
stiller the mind, the more palpable the dazzling torrent of life becomes *
It’s
6.45 on a Sunday morning, the last Sunday of December 2012, and the forces of
Mara** are besieging me. This is the third day of the siege and despite
deploying and redeploying my powers against them I have to admit that Mara
remains unvanquished. I’ve been at this juncture before – it’s something akin
to a war of attrition – and I know from previous experience that determination
and dogged persistence on my part will see me through this. “This” is a week-long
silent retreat at a Buddhist Centre in the southwest of England.
I’m
one of around 80 participants on an Insight Meditation Retreat at Gaia House in
South Devon. This is my opportunity to eschew the alienation that tends to beset
me in the run up to New Year festivities and to use this time more fruitfully.
I’ve come here to develop a closer acquaintance with the workings of my own
mind and the thoughts that so easily hijack it. Four teachers are here to support
me and my co-retreatants in our endeavours. Daily, they guide us in meditation,
help us navigate the immensity of our minds and harness our concentration in
the quest to calm the conditions therein. Every evening, they offer us Dharma***
talks, teachings from the earliest times of the Buddha himself, 2,500 years
ago, up to the more contemporary stars of Western Buddhism. The talks are inspiring,
uplifting, and incisive.
Even
Mara quietens down for the Dharma talks; there’s hardly a whisper to be heard,
which gives me a chance to focus my concentration solely on the speaker. Guided
meditations are more challenging, particularly during the lengthy periods of
silence. Most challenging of all are the early morning meditations, which start
at 6.45. Caught between drowsiness and the distractions that Mara tempts me
with, I despair of ever staying fully present for the 45 minutes that
meditations last. Despair, of course, is another distraction. So is doubt,
desire, defeatism, etc., etc. Just about any thought that lures me away from my
concentration on the breath is a distraction sent by Mara. The first two days
of this retreat certainly provide me with what I came here for: an insight into
my own mind. It’s chaos in there.
On
the third day, the onslaught of distractions begins to slow down a little. The
pauses give me an opportunity to reflect on Mara’s strategies. Top of the list
is unsolicited comments about other retreatants. Some are pleasant: Her trousers are very pretty; you should get
some of those when we go shopping in the January sales. Do you think there’s a
line in Buddhist fashion? Others less so: Look at those socks. The colour screams at you and, besides, I don’t
think he’s changed them since he arrived. The arrangement of my co
retreatants’ cushions/ zafus repeatedly attracts Mara’s attention. There are
about 80 meditation mats in the hall and by Day 4 all of us are forced into
frequently changing our posture to ease muscle and joint pain. Meditators
struggle to make themselves comfortable and, consequently, their array of
cushions, stools and blankets becomes ever more elaborate. That looks more like a throne and that one
more like a nest than a meditation mat. A plump lady rests precariously on
a tower block of cushions I give her
another ten minutes and then it will all collapse under her, like a stack of cards.
At
mealtimes a docile line leading into the dining room forms. Standing here I
realise that most of my life is lost to haste and impatience. Fifty or sixty
people sit around me eating lunch unhurriedly and the only sound to be heard is
the clink of cutlery on plates. For me it’s a welcome relief to be free from
the obligation to engage in polite talk with strangers and to relish this
delicious vegetarian food with no distraction. I’ve come to realise that at no
point on this retreat have I needed to talk, and now I realise I don’t even
want to. This silence is full of insights. The voices that whisper to me from
the darkest corners of my mind during my everyday life outside of here, scream
at me now from centre stage. Ghosts I thought I’d left behind weep, still
distressed by the unhappiness in my childhood. They plead compassion and
kindness. I’m not alone in my suffering. Nearly everybody looks worn out, both
physically and emotionally. Some, I understand, are terminally ill.
At
lunchtime I lie on my bed exhausted. It’s mystifying how sitting all day,
apparently doing nothing, saps my energy so completely. Yet it does. I fall
into a deep sleep and when I wake, I’ve missed the afternoon bell. I walk into
the hall, but the others are already on their mats and absorbed in meditation.
Unwilling to disturb them, I remain at the back and observe the scene. Row upon
row of meditators faces the front, where a statue of the Buddha presides.
Absolute silence prevails. Just as in a church, there is a broad aisle running
down the centre and … Wouldn’t it be
funny if the Blues Brothers suddenly turned up – as in the film - and did
forward somersaults down the aisle. I bet that would put an end to the silence.
Mara’s
new tactic, humour, briefly lures me into the trap. But I also have tactics.
With each breath I count backwards, 10 – breathe – 9 – breathe – 8 breathe – Then
Mara quips, she just slipped off the pile
of cushions. Did you see that? – 7 breathe – 6 breathe – and so I
strengthen my concentration. Don’t forget
to buy some detergent when you go to Lidl on Thursday. I turn to silent
chanting, Om, Om, Om, Om… This is
wonderful! Have you noticed that we haven’t seen a single Christmas tree or
Santa Claus since we arrived here. OM, OM, OM, OM, OM. A little later, I
don’t know how much later, I find that my attention has drifted wildly and I’m
thinking about… the execution of Saddam Hussein. How did I get here? What route
did I follow? I’m bewildered. Seven days is not enough. I need seven months at
Gaia House.
On
Day 4 my mind slows down and starts to settle, like dust after a storm in the
desert. When meditation ends and the hall empties I am surprised to discover I
remain seated, enjoying the novel experience of calm and equanimity in my mind.
This silence, inside and out, soothes my soul. Mara is still there, of course,
but I’m more alert now and don’t fall into the trap as often. Neither do I
sleep at lunchtime. I’ve grown fond of my companions on this journey and,
although I have never spoken to them, I enjoy the warmth I sense when they are
around me. It feels odd to be separated from them.
When
departure day arrives, I feel I’m leaving a place of sanity, a refuge, and
promise myself that I’ll be back. As the car pulls away from Gaia House, I look
up at this remarkable place, the sort of stately home Jane Austen would have
chosen for her novels, and wonder how long it will be before my equanimity
fades. Probably just as long as it takes until I see a Christmas tree or a Santa
Claus.
* Stephen Batchelor: Buddhism without
Beliefs.
**
In Buddhist texts Mara personifies the distractions and temptations that
prevent human beings from practicing a spiritual life
***Buddhist
teachings and ethics
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