The Treat of a Meditation Retreat

An all-day meditation retreat. I looked forward to it, in theory. I also dreaded it a little, especially once I learned the majority of the day would be spent in silence. Including lunch? Oh no. Mindful eating and me, we just don't get along. Or so I thought.

I knew from the orientation back in December that the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction class included a day-long retreat at a secluded setting. When the day came, I had had insomnia for several nights running, prompting worries that I would fall asleep instead of meditating, and once again it was snowing. I got a late start (my pattern) and took a wrong turn (pattern) and arrived a half hour after the scheduled time.

Major Pattern.

But instead of berating myself and missing out on even more of the retreat with some cruel inner criticism, I slipped into a quiet state almost right away with the help of some luscious yoga.

We spent the day alternating between movement and stillness. We sat, we walked, we stretched, we lay prone. We had no need for watches. We had no need for eye contact or smiles or chitchat. After some initial strangeness, it felt quite freeing.

I didn't drift off once, electing to sit rather than lie down, to better my chances.

And that lunch I was worried about? Delicious in every way. Each in our own space, and mine was looking out an enormous window onto the snow falling gently in the woods. I slowed down, I reminded myself to look at my food, its colors and textures. (Quinoa salad with broccoli and avocado and pine nuts. The little buds of the broccoli such a deep green. The creamy-colored quinoa grains each with a tiny tendril curling like a sprout. The pine nuts tipped with brown.) I reminded myself to chew one bite before taking another. I smelled my food (especially the briny sauerkraut), tasted it, felt it in my mouth, experienced it. For once.

After, I felt satisfied. I didn't wish for more or different food, because I was really there while I ate.

Delicious, too, to know that I had all the time I needed, that I didn't have to keep track of the hour. Kathy had said we would have over an hour and should feel free to rest or walk after eating. The chimes would signal 10 minutes before it was time to gather again. I walked outside in the snow and found myself brimming with joy. What a treat, I kept thinking. What a gift.

I watched geese fly in a low V and heard their crazy calling. The snow was thick on the pine trees. I heard the crunch underfoot and the light tap of snow hitting my hood. I felt the cold seep through my boots, the wet flakes on my face. The chime rang across the quiet and I headed back, picking up the pace a little but not rushing, knowing there was no need.

There was some awkwardness. We were asked to do some things that stretched our comfort level. The first time we tried a walking meditation, I felt very self-conscious. Was I doing it right? Why couldn't my shoulders keep from tensing up while I placed my focus on my feet? And I kept forgetting to breathe.

Then in the afternoon we were asked to raise our eyes from their soft focus from the first time and look each other in the face as we walked mindfully about the room. I felt shy about this, exposed. But during my lunchtime walk outside, I'd deliberately sought the gaze of classmates as I'd passed them, feeling it would be rude not to acknowledge them, even though I knew our downcast eyes were simply honoring each other's private experiences. (To look them in the eye was to break a "rule" of the day; to not engage them was to break a rule of society. Major Pattern here too: damned if I do and damned if I don't.)

And why couldn't I keep my mind still when we had a period of sitting without the guidance of Kathy's voice? That was a source of frustration. I judged the fact that I couldn't keep my mind on my breath for more than half an inhale. A more practiced meditator, I was sure, would have done "better." No matter how many times I hear Kathy say mindfulness is not about striving to be a better person/student/meditator, but about being ourselves as we are, it doesn't seem to sink in. I still want to do it "right."

Still, peace was the prevailing feeling. And connectedness. Toward the end of the day we had time to share what we had experienced. Such goodhearted people in that room. How truly fortunate I am.