Vipassana: A deep operation on the depths of the mind to create a happier, more balanced life

The meditation hall. You’d have found me at E6

It’s been over two weeks now since the end of the Vipassana course. Part of this time has been spent in Kathmandu processing a new Indian visa. The other part was spent at the Langtang National park, trekking in the Himalayas. High up in the silence of the mountains, there was time for a gathering of the mind which had eluded me in the city.

I didn’t actually know very much about Vipassana or how it was taught before I signed up for the course. This was deliberate on my part. I had met quite a few people in Goa who had undertaken one of the ten day courses who would have been more than happy to share their experiences, but I felt that the less I knew, the less expectations or preconceptions I would have.

Certainly, there are many types of meditation out there to choose from. From Tantric to Kundalini, from chanting mantras to using movement. Each one seeks to calm and focus the mind. Vipassana differs from other types of meditation in works on the deepest parts of the mind, the subconscious, rather then focusing on the conscious mind, as the others do. Vipassana was in fact the method which the Buddha used to reach enlightenment, and is the technique which he taught his followers. Many thousands of people in Northern India became enlightened by practicing Vipassana and continued to do so, even after the death of the Buddha. But over time, it was mixed with the traditions of other meditation techniques, which led to the purity of the technique being lost to India and the rest of the world. Only in Burma was the technique maintained in its purist form.  And it was through a Burmese-born Indian man, S.N. Goenka, who studied the technique intensively with his master in Burma for 14 years, that Vipassana was brought back to India in 1969.

And so on the morning of 14^th April, I joined the queue along with 159 other men and women at the Nepal Vipassana Centre’s city office and began the registration process. Documentation in order, we were ushered into a grey, windowless basement room where we sat on cushions placed in orderly lines. Men on one side, women on the other. As the teacher began to intone the rules and regulations of the course, first in Hindi and then in English, I began tentatively to question my being there. Did I really want to spend 10 days of my life locked away in meditation? I knew deep down that I did.

The daily schedule: meditation, meditation and oh yes, more meditation

For ten days we would agree to live by the five precepts: no stealing, no lying, no sexual misconduct, no killing, no intoxicants. We were to be in complete silence from after dinner that day. There should be no writing of notes, no gestures and no eye contact. The only people we could speak to were our teacher, the volunteers and other members of staff. We would be meditating on average for 10 hours a day, with the day starting at 4am and ending at 9,30pm. We would have three meals a day: breakfast at 6am, lunch at 11am and a snack at 5pm. The list of prohibited items included reading and writing materials, mobile phones, iPods, cameras and laptops. Yoga was also a no-no, on the basis that exercise space was limited and of the potential for it to disturb the energies of the meditator.

With the rules made clear, we were loaded onto mini buses and brought to the meditation centre, located about 12KM from the centre of Kathmandu. The atmosphere as we travelled was subdued. People sent final texts, looked at pictures of loved ones on their phones, stared into space or looked out the windows, as if to absorb as much of the outside world as possible before being entirely cut off from it for ten days. On arrival, we handed over our passports, money, credit cards and all our other contraband items. We were then assigned dorm bed numbers and seat numbers for the meditation hall. If we wished to identify ourselves to the management, we were to use these numbers rather than our names. Bit by bit we were losing our identities. As the red-painted heavy iron main gate of the complex clanged shut, the thought that we had entered a ‘concentration camp” came to me. I smiled at the black humour. True, we had all chosen to be here to “concentrate” and to gain mastery over our minds, but could it be that our lives would somehow resemble that of those prisoners who had lived in such camps during WW2? Living in segregation in a small, austere, enclosed campus, cut off from society, with no musical or artistic stimulation and with free will at a minimum, perhaps there was some minute comparison, however tentative? Without meaning to cause any offense or minimise the experience of those detained in such a way, of course.

Over a simple Nepali-style dinner, complete with Dahl Bhaat, which was to be our daily fare, I briefly got to know my dorm neighbours – Justyna from Poland and Barbara from Germany. Then it was time for silence to descend and the meditation to begin. Goenka describes the 10 day meditation retreat as a “deep operation of the mind”. For nine days the mind is dissected and then on the tenth, it is put back together. This is how he explains the process in one of his nightly video discourses.

For the first three days, we focused on our breath, using a technique called Annapana. The aim is to focus on the breath and how it interacts with as small an area as possible above the upper lip. After these initial three days, the focus moves to sensations in the body, starting from the crown of the head and working all the way down through each body part.

That cheeky Mrs Brown, aka Bernie

As predicted in Goenka’s nightly video discourse, my mind rebelled completely during the first three days. It did everything it could to distract me from my task. I would find myself thinking about the past, so I would shake myself and refocus on my breath, but seconds later, I would catch myself in the future. On and on it went, seemingly endlessly. It was like watching a video of my life being fast-forwarded and rewound at speed, over and over again. Exhausting. I feared a little for my sanity. But by the end of day three, having sought out my teacher’s advice and having finally properly understood Goenka’s instructions, I “made friends” with my mind. I called her Bernie. She looks a lot like “Mrs Brown” from the TV series, “Mrs Brown’s Boys” and has a cheeky glint in her eye, especially when she knows that she’s just played the old “here’s a cute memory to pass the time” trick on me.

As Bernie and I got to know each other better, the meditations got a little easier. When I would catch a thought coming into head, I would smile, shake my head ruefully at Bernie and she would slink smilingly away. This was a relief, as the daily schedule was onerous. At 4am the wake-up gong would sound, and by 4.30am we would be seated in the meditation hall for our first meditation. This two-hour morning meditation was always the most difficult one for me. It was bitterly cold for most of our time at the centre, especially in the mornings and evenings, and I had a hard time keeping warm. Having had our last meal of the day at 5pm, a snack of rice crispies, fruit and tea, my tummy was generally rumbling by morning. Sitting on my cushion wrapped in the regulation green tartan blanket, I would start the session with great intentions, but 20 minutes later, I would feel a tug on my cushion and a whisper in my ear – a volunteer encouraging me to wake up and straighten my back. I would try again, only to once again find myself slumped forward, my head making friends with my feet. My teacher tried to help me by explaining that this tendency to sleep was linked to resistance and anger and I should become aware of these emotions and fully integrate them into my meditation. Hmm. I would try.

At the end of day three, just when I thought I was getting into the swing of things, my stomach started acting up. This was nothing new for me. We were eating a typical Nepali diet, rich pulses, so I wasn’t at all surprised that my body was rebelling. I figured I’d bear with it and I’d come around in a couple of days. I was also aware of the body-mind connection factor and figured that all the stuff being processed by my mind was having an effect on my body. But on and on it went, day after day. I took the few meds I had and tried fasting on day five, but to no avail. On day six, finally admitting that perhaps I needed help to stop the cramping which was proving to be a big distraction in meditation, no matter how much I tried to deter my thoughts from it, I finally approached one of the volunteers with my problem. She was incredibly helpful and had the kitchen prepare big plates of “water rice” cooked in turmeric for each of the meals to help settle my stomach. Although I was hugely grateful for her help, there were times when I felt completely despondent when I would see the plate of rice arriving. So much so, I could feel tears forming. I longed for a bowl of tomato soup and some dry toast. But in signing myself into the meditation centre, I had effectively given up my right to make such choices. For those 10 days, the course being run on a donation basis, I, along with all the other participants, had become a Buddhist nun. We were fully dependent on the kindness of others for my food, lodging and well being. This is done very deliberately for each Vipassana course, as by surrendering in this way, a breaking down of the ego begins.

But the turmeric rice and special herbal drinks which were prepared for me with such care failed to work their magic. By the morning of day eight, I felt like I could take no more and I asked to see a doctor. I knew I needed antibiotics if I was to finish the course and I was absolutely determined to do so. As luck would have it, there was a doctor volunteering on the next course, who had already arrived at the centre and I was brought to see him. He quickly administered rehydration salts and antibiotics. I was so grateful to him. By the afternoon I was feeling myself again. It was as if a cloud had been lifted off me. Meditation felt easy again and I found myself looking forward to the sessions to follow that day.

It was during the afternoon session on that eight day when things somehow came together for me. Gone was my resistance to sitting. If my knees, hips or back were aching, then I was not aware of them. My mind became very still and very clear. I could flow easily through the sensations in my body. It felt like my skin and my insides were pleasantly fizzing and popping. And then something lifted out of me. I have no idea what it was exactly, but some great weight from the depths of me was released. I felt a great rush of energy. My spine, neck and head stretched to their maximum and I felt as if I was heads taller than anyone else in the room. My breathing became laboured and I was sure that a volunteer would soon tap me on the shoulder and ask me to keep it down. Whatever it was kept coming up and up and up, until finally all of it was released. My breathing calmed and my posture normalised. I felt at peace. I felt intensely happy.

After this experience, for the remainder of the course, my meditations were peaceful, happy events. I even looked forward to the hour-long “Strong determination” sessions, where all movement was discouraged. Whereas before these sessions would evoke deep sighs and sometimes even tears of frustration from me, my mind jumping from one thing to another, now I sat in complete peace. Images of people who I felt at times of my life had somehow wronged me, flashed through my mind, followed by a deep forgiveness to all. I had come to a place where I fully, finally understood the nature of impermanence, which forms the basis of Vipassana. Of course I had been aware of this concept before starting the course, but it was through the struggles I had gone through over the 10 days that full consciousness of impermanence finally manifested. This peaceful, balanced, “equinanimous” state of mind is what I had come looking for and I was so grateful to experience it.

Getting to know each other on the final day

On day ten we were finally allowed to begin speaking again. The campus filled with excited voices and there was an air of festivity. We had come through our ordeal in one piece and now it was time to re-join the world. We shared our experiences, collected our passports, cameras and laptops, and took our last meal together. Soon we were back on the buses headed once again for Kathmandu. Most of us were anxious about being back in such a chaotic place after the peace and tranquillity of the meditation camp. But through his final discourses, Goenka had prepared us well. He advised us that we had taken the first vital step towards awakening. Our task now was to each day practice maintaining a balanced mind, no matter what the situation. He told us to observe ourselves and to see that nine times out of ten, we would react in our usual way to a given situation, but if on that one other occasion, we were able to stop in our tracks, observe our breathing for a moment and then choose to behave in a different, more balanced way, then the technique is working.

The road is long, he says, but with constant and committed practice of the technique, anyone can leave misery behind, release past “sankharas” to achieve a higher level of consciousness and live a better, happier, more balanced life. The equation is simple: if you are happy and are putting the best of yourself into the world, then others around you will be happy and the world will be a better place. His advice is to meditate for two hours a day – one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening. It sounds like a tall order, but for the benefits it brings, it is certainly worth the effort. 

For more information about Vipassana centres in Nepal, see: http://courses.dhamma.org/en/schedules/schshringa

For information about Vipassana meditation in Ireland, see: http://www.ie.dhamma.org/index.php?id=ie_.html

For information about course in the rest of the world, see: http://www.dhamma.org

Newspaper article about Vipassana in Nepal: http://nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=19805

 

Going on a Buddhist shopping spree at Tushita

It’s hard to know whether the best part of spending time at the Tushita Buddhist meditation centre in Dharamkot are the culinary delights which the kitchen provides in the form of lashings of peanut butter spread on tasty freshly-baked white rolls, flavoursome veggie curries and sometimes even pizza, or the visual entertainment of the resident tribe of monkeys who spend their time hanging out of the prayer flags or playing in the monkey pool, plotting their next assault on the dining hall.

Tushita celebrating 40 years

 

Following the Dalai Lama teachings, I had booked onto the 10 day “Introduction to Buddhism” course that is run at Tushita. Like the Vipassana course in Kathmandu, it was to be another 10 days in silence. To be honest, I was looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet again after the hectic atmosphere of McLeod Ganj, so I packed my bag once again, jumped into a rickshaw and headed further up into the hills. Our days in Tushita began and ended with guided meditation and teachings in Buddhist philosophy, an hour-long discussion group and a “stretching” session in between. In comparison to the Vipassana schedule (which kicks off each day at 4am), the 6.45am start, the chance for an hour-long chat in the discussion group every day, access to a well-stocked library, not to mention the delicious food, it felt to me a bit like being at a Buddhist holiday camp.

Silence in the nicest possible way at Tushita

Our philosophy teacher was a nun by the name of Sarah. She had left England after university to travel, and while in Kathmandu happened upon the Kopan Monastery where she began to learn about Buddhism. By the time she was 22, she had taken her vows. Over the 10 days, Venerable Sarah imparted her knowledge great deftness and humour. By the end we probably knew as much as the average Tibetan Buddhist about the Buddha’s teachings. A great feat indeed.

Stupa in the pre-monsoon mist at Tushita

 

Richard, our Dutch meditation teacher was a Vipassana meditator for 6 years before he came to Tibetan Buddhism. At first I wondered what caused him to change. I really appreciated the “bare bones” approach of Goenka’s Vipassana teachings when I first learnt about them in Kathmandu. Tibetan Buddhism by comparison seemed “flouncy” to me. The colours and decoration of the “Gompa” (meditation hall) where we sat was bright and playful and its texts talked of there being 6 different “realms” where beings could live, “Hungry Ghosts” and “Dakinis”, a type of female oracle. It all felt a little bit too close to Catholicism (the very thing I was looking to distance myself from), with its talk of purgatory, original sin and other stories from the Old Testament.

A potential breakfast banana snatcher at Tushita

Before Tushita, I found myself turning more and more to Buddhism as a path as it seemed to have a purity and simplicity that other religions lacked. Never had a war been waged in the name of the Buddha, never would a Buddhist so much as think of trying to convert anyone. Its philosophy of practicing loving kindness and compassion to all as a path to living a more conscious life and by doing so perhaps even attaining the mythical state of “Samadhi”, otherwise known as enlightenment was very appealing to me. Buddhism is all of those things, but I was surprised and saddened to discover that corruption and abuse exists even within its confines. During our discussion group, I discovered that older monks in the monasteries have been found to have abused the young monks; lamas, especially from the Tantric traditions, have been known to dupe their students into sexual relationships. At first I felt I bit sickened. But as we learnt more, I began to realise that being a Buddhist doesn’t absolve anyone from being unkind or committing abuses. It simply lays out some precepts by which one should try to live and it is up to each person to live by them as best they can.

 

 

By the end of the 10 days, I felt that I had expanded my mind and found a path that I could completely relate to and wanted to apply myself fully. Despite my initial reticence to the frills of Tibetan Buddhism, I had come to terms with it, realising that I could take from it what felt right for me. As Richard put it, Tibetan Buddhism is a bit like a supermarket, you can check out its shelves and only put in your basket what you really feels right to you. I’m still grappling with some of the concepts and at the end of the day, having grown up a Catholic, those traditions will always be with me and  part of me (the urge to make the sign of the cross sometimes when trying to cross a particularly busy road in an Indian city is at times just too strong!), but there are certain things at this store which feel right for my life right now which have gone into my basket and I’m taking them home with me. I know they’ll be of use now and in the future. 

For more about Tushita, see: http://www.tushita.info

For an Indian perspective on Tushita (aka life with the Westerners with the psychedelic clothing), check out this article from the Indian Express: http://www.indianexpress.com/news/buddhism-with-peanut-butter/841048/

Lumbini: Birthplace of the Buddha

To steal a line from Patrick Kavanagh, the bicycles go by in threes and fours here in Lumbini. Well, in fact, they go by in all manner of multiples. Biking is THE way of getting around in these parts.

Yesterday I hired rickety bike of ancient Chinese origin for myself and went to see the spot where Buddha is said to have been born, at the Maya Devi Temple in the Sacred Garden. I sat for a long time listening to the chanting of some Tibetan monks and watched as pilgrims prostrated themselves towards the temple. Later, I visited some of the many Buddhist monasteries in the area, each one built by a Buddhist community from a different country. The Chinese monastery was particularly elegant.

This morning, in an effort to beat the 42 degree heat, I set off early and visited the Peace Pagoda and Crane Sanctuary. The cranes were in hiding, but the Pagoda, brilliant white and glinting gold under a clear blue sky, was imposing. I had seen a similar one in Pokhara. Both were built in the 1990s by the Japanese, at a cost of 1 million dollars each. Their purpose is to promote world peace and it is expected that in all, 100 of these Pagodas will be built all over the world.

It struck me both today and yesterday, that despite the Buddha’s rejection of divinity and materialism, this site has become a place of pilgrimage, where the local people rely on tourists for their livelihood, and where Buddha is worshipped as a deity.  Having learned so much about the Buddha’s teachings on the Vipassana course last month, this materialism and worshipping of idols feels very out of synch. The idea also of spending over a million dollars on a white and gold structure set in the middle of a field, whose purpose is idealistic, but not an enhancement of the lives of the local community in any way (besides perhaps being a minor tourist attraction), especially in a country with such obvious poverty as Nepal, also gives me a sense of unease. Would that money not have been better spent providing better roads or sanitation or improving healthcare or education systems?

But there once again is the paradox which so frequently arises in developing countries. The huge disparity between those with wealth and therefore the power to decide how finances will be allocated in a country, and those who live hand to mouth and have little or no say. The Buddha may not wanted to be revered as a deity, and much of what is happening here in Lumbini as regards construction work especially, flies in the face of his original ‘dhamma’ or teachings, but it is not so different to other places of pilgrimage that I would be familiar with: Knock, Lourdes, Bethlehem.

And so I’ll rest my judgement hat there and maybe continue my bicycle visit now that a breeze has come up. Perhaps there’ll be some cranes fishing by the river,  and all going well, there will be a train ticket to Delhi ready for me at the travel agent. Tomorrow I’m back on the road.

Breaking the silence

 So I’m back, in one piece from the world of Vipassana silence. We landed smack-back in Kathmandu from our monastery in the hills yesterday morning. A small group formed which included a German, a Belgian and a Pole, and we headed directly for that garden café that I love so much in the centre of Thamel. There we talked, laughed, compared experiences and enjoyed one meal after another. Food never tasted so good and it felt wonderful to stretch the vocal cords. 

While I was at the Sivananda ashram in Kerala last month, on hearing that I was going to spend 10 days at a silent meditation retreat, a fellow Irish yogi, Monica, cracked a joke:

“Every ten years, the monks in the monastery were allowed to break their vow of silence to speak two words. Ten years go by and it’s one monk’s first chance. He thinks for a second before saying, “Food bad.” Ten years later, he says, “Bed hard.” It’s the big day, a decade later. He gives the head monk a long stare and says, “I quit.” “I’m not surprised,” says the head monk. “All you’ve done since you got here is complain”.

This joke stayed with me during my 10 days at the Vipassana centre, bringing with it a wry smile, so close to the truth it turned out to be. Not that it was a bad experience; not at all. Quite the opposite. It was in fact quite possibly one of the most life-altering experiences I have ever had. It did, at times, have its discomforts and times of struggle. But those times were an important part of the learning as the times of peace and the times of important realisations and deep letting-gos. But more about that later. There’s still so much to process about the 10 days and I’m not quite sure how to express it just yet. In the meantime, I think it’s time for another cafe latte and a croissant. Ya gotta love KTM sometimes..