A Voyage to Vipassna

5/7/11 0630 Muir Beach.
And so I walked up the hill from the first front gate, where a sign had motivated 'cars arriving for the retreat' into a waiting line at a small reception kiosk.. Sala has been coming to Spirit Rock since it was begun, did her first sitting as a Vipassna, and then later gravitated or levitated to Zen Buddhism and Green Gulch. The larger buildings where my retreat would take place were up a little tarmac road, which winds a bit as it ascends the gentle grass sided ravine that holds this Retreat and Meditation center. It’s a part of the larger San Geronimo valley, which is over the hill to the West of Fairfax, Marin County, and home to Lagunitas and Woodacre, pleasant old California communities with a agricultural past, now mostly relating to The City. Beyond to the West lies Taylor state park, and Hells Gulch, whose tiny tributary stream passes unobtrusively under route 1 and actually is ancestral home to a salmon run. There is a certain mildly triste magic in finding these large fish fanning their fins in a tiny pool under a highway.

Stay mindful , student!! Those kind of fish thoughts are exactly the kind that Mark, our retreat leader, would later identify as one of the early challenges to a sitting practice. 'When a thought comes' he said the very next morning in his Dharma talk, 'I say to myself, 'what is this?' and then let it swim on out of my mind'. Back at the Spirit Rock entry point, I hoisted my small LL Bean brown canvas duffle out of the car, kissed Sala bye bye, and walked over to say howdy to two women who were standing at the back of their opened SUV. They were from San Diego, blondish, sisters-in-law. 'Our families think we're crazy' one said, the other nodding in ruefully amused agreement. The brothers and a sister in law were going to the snow with the kids while the sisters in law came to this silent retreat.

Yep, I felt very California to be coming to a Silent Retreat at Spirit Rock . It was advertised as a Retreat for the Curious; a four day, three night experience of sitting in meditation, yoga, and silence. My own extended family thought I was wise and wonderful to be coming. Actually, Sala had said, using a tone of voice similar to the one I use to comment on the smoking of cigarettes, 'I really think you should do a retreat for more than a day', She had found this event in the Spirit Rock catalog on line. I would miss only one day of my medical teaching, and another teacher could handle that.

These Northern California Hills are very green in spring. Bay trees along with coastal oaks and a variety of furzy brush and poison oak make thickets in the creases, where the water runs. The grass on the open hillsides is blowing, billowing in the wind, creating patterns of reflected light as though invisible animals were scurrying through it. There is at least one herd of wild turkeys, and several small flocks of deer. The upper, newer meditation center consists of a large Meditation Hall with foyer and a small block of classroom space next to it, and to the West,. a dining hall, a yurt, and then 4 large wooden dormitories and a smaller administration building.

My reward for walking up the hill while the car occupants and their luggage were being transferred to small electric transport was a plum Dana/work assignment; the men’s toilet at the Meditation Center. 'You can clean it on your own time', my greeter explained. 'Joy will show you how at 4:30'.

Each of the dorms has the name of a Vipassna virtue, and its significant that at this time, weeks later, I can't remember a single one. I suppose one is probably Metta, the practice of loving kindness, but perhaps not.

The rooms are cells; plastered gypsum, plastic windows, a single bed, a small writing table, a compact sink, a shared bathroom for each floor. A short nap carpeting makes barefoot walking pleasant. My window looks out at the tangle of vegetation near the little creek. Turkey gobbling is the loudest noise.

The main activity of the retreat is, of course, sitting in silence, in Sangha, the group which constitutes one of the three pillars of practice, along with Dharma, the practice, and Buddha...the teacher. And I probably have it wrong. The sitting is often done on the floor, in half or full lotus (one or both ankles cross over the other and resting on the thigh). But you probably know all this, including how this not particularly natural sitting posture strains the knees, producing...well...pain. Yep, among the many aspects of sitting can be actual physical pain, and it’s one of the first items that our three teachers address. Vipassna practice is NOT about pain, Mark urges. And perhaps as a result, there are people in all sorts of postures, assisted by piles of cushions, by little benches, by poufy zafus and minimatress like zabutans. But by day 4, we have actually become a kind of sangha, and the final event, a circle of all 100 or so people, I definitely feel some kind of connection.

In between, there is sitting, and there is walking. Periods of 30 to 45 minutes of each, in alternation. There are dharma talks, explaining sitting practice, loving kindness practice, walking practice, mindful eating. I miss the Zen custom of bowing to people when you meet them; when sitting down at the table in silence, do you avoid eye contact (most of the time), do you smile (some of the time) or what? I like the integration of yoga practice..only for ¾ hour, but the teacher is not one of these take-your-time teachers, it’s slam, bam, on to the next pose, and feels really good.

I make a mindful practice of cleaning the men’s room. I try to stay in physical balance, not rushing or flopping, being deliberate and thorough. By day 3 I am a little possessive, going in more often than really needed and cleaning up minor fluid spills. The woman doing the ladies loo right across the way is someone I talked to briefly when we were registering, so we can exchange conspiratorial smiles, and at the end, our of silence, hug and say how much we appreciated each other’s support.

I became annoyed at a man I felt was pretentious, and as I found the thought again in my mind on day 2, actually did try the metta practice, and by golly, it worked, I liked him better all surrounded by loving kindness. And sure enough, when another 70 plus year old made a brief statement at the end of how touched she had been by the event, he flashed a very luminous and quite genuine smile of approval.

And then there was the lesson of the turkeys. We had a group meeting with one of the teachers. Mine was with Spring, a luminous young mixed race female practitioner. The lesson actually came from two of the other students, after she had gently enjoined to avoid back and forth between ourselves. One of the women in the group said how shocked she had been to witness a man throwing rocks at the turkeys. She had wondered whether to say anything…but since she was in silence, had not. She wondered if something should be done. Should she have reported him? Before Spring could respond, another member of the student sangha said ‘Did you think of just throwing a rock at him? That’s what I would have done’. And that, o best beloved, was the lesson of the turkeys. Spring went on to remark that it was common to feel shock and surprise at the way of the world, if you were open to it.

I have trouble with balance. Or to be specific, I feel my balance is nowhere near as good as it used to be. This means that good technique in walking practice is important. And half way through, I remember that I actually watched Sala demonstrate this, but didn’t really try to do it. So I try..and there again, it actually works.

The food was amazing, vegan vegetarian of course, and sitting doesn’t burn a whole lot of calories, so I actually gained weight. And the mindful eating, a bite at a time, chew well, appreciate the food, swallow carefully, and go on…well, it’s a great recipe for better digestion and long life.

I got a ride back to the bottom of our hill from a nice man with a car. We were both talking pretty non-stop of course, after four days of silence. The yoga had helped my right hip pain a lot. The sitting practice had let me examine a thought as an interesting object ( ‘what is this?’), and let it pass on (‘not now, please’). The walking practice had improved my balance. The food had encouraged me towards a better diet.

The nice man with the car got on the subject of his therapist. For months, he said, he had been having ideas of asking her for a date. Now he was filled with loving kindness, and REALLY thought it might be time. What did I think of that?

I took a minute to reflect. Nope, to that extent I had not changed. ‘Not a good idea’, I said.