○Of course there was no plunger. The plunger is missing when I need it. But there’s always an audience. In this case, three women were sitting on the other side of a thin bathroom door, waiting their turn to use the badly, hopelessly clogged toilet. I sweated on the lid trying to come up with a solution, but I could barely hear myself thinking the chorus of Leonard Cohen’s “Closing Time.” Every day of this retreat, a loop played relentlessly in my head with perfect acoustics. , a voluminous shake. I started her 10 day silent meditation and it had been 3 days and I was completely at my limit.
“Sorry to break the sublime silence,” I finally said to my fellow meditator. “But that toilet is clogged.” That’s what I said for the first time in three days. The words felt like poetry on my lips.
When I told my friends about my plans to join the program, they understandably couldn’t believe it. “We can’t stay silent for 10 minutes, let alone 10 days!” they protested. (They were right, and they are still right.) But my then-boyfriend was an avid meditator and had been raving about the program since we first met. He told me that Vipassana, a meditation technique that originated in India more than 2,500 years ago, completely changed his life. It calmed him down and made him feel connected to himself. I had just quit my day job to write full time, and the only thing that sold was articles about how to make latkes. What I want to say is that I was able to kill time.
I said okay! ” I said, “Okay!” I went for a 10-day Vipassana meditation for the same reason. Move to Chicago with him. I thought there was something wrong with me for thinking “Run away!” without thinking. I guessed that love was a noble pursuit that brought two people together. My pieces didn’t quite fit into the jigsaw of our relationship, but I thought this might give their edges a break. My boyfriend was a very good person, so I thought so too (and still do), and I really wanted to be a good person too.
read more: How hearing silence changes your brain
So I went first to Chicago and then to a retreat in the middle of nowhere. I signed my wallet and cell phone. I heard the rules. No talking, no eye contact, no physical contact, no drugs or alcohol, no sex or masturbation, no technology, and (most scary for me) no writing. I almost screamed, but I trusted my boyfriend more than my instincts. If this was good for him, it would be good for me too, I convinced myself with a pounding heart.
If I had bothered to research Vipassana before joining, I would have read a lot about time. We wake up at 4am every day and arrive at our first meditation by 4:30am. Two hours later, we meet for breakfast at 6:30am. Then a short break. Then I meditate some more. lunch. break. Meditate more. tea. Meditate more. Next, watch a recording of a lecture by a respected teacher of this practice. Meditate more. Then it’s bedtime and I get up and get ready to do it all again.
I’ve never experienced 4am before, but it’s an eerie time. The sky is black as ink, and the distant Illinois town is studded with countless stars that appear close together but are actually separated by a vast bay of sky. . As I walked down the dark path to the meditation hall, the morning chill sank into my bones and the quiet land that surrounded the place loomed terrifyingly black. “What on earth am I doing here?” I thought. The questions spread beyond the campus’s worn lawns and murky ponds.
In our evening lecture, our teacher encouraged us not to think while meditating, and if a thought inevitably crosses our mind, to put it aside without judgment. I was confused by this at first. Unintentionally, I played the entire movie in my head (mostly his M. Night Shyamalan, because my subconscious has no taste for it) and analyzed our interactions over the years. Did.
My mind kept constantly and helplessly playing “Closing Time,” but unfortunately, I didn’t know all the lyrics. As a result, as Cohen puts it, “bupbupbupbup dun-dun and the wisdom of Johnnie Walker were high,” the picturesque geese on campus were in the midst of mating season, and Cohen’s half had a terrifying mental breakdown. A good performance was obtained. The wrong lyrics were punctuated by the sounds of fornicating waterfowl.
So meditation was difficult for me. But so was the amount of time I spent without meditating. Have you ever heard a cafeteria where people are eating quietly? No talking, but the sounds of human chewing: wet chewing and slippery gulps, suppressed burps and scraping of silverware. It echoed throughout the room.
To my relief, meditation slowly became easier as the first day of the course passed. At first, I couldn’t sit for even 5 minutes without moving my hips, but I found myself sitting still for longer and longer periods of time. My hummingbird brain has also slowed down in vibrations. My thoughts were still reeling, but it took quite a while before they pulled me away. However, I still dreamed of breaking up. Yes, I could sit here and not think about anything, but what’s the point?, my mind asked. “Run,” he urged. “Run!”
By then, the toilet was working properly, but I was still stuck. I could hear all the voices in my head pressuring me to stay. It’s a chorus featuring boyfriends, mentors, and toned Instagram yoga influencers. “I quit too soon, I didn’t take this seriously, I failed.” But faintly, I also hear my own voice just as disappointed in me, but also disappointed in me for staying. could hear. “Run,” it whispered, tired from repetition. “Run.” A few days later, I did. Leaving was harder than I expected (leaving is always harder than we expect), but meditation is something you do voluntarily, even if it feels like it’s the only option.
My boyfriend was shocked and disappointed when I arrived in Chicago. (It would be great if I could accomplish both.) I cried a lot. By leaving the meditation center, I wondered if I had ruined my chance at finding inner peace. I thought I had ruined our relationship by not understanding his most important habits.
We thought about leaving the life we had built. But I didn’t. At first it wasn’t. I spent several more months unhappy. I was more convinced than ever that there must be something wrong with me. I couldn’t meditate properly. I couldn’t love properly.Did you have something that’s rightDo you mean me?
Eventually, my misery escalated rapidly and burst like a balloon in my mouth. pop! “This doesn’t work.” The words felt like poetry on my lips. My boyfriend helped me pack my bags and drove me to the airport. This lovely man has real sheets on his bed and is generous enough to give me a ride to O’Hare International Airport. Was I planning to break up with him? My intuition screamed at me to be heard beyond reason, and even though I thought it would break me, I hugged him goodbye and walked away. When I arrived, I was so relieved that my legs almost gave way.I was in the wrong place, with the wrong people, doing the wrong things, yes, but I I wasn’t wrong. That toilet probably broke before I could use it.
I’d like to say I’ve followed my instincts ever since, but like anything else, trust is a muscle. It only grows through pain and repetition. So I kept writing, even though it seemed doomed. I moved to New York and then to Los Angeles. I was rejected. I’ve been published. Usually ignored. I fell in love, was heartbroken, and fell in love again. I made a lot of mistakes, that’s what I mean. But at least they were my mistakes. It was created by listening to my own inner voice. That voice sometimes stuttered, misspoken, or hoarse, but it always sounded true to itself. I made a lot of mistakes. But slowly, I came to believe that I could fix them. Even better, I was able to learn from them.
Although I wasn’t able to complete the meditation course that my ex-boyfriend recommended, I still try to meditate from time to time. Until your alarm goes off, sit for 20 minutes and focus on your breathing and just being present. I’m still not sure if I’m doing it right. But now I believe that is not necessary.
