“Please leave your cell phone with us during the retreat.” This line in the welcome email caught my attention. My cell phone is my trusted companion, spending most of my waking hours near me or in the palm of my hand. I recently read that we are all already cyborgs, and that our cell phones are as much a part of who we are as his imaginary sci-fi gadgets. How will I react to this sudden 10 days of deprivation? I can feel the future twitching of my hand, which has become habitual of reaching for my phone in moments of boredom.
Further down in the email you will find dietary instructions. No dinner, breakfast included, and lunch at noon. This is a Buddhist retreat tradition in which one stretches out (luxuriously or terrifyingly, depending on your point of view) without eating during the day or night. We must maintain a “noble silence.” No talking is allowed during the retreat. The idea of avoiding small talk with strangers is appealing, but as your mind adjusts, you can expect some very noisy mental dialogue.
When I told a friend I was going on a quiet meditation retreat, she looked at me like I was crazy. “If I had 10 days without kids, I’d go to Bali and get lots of massages and soothing treatments.” Maybe it’s my masochistic or ascetic nature, or maybe I’ll sleep in an old farmhouse in County Clare. Maybe I don’t feel guilty about being away from my children there, rather than at my beach house in Ubud.
This is insight meditation, or “vipassana,” an ancient Buddhist practice that is simple to teach but profound in impact. Just sit, watch your breathing, and gently become aware of your posture. Or pay close attention to your movements as you walk. As thoughts and feelings arise, let them be and observe them, then gently return to your breath.
Sound boring? Your heart agrees, at least at first.
The first thing that happens is that you become lost in thought. New ideas and old conversations fill the space. I spend a surprising amount of time daydreaming about potluck birthday party plans, book ideas, and podcasts. But most of the first few days were spent in my head arguing with my husband about the importance of children’s activities, why we haven’t organized a summer camp yet, and why he doesn’t. is spent on. Also, do you feel awfully guilty about not being able to swim or ride your bike properly?
When I actually find myself arguing with myself in the middle of Clare Forest, I put that teaching into practice and notice the thoughts without pushing anything away or repressing it. Onion-like layers of unconscious patterns emerge. You can see that I am acutely aware of the pressure from society to involve our children in the many activities and skill learning that are available (from children to tennis, piano lessons, chess, etc.) (Kids have busier schedules than high-handed business executives.)
Then ask yourself, “Is it really that important, or even if it is, why does it become so difficult when we disagree about it, or lack the ability to adjust our schedules around it?” The question arises, “Do you feel it?”
From there, the space opens up and I hear a tap on my shoulder that says, “It’s because I’m afraid of not being good enough.” I worry that raising a child will expose all my flaws. And also, “Fuck all the accomplishments and activities. What they really need from you is a bucketful of love.”
Another thing I find is that I get irrationally angry when we disagree on something I consider important. How often I experience this as rejection and continue to reject myself, feeling guilty and ashamed for my anger. A gentle tap on the shoulder tells me, “It’s because you expect to be rejected.” Ugh! This was not the insight I was expecting, but more of a knowing feeling of truth than a thought. If I allow these difficult thoughts and feelings to arise, they will morph, dissolve, pass, or become less important than I thought they were.
It’s surprisingly easy to go without a phone. Free yourself from constant communication through multiple messaging apps, plans and inputs that drain your mind and constantly distract you from the present moment. I still feel a little guilty about not being able to talk to my kids when they need me. That too fades away, replaced by a spacious space. For a week or so, I’m not responsible for anyone but myself. It’s a taste of freedom that I thought I had lost when I was a 20-something backpacker in Thailand.
Sometimes in middle age, you feel like you’re about to burst out. Pushing work deadlines, children’s activities, home maintenance, social and personal matters into the cracks. “Take a vacation from life,” says the monk leading the retreat. And we do. Taking a break from a group meditation session, it’s blissful to lie down on the grass on an unexpectedly warm May afternoon and take a nap. My meditation friends and I are living our best lives, like lazy cats in the sun.
Filmed by Prime Video.
