Shut up and dig in.

2 1/2 days of silence was not intimidating to me.  As an introvert, it actually was a relief to take some time to not perform, to avert my gaze rather than engage, and to not worry about how others perceived me.  BUT.   2 1/2 days of intentionally noticing my thoughts and emotions.  Without distraction of the internet, reading, journaling, music-making, or even offering a "god bless you" to a nearby sneeze.  That was the beast.  It turned out that even a fairly happy well-adjusted person as I have considered myself to be, at least up until this point, has quite a beast lurking.  And it's not thrilled about being poked and prodded with awareness.

I am 1/2 way through a one week retreat with Mindful Schools in Petaluma, CA, which I thought would look a lot more like training on techniques and a lot less meticulous examination of my inner world.  It turns out (duh), to be good at this stuff, to be REALLY good at this stuff, you've got to excavate your own inner workings and give them a good hard look.  Blech.

For 2 1/2 days in silence, we alternated between a seated and walking meditation, for 1/2 hour to 45 minutes at a time.  We broke for meals, which good already, were made especially out of this world by virtue of the fact that it was our only external stimulus for that period of time.  I found myself in bed for after lunch breaks and immediately after my evening sit at 9pm, in part to escape the dreaded experience of sitting in the chaos of my mind.

I wish I could report out all the profound revelations I had during this time.  The trippy mind-blowing experiences.  In reality, I spent the majority of the first morning thinking about how bad my feet smelled, wondering if the woman next to me had brought lavender back from a walk to ward off the stench, and noting how piercing the pain was running up the right side of my body.  I spent the rest of the day in a mental war with the Erratic Walkers, who had he audacity to show up and walk perpendicular to and in my space despite EXPLICIT instructions to maintain distance and walk 15 paces back and forth.  I constructed elaborate responses, ranging from gently reminding them to "get the 'f***' out if my space" to writing a post-it note to our teachers to get them to chide my foot trafficking enemies.  It is astounding how many times one can come back to such thoughts. How many different minute variations one can have on the same thought when there is nothing else to grab on to.

Slowly I was able to disentangle some of those thoughts, long enough to connect with the promised stillness.  It wasn't anything particularly profound...Every now and then could really feel the earth under my feet, or notice the way I was pulling my breath up through my chest.  I could connect with the space between the noise, and it was so sweet.  

Day 2, I continued to struggle, but there were greater moments of relaxation between mind clutter.  In the afternoon when some real hurt from my recent breakup surfaced, I was able to hold it and feel the waves of sadness crash over me without drowning in them.

Simultaneously, I noticed the gentle breeze in my face and breath ebbing and flowing.  It felt good to release the emotion rather than wrenching.  I was anchored enough In this world that I could handle the tumult happening inside.  And then, an amazing thing happened.  It subsided. 

Because all emotions are fleeting.  Evenmy rage at the inconsiderate walkers died down when I turned my attention to it.  Even my excruciating back pain morphed and softened.  It was when I stopped fueling these experiences with stories about my pain, and turned a nonjudgmental compassionate gaze in their direction, that I was able to find the space around them.  To take the edges off.

When I finally was allowed to journal, and then speak of my experience, on Day 3, I cried.  Nay, a monsoon explode from my eyeballs.  I was so overwhelmed by how much there had been to feel.  I couldn't, and still can't, believe that I live every day with so much emotional interplay with the world.  I am just not usually so tuned into it.  There are too many episodes of House of Cards to watch and promotional emails to delete.  

The retreat model eases us back into the world, and we are still sitting up to 2 hours a day and walking up to an hour.  I am checking my phone once a day, though I see many of my contemporaries with them glued back onto their hip belts.

 I hope they are more skillful than I at noticing how they use their devices as distraction from life's discomforts.  Apparently, at least in my world, there are many.  But there are also joys.  Deep joy from the birds at the fountain I didn't notice until we stopped yapping at all our meals.  Or the insane coloration of the evening sky.  Or the rustling of the tall grasses from the winds.  

I'm not yet sure what this all means for when I return in a few days time.  Being able to soften around my humanity felt compelling enough to keep doing the work, as did connecting to the small beauties in life, though I can't yet imagine what that practice will look like in the comfort of my home.  Until then, I'll enjoy the support I have to remain here now.