Zendo

A month or so ago I was beginning to feel pulled away from my meditation practice. The parameters of semi-communal living (no matter how much I love my friends) can make it challenging to find the sustained solitude necessary for reflection and practice. Indeed, my personality longs for extended periods of introverted quietude. So…I researched and came up with a solution – a five day Zen retreat at a Buddhist Center less than two hours away from my current campground. I signed up, paid the deposit and then…proceeded to let everyone I met know about it.

Ah, humility. As I would meet some new camper and we’d get to talking, my mind would look for a way to sneak in something about the retreat. At times I’d be successful at curbing my desire to puff up about “my” path. But, more often than not I’d speak with a twist to let others know just how grandly I’d evolved in my spiritual practice. “I’m actually doing a five day Zen retreat in a couple of weeks,” I’d be sure to slide in after a bit of conversation with someone around the evening fire. (Meaning : See? I’m a meditator, too. See how far along I am?) Good to be aware I was doing it, I suppose. And yet, I couldn’t seem to stop myself at times.

Then came the week of the retreat. I had been upping my meditation game in preparation and felt well-rested and prepared-ish, yet nervous. I consulted with my own teacher for guidance that this was a good move for me to deepen my experience. This was to be a five day retreat in noble silence with 9 hours a day devoted to sitting, chanting, and working. Sleeping accommodations for retreatants were simple – a space on the floor of the Zendo (meditation hall). This would be the first retreat of this nature I would be attending. Off I went, twin-sized sleeping pad and advice to leave my critical mind at the door both in hand. I was ready!

Driving down the single lane that leads into White Sands Buddhist Center feels as if you are actually traveling through the noble eightfold path, with signs appearing through the canopy of trees as though planted there by gatekeepers of a spiritually enlightened future in which we will someday all be living. I was at once entranced and settled by the mystical peace that, as I was beginning to learn, dharma centers seem to engender. Statues more than 30 feet tall of the Buddha encircled a small lake, somehow lending gravitas as well as serenity to the land. Nestled among other out buildings, the Zendo did not so much beckon as was waiting in unassuming beauty within the natural ascetic of the land.

After a short introduction and a brief beginning ceremony, including a session of sitting meditation, we were given until 9 p.m. to chat until noble silence began and lights out commenced. By 8:30 I was sleepy already, nestled on my pad in my lane of chairs on the floor of the hall. By 9, around 15 of us were snug in our spots – ready for an essential rest that would ready us for an early 6 a.m. wakeup gong and a day full of silent meditation.

By 10 p.m. I had shoved both ear plugs as far in as I could get them and crammed my one pillow over my exposed ear. Approximately every ten minutes or so, a snore of legendary and mythic proportions would erupt from across the room. I have known the kind of snoring in my life that ends marriages, starts wars, and wins competitions. But this - ? Every time I dozed off just a little, I woke with a jolt, getting angrier and angrier that someone could bring this epic snore into a Zendo with 15 other people. Sometime around midnight, I lay there staring at the chair legs and began to feel my old friend anxiety spread out from its hiding place in the middle of my chest. Within a few moments I felt what I can only guess was a full blown panic attack – my heart pushing against the seams of my sanity, worries piercing through my mind like icy shards of hail – would I ever sleep? How would I meditate for a full day on no sleep? How could I be angry at someone while on a Zen retreat? How could I be having the worst anxiety attack I’ve ever had in the middle of a meditation hall?

At some point during those dark hours, I quietly took my bag and tiptoed out to my car/tiniest home. Setting my alarm for 5:30 a.m., I tried to stay in the retreat mindset, but all I could do was lay there and worry about the morning. Knowing my 55 year old self well enough, a night of no sleep meant no retreat…and for sure meant no sleeping on the hall floor with a bunch of other people. In the morning, I found Sensai and we spoke briefly about options. I was offered a room with another woman (who also couldn’t sleep) and was given permission to sleep in my car. Upon his encouragement, I retrieved my sleeping pad and other stuff, returned to my car and tried to “catch up on my sleep” in order to rejoin the group later in the morning. Still, no sleep. Again, I lay there fraught with anxiety and worry and the crushing sense that I was not meant to be there. By mid morning, with as much gratitude and graciousness as a departing car can make, I had pulled out, my old pals shame and regret trailing along.

For the remainder of my time, I found a spot on the wild and birded shores of Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge and sat quietly for a couple of days letting the sea air do its work. My mind rested in degrees and once again found a sense of stillness. I realized that while I hadn’t broken my pattern of pride or learned whatever lessons the retreat could bring, or even survived a night amongst snoring humanoids, I had found rest in solitude as I practiced by the pathless and protected habitats of the intercoastal waters.

For sure the tendrils of my arrogance will follow me and perhaps that is the lesson. For all the things I don’t know, though, I do know this…my mind and however much practice and training it thinks it has had, is a far cry away from bragging rights.

Back to work I go. Next time, maybe I really will leave my critical mind at the door.