Nothing could be further from the hubbub of western festive excess than a silent Vipassana retreat in Java, Johnny Langenheim, theguardian.com, Saturday 20 December 2014 07.00 GMT
It's Christmas morning and a bell is ringing. I feel a flicker of dread in my stomach. I’ve never been big on the festive season, but that’s not the issue. All I know is it’s 4am and I have to get up, take an ice-cold shower and prepare for 10 hours of cross-legged meditation, silence and hunger (our last meal is at 11am). The world of tinsel and turkey couldn’t be further away.
I’m in Klaten, an unexceptional town in central Java, the unlikely backdrop for my first Vipassana (“insight”) meditation retreat. Buddha brought this ancient Indian technique back into vogue 2,500 years ago. From the mid-1970s, Satya Goenka, an Indian-Burmese businessman-turned-meditation master, sparked another renaissance, establishing 120 retreat centres in 80 countries, all run entirely by donation.
The idea of Vipassana is to lead a monastic life for 10 days, observing silence and directing one’s attention inward. There are about 30 of us, but with not a word passing between us, Christmas cheer isn’t on the agenda.
We spend the first three days observing our noses – noticing as the breath enters and leaves the body. Yep, three whole days. It isn’t easy. I hitch rides on random trains of thought. But as I develop more focus (samadhi, or one-pointed attention), the mental static begins to fade.
On day four, the fear comes – a stirring in my belly, then waves of panic. This isn’t my first meditation retreat and I probably look serene to my fellow meditators. But I have a primal urge to flee. Instead, I observe my physical and mental sensations as instructed, “sweeping” my body with my attention from head to toe and back again. I find an impassive part of myself simply watching the drama unfold. This is Vipassana at work.
It’s exhausting: during one session, I slip into a mental limbo. Something hard and heavy releases within me as though an egg has cracked and warm yolk flows through my stomach. I feel a blissful sense of relief alongside an uncontrollable urge to weep. My voluminous hoodie and the closing bell save me.
The fear doesn’t disappear entirely. But I take refuge in conscious detachment as I methodically scan my body. As the fear swells and fades, I glimpse the truth of impermanence – apparently this is paña, a “felt” wisdom.
Vipassana works by narrowing the parameters of your experience to breath and bodily sensation. It’s counter intuitive, but confinement sets you free as you tune in to the present moment.
Christmas and New Year come and go without me feeling that I’m missing out on the festivities in the world outside. On the evening of New Year’s Day, I feel as if my body suddenly dissolves, leaving just a hummingbird flutter. It feels blissful.
I leave Klaten with a sense of lightness and clarity. Two months on and the feeling faded. But I determined to meditate daily – that feels like a new year’s resolution worth keeping.
I’m in Klaten, an unexceptional town in central Java, the unlikely backdrop for my first Vipassana (“insight”) meditation retreat. Buddha brought this ancient Indian technique back into vogue 2,500 years ago. From the mid-1970s, Satya Goenka, an Indian-Burmese businessman-turned-meditation master, sparked another renaissance, establishing 120 retreat centres in 80 countries, all run entirely by donation.
The idea of Vipassana is to lead a monastic life for 10 days, observing silence and directing one’s attention inward. There are about 30 of us, but with not a word passing between us, Christmas cheer isn’t on the agenda.
We spend the first three days observing our noses – noticing as the breath enters and leaves the body. Yep, three whole days. It isn’t easy. I hitch rides on random trains of thought. But as I develop more focus (samadhi, or one-pointed attention), the mental static begins to fade.
On day four, the fear comes – a stirring in my belly, then waves of panic. This isn’t my first meditation retreat and I probably look serene to my fellow meditators. But I have a primal urge to flee. Instead, I observe my physical and mental sensations as instructed, “sweeping” my body with my attention from head to toe and back again. I find an impassive part of myself simply watching the drama unfold. This is Vipassana at work.
It’s exhausting: during one session, I slip into a mental limbo. Something hard and heavy releases within me as though an egg has cracked and warm yolk flows through my stomach. I feel a blissful sense of relief alongside an uncontrollable urge to weep. My voluminous hoodie and the closing bell save me.
The fear doesn’t disappear entirely. But I take refuge in conscious detachment as I methodically scan my body. As the fear swells and fades, I glimpse the truth of impermanence – apparently this is paña, a “felt” wisdom.
Vipassana works by narrowing the parameters of your experience to breath and bodily sensation. It’s counter intuitive, but confinement sets you free as you tune in to the present moment.
Christmas and New Year come and go without me feeling that I’m missing out on the festivities in the world outside. On the evening of New Year’s Day, I feel as if my body suddenly dissolves, leaving just a hummingbird flutter. It feels blissful.
I leave Klaten with a sense of lightness and clarity. Two months on and the feeling faded. But I determined to meditate daily – that feels like a new year’s resolution worth keeping.
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