4:00 A.M.: I wake to the oddly peaceful sound of the morning bell being rung with rhythmic intensity. The immediate commencement of leg and hip stretches (to prepare for the morning sittings) is easy as I have been sleeping on my yoga mat (The warnings of concrete beds were an exaggeration; In fact, the concrete beds are padded by a thin sheet of fiberboard and a well-warn blanket). After stretching and a quick wash, I use my flashlight to guide me toward the meditation hall and think that this is my favorite time of day because my mind and body are relaxed and there is just a short reading separating me from the first meditation of the day.

4:30 A.M.: This morning's reading is a piece by Ajahn Chah. As is true everyday, an attending meditator (like myself) gives the reading. However, today's reader (whom of course I do not know because we are all in silence) decides to break with protocol and add his personal commentary. My first reaction is annoyance (which I quickly attribute to attachment: he's taking MY meditation time), then flippant humor (here is a guy using a loophole in the silence code to expel his pent-up need to talk and attempting to analyze and elaborate on the teachings of one of Thailand's most respected monks). When I eventually clear my thoughts and begin to listen, I discover that the speaker has spent the entire night contemplating the piece he was asked to read. His reflections are personal, insightful and poignant. In the end, I am inspired and silently thank him for the courage to share them (there will be plenty of time for me to meditate).

5:15 A.M.: Yoga is optional, but personally essential to stretch and condition my body for the rigors of meditation practice. The session begins as the first hints of dawn appear in the horizon. Maurice leads us (the men) through a series of asanas (postures) and exercises that focus on the body parts (legs, back and hips) that are most likely to complain about hours of mindful sitting. I initially struggled (physically and emotionally) with his unfamiliar routine, but over the last week, have come to recognize many benefits to his style and my struggle. At the very least, Maurice helped to improve my posture (stomach in, shoulders back, chest out). And, some of his practice will surely find its way into my personal (semi-regular) routine. The more subtle benefit came from the struggle. Upon deeper reflection, I saw that I was still struggling to impress others. Thankfully, the retreat environment made it easy to see that there is no one to impress. This revelation didn't actually break through with the rising sun, but it kind of felt that way.

6:45 A.M.: Ajahn Poh (the abbot or head monk of the retreat center) provides us our daily dose of meditation instruction. He struggles with English, often repeats himself and occasionally wanders off the subject, but does an amazing job of warmly and patiently teaching a group of farangs (foreigners) with attention spans just slightly longer than the hair on his shaved head. Ajahn Poh has inherited the difficult challenge of being the abbot to follow in the footsteps of the founder and revered teacher Ajahn Buddha Dhasa (imagine the guy to follow Bill Gates as the next CEO of Microsoft).

7:30 A.M.: Finally, we begin to meditate. I readjust the small mountain of cushions on which I am balancing and calm myself by focusing on my breathing. Of course there are distractions (thoughts, fears, fantasies and phobias) but the previous six days have set my mind into a peaceful state where I am easily able focus and let the distractions go. I do not reach nirvana or enlightenment, but find a calm happiness in accepting the world as it is in this moment. This and occasional insights about wonderfully simple life concepts are the highlights of my practice. It doesn't translate well in written form. Like life, it is best experienced in person.

9:55 A.M.: After completing my communal chore (sweeping) and personal maintenance (shower and laundry) I am again walking towards the meditation hall. Three other men have left the dorm ahead of me and I notice that they also are focusing on their posture. Chests out, shoulders back, they look like they are going out to beat up a rival gang rather than to wrestle with their own personal issues. Clean, happy and motivated, I realize that this is really my favorite time of the day.

11:00 A.M.: Following our morning Dharma talk, we begin walking meditation. In this exercise, there is no destination and the pace varies from very slow to frozen (probably one of the main reasons that meditation retreats have not captured the viewing audiences that command blimp coverage). The idea (as I have accepted it) is basically to focus on each movement of walking. Higher degrees of difficulty are attained by coordinating the movements with one's breathing. For me, I lift a foot with a slow in-breath (noting each muscle's contribution to the process) then lower it with a long out-breath (appreciating the feeling of the earth supporting my weight on the way down). While this might sound strange, it is not nearly as funny as it looks (picture Night of the Living Dead). Yet, this very calming and centering practice allowing me fall easily into a deep meditative state when I return to my cushions.

12:30 P.M.: The bell rings, drawing my attention back to the physical world. With that attention comes the awareness that it is lunchtime (my favorite time of the day). My mind is still calm and peaceful, but manages to work my body into a standing position, stumble into my sandals and begin moving towards the dining hall. Now, a huge conflict of feelings, emotions and theology begin. My tranquil state dictates that the cruise control is set at a meditatively slow pace. The selfish "I" (unrealistically) worries that all the good food will be gone by the time I get there. I recognize the desire that we have been taught is the root of suffering. With loving kindness for others I realize that I probably ate more than my share yesterday. But, my stomach reminds me that it has been driving on empty for a while (and the next meal is tomorrow morning's rice soup). Suddenly it dawns on me that everyone else is probably feeling similar conflicts. A quick scan confirms my theory. All around me are men and women desperately struggling to get to the same destination as fast as possible, but traveling at a ridiculously slow pace: Zombie races! This is where I lose it and begin laughing so hard that tears start rolling down my face. Of course the other zombies continue toward their goal (crying is not that unusual on a retreat). I have to stop and appreciate one of the purest moments of recognition, happiness and clarity that I have ever experienced. Of course, there is still plenty of food left when I reach the dining hall (finish line). And, as had been the case at all previous lunches, it was absolutely delicious (not just because I was hungry). My theory still holds that Thais find it very difficult to cook anything that isn't fantastic, even when it is simple.

Rather than go through the rest of the day (or the remainder of the 11-day retreat), I will sum it up with a popular phrase: "Same Same, But Different". The one outstanding difference that deserves mentioning is the hot spring baths shortly after sunset (my favorite time of the day). It was a special time to soak, relax and appreciate the rare opportunity to spend time in such a wonderful environment. It was probably during one of these baths that I decided to return in December (retreats start on the first of every month).

May each moment of the day be your favorite .