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My "mountain" was The Nilambe Meditation Center in the Sri Lanka
hill country near Kandy. I found Nilambe to be part Hogan's Heroes
and part Fantasy Island (I guess we answered one of the questions).
The latter show came to mind while I was mindfully appreciating the
tropical beauty (which included exotic flowers and banana leaves taller
than I). Only later did I recognize our fantasies were the expectations
that arrived with each visitor. There was no Tattoo to announce these
arrivals (which would have broken the "respect for silence"), but
my otherwise tranquil mind could almost hear a cry for "de Van, de
Van" as the main transport in (and out) rumbled its way up the switchbacks
of the tea plantation below. Like prisoners of war, we endured primitive
conditions (no electricity), simple food (bread and water for dinner),
strict rules (no talking) and a rigid schedule. We were tortured both
physically (yoga) and mentally (meditation). But like Hogan and his
collection of heroes we controlled our own captivity. We could escape
at any time, but realized that there were important things to be accomplished
during our stay.
It took a few days for my mind, body and spirit to adjust to retreat
life. This was definitely not the beach. We saw the mornings first
light spill into the valleys below AFTER our first hour of meditation.
Breakfast (usually porridge and fruit) followed the morning yoga session.
Then we joined in a period of working meditation in which we "mindfully"
did chores around camp. After another 90 minutes of formal sitting
and lunch (the day's main meal) I spent my first few afternoon "reading"
periods in "reclined meditation" on the straw mattress in my tiny
cell. Well rested after my "reading", I dutifully participated in
the remainder of the days activities (two more sittings, another hour
of yoga, sunset viewing, chanting and an evening discussion).
Maintaining silence during my stay was not a problem for me (probably
because I am used to keeping much of what I feel to myself). It did
however make everyone else seem more contemplative and genuine (imagine
what might happen if those qualities spread to the general population).
Carrie and I had only limited opportunity to communicate, so I was
surprised when she became angry with me. Luckily, she soon realized
that it was irrational to blame me for ignoring her, but that is an
example of the odd effects silence can have.
Occasionally, we escaped to Kandy in "de Van" to arrange travel plans,
check e-mail and spend some time together. It was during these getaways
that we got to know the other inmates with whom we had been silently
living since our arrival. My feelings were well summarized when someone
observed with amazement "you all have personalities."
It was beneath the persona(s) I show to the world that I wished to
explore. My fantasy was to find the feelings, emotions and passions
hiding behind my internal barriers. But the show would not have lasted
as long as it did if visitors got exactly what they wanted on Fantasy
Island. Before I could get too deep into my spiritual search, I was
distracted by yoga.
Yoga is not the focus at Nilambe, but it is offered twice a day to
help adjust to the physical demands of sitting cross-legged for 5+
hours per day. The yoga instructors rotate through Nilambe like other
visitors. During one of these transitions, Ray reluctantly offered
to fill in. I initially surmised that his reluctance was due either
to a leadership aversion or some doubt of his subject mastery. When
Ray left a week later, I reassessed the origin of his reluctance and
concluded that he either did not want to tease us with a brief glimpse
of yoga's full potential or he did not want to set an unmatchable
standard by which his successors would be judged. I learned more about
my body in one week, than I had in all my years of sports, exercise,
stretching or otherwise just inhabiting my skin. As one who has never
felt fully comfortable in my body, I was amazed at the positive effects
I could induce with relatively simple movements and breathing. It
was not that we were doing new or advanced postures, we were just
doing them right and in harmony with our bodies. I was sad when Ray
left, but it freed me to refocus my energy on meditating.
One of the administrator/volunteers, (a German man I will call Shultz)
suggested I might want to intensify my program by moving into an isolated
"self-retreat" cabin in the forest. Though he had lived in the cabin
during a previous stay, he gave me no indications as to what to expect
("I know nuh-sing"). Thus I began the most interesting phase of my
stay, solitary confinement. I still used the main hall for the first
and last sittings of the day (lest I be tempted to fall back to "reclining
meditation") and took my meals with everyone else, but for the most
part, I set my own agenda.
From the cabin, I could not see or hear another person, but I was
not alone. Geckos and lizards often startled me when I saw them in
the candlelight, but they were welcomed as predators to the smaller
annoyances (mosquitoes, roaches and ants which had long ago become
an accepted fact of life in Asia). The mice were my first concern.
Despite the attempts of prior inhabitant to seal the cabin's numerous
cracks and gaps (with wire mesh, rocks, plastic bags and old clothing),
the rodents seemingly came and went as they pleased. Their scampering
in (and occasional jumping from) the roof was a minor distraction
to my meditation. It was the snake hunting the mice that was slightly
harder to ignore. I could never determine if he or she was a frequent
visitor or a permanent resident of the cabin's roof, but snake and
mouse game was a regular event. I took some comfort in the fact that
my one partial snake sighting was in the shadow of the eves OUTSIDE
the window. None the less, I included him as a suspect when I broke
my silence to inquire of the menagerie "who shit on the floor?"
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I am generally comfortable being alone and I have always enjoyed
the wilderness, but I soon recognized the significance of being alone
in the wilderness. It took a few days to come to grips with this previously
unknown fear. As I did, I found the life around me provided a stimulating
boost to my meditation. The afternoon sittings in the cabin were especially
intense. The heavy rains of the coming monsoon arrived daily between
2 and 3. From my perch at the foot of my bed I could sit and watch
the clouds congregating over the valley below. The sound of the rain
pelting the roof combined with the fresh smell of a cool forest breeze
made for a magical meditation venue. Sure I peeked occasionally to
see if any creatures sought shelter through the open door or windows,
but for the most part, I was at peace.
Unfortunately, my peace during meditation was difficult to maintain
when I climbed down from the cushions. When I did leave the isolation
of the cabin, I was tormented by a nuisance that I could not come
to grips with. Our love for Sri Lanka had blinded us to the perils
of the rain and we had forgot our intention to leave before the onset
of leech season. Being the furthest from the main hall and dining
room, I had the longest walk and therefore the greatest exposure.
The first of my many encounters came early one morning when I returned
to the cabin. I knew the cause of the annoying pinching feeling even
before I saw the little sucker between my toes. The calming effects
of meditation were evident in my lack of panic, but I recognized the
need for assistance from a higher source. I used my flashlight to
find the closest thing we have to a bible, our Lonely Planet India
Guide. Turning to the health section, I found a paragraph on leeches
that suggested either salt or a cigarette for their removal. I wondered
how many cigarettes it would take for a leech to die of lung cancer
as I began to improvise by lighting a stick of incense. Despite Nilambe's
rule of not harming any other being, I used the glowing tip of the
incense to persuade the now not-so-little sucker that breakfast was
over. But the battle was just beginning. When it got to the point
that the anxiety of trying to avoid the leeches was worse than the
inconvenience of removing them, it was time for our heroes to escape.
I will never answer all the questions I have about myself, because
with each answer comes at least one new questions. My search goes
on. Like most satisfied visitors to Fantasy Island, I left with experiences
I could not have anticipated. While there were no dramatic revelations,
there were the usual interesting and insightful realizations that
come to us every day, if we are only ready to receive them.
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