foudroyant
“You have to break his old self completely, wear him down. You want him to think big? Give him something big to think about.”
2016
We met at King Street train station in Seattle. I took an Amtrak. Hillary drove. Paula hitchhiked with a couple from the midwest. Sitting in the blue minivan with Hillary and Paula, I listen to their stories of why they came to be where we are.
Hillary is divorced with two teenage boys. She works for the government in Portland. She has light blue eyes and cropped dark hair. She drives like a mom. Paula is in her early twenties. She’s streaked her blond curls lavender and pink, the colours of sherbert. She has one small backpack she’s been toting through the West Coast. Paula is from California and regales us with her stories of surfing and boys who taste like caramel.
I’m happy to listen.
I ask why they chose to sit in Vipassana.
“I do this once a year. I don’t get to do a daily meditation practice when I have my kids, so this is my treat to myself during Spring Break when they’re with their dad.”
“I want to see the Goddess.”
No one asks me why I chose to come. I’m happy to listen.
The Northwest Vipassana Center is in Onalaska, Washington. It’s a two-hour drive. Hillary, Paula and I make pleasantries until we hit Tacoma, where a consensual silence curtains the vehicle.
I watch the sun blur with rain showers; the highways turn to farmland. Mt. Rainier, the active volcano visible along the plains, is my touchpoint as we drive. The Vipassana Center is situated in a meadow and second-growth forest. Mt. Rainer, Mt. St. Helens, and the Cascade Mountains are visible from the residences. The view is why I chose the location: I wanted to be surrounded by the strength of mountains.
The men and women arrive together and eat, sit, and sleep in separate areas—men on the right, women on the left. There are small decals on the walls: no reading, no talking, no eye contact. We separate and take our meagre belongings into the main hall to check in upon arrival.
I’m given room six. I am paired with a woman my age with dreadlocks and a tendency to sigh a lot. She huffs and puffs her way around the small living quarters: two beds, two dressers, a shower stall, a toilet, a sink.
“I shower at night. I’m not much of a morning person. Do you care if I smoke pot? I brought gummies too if you want some. My boyfriend took our dog and it was really upsetting so I signed up for this. I’ve never meditated before.”
She plucks at the skin around her nailbeds as she talks. Her sentences are punctuated by sighs.
Our sleeping arrangement is a wooden flatbed with a mattress perhaps two inches thick with a flat pillow. There is a sign above the dresser: no yoga, no chanting, no writing. I spread my sleeping bag and scarf.
In the shower stall, there is another sign: water usage should not exceed 5-minutes in duration. My roommate comes in. I place my vial of liquid soap and small luffa in the basket.
“Wow, sure is small in here.”
She inhales deeply on the mouth of the pipe she’s holding. A deep sigh billows smoke into the space. I am looking at her through the mirror. She is several inches taller than me, looking down.
“You’re pretty short; we aren’t the same size. You can borrow my stuff just don’t use it all up.”
She sets a plastic basket down on the back of the toilet. Hairspray, nasal drops, shampoo, conditioner, body lotion, facial wipes, face cream, a neti pot, and a plastic pouch containing nail polish and remover.
“I’m an esthetician. I do this for a living.”
She takes another hit and saunters off to lay on her bed with the door slightly ajar.
We meet with the group at 5 PM. Men on one side, women on the other side. The dining area looks out onto the meadow. A forest marks its edges. I spy six tawny balls in the field; rabbits.
A snack is served. Fruit, oatmeal, and tea. In Vipassana, the general rule is that you do not eat after 12 PM. We start tomorrow. This is our preparation.
I look forward to the peanut butter and cocoa balls I’ve stashed in my bag.
As we sip our hot beverages, two women outline the rules for the next ten days. Satya Narayana Goenka is the founder of Vipassanā style meditation. We will sit for ten-hour periods over the next ten days, with evening lectures provided via video recordings of Goenka.
From Theraveda Buddhism, Vipassana is the practice of observing the mind, emotions, and all bodily sensations without embodiment or dwelling. Practitioners observe what arises and allow it to pass without going into it or clinging to it. The foundation of Vipassana is sila, which means moral conduct in Sankrit.
Sila may help one develop concentration, awareness, and purity, which leads to samadhi, aka enlightenment.
The Moral Precepts:
to abstain from killing any being;
to abstain from stealing;
to abstain from all sexual activity;
to abstain from telling lies;
to abstain from all intoxicants.
The Practical Precepts:
to abstain from eating after midday;
to abstain from sensual entertainment and bodily decorations;
to abstain from using high or luxurious beds.
As the women read the rules, I watch the sky darken. A tapestry of gold and ambrosia unfolds behind the trees. A black silhouette of pine—the day dwindles as it reveals its shadow. As one falls, the other rises.
“The gong will sound at 4 AM. We will ring it three times. The first sit is 4:30-6:30 AM. If you miss it, we ask that you do the first sit in your room. No one is here to babysit you. Breakfast is served 6:30-8 AM.
The day consists of two meal breaks, meditation sessions in the group hall and on your own, an evening lecture with Goenka, and a few breaks where you are invited to rest or enjoy nature. Taking space outside is highly recommended, though; take slow walks and stay in a meditative state. No running. There is a schedule posted outside the meditation hall if you need it.
Questions?”
Leaving the dining hall, I spot Paula. See you in ten days, she mimes. I smile back at her. My roommate beats me to the dorms. It smells like skunkweed. I go to my room and close the door. I open my Tupperware of snacks and sit on my bed to enjoy my last evening indulging in sensory pleasures.
I read The Idiot by Elif Batuman.
I am happy to listen.
More on Vipassana at Dhamma Kunja.
Photo, source.
