Vipassana: Part Two

So I think I covered quite thoroughly the basics of a Vipassana retreat in my July post - the code of conduct and the reason for Noble Silence. But as I also mentioned, these are not really the most important parts of the course - they are just practices which help one to develop the Vipassana meditation technique. By now you're probably wondering 'what exactly is Vipassana?'. Apparently, it was the type of meditation that the Buddha was practising when he reached enlightenment (I don't exactly have the space or time to tell the entire story of Buddha here, but if you aren't familiar with his life or teachings, I highly recommend doing some reading, even via online resources). Apparently, the Buddha went through all kinds of meditation techniques in India, in order to find one that would allow him to attain enlightenment. Finally, he sat under a Bodhi tree and vowed never to arise until he found the truth. Fourty-nine days later, at the age of 35, it was said that he became awakened to the truth (known in Buddhism as The Four Noble Truths) and was from that point onwards known as Buddha, which roughly translates to 'the enlightened one'.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), the Vipassana retreat doesn't supply Bodhi trees for each student to sit under for 49 days until we too become like Buddha. What we do learn however, is to simply observe our selves and our surroundings with equanimity. Having an equanimous mind means that you lack craving and aversion. Why is it important to be equanimous? To answer that I probably need to explain what the Four Noble Truths are:

1) suffering is an engrained part of existence

2) the origin of suffering is craving for sensuality, acquisition of identity and annihilation

3) suffering can be ended

4) following the Noble eightfold path is the means to accomplish this

I really don't want to also explain what the Noble eightfold path is (because they are quite basic teachings that stem from all religions, and also because this post isn't meant to be a lesson on Buddhism). My point is though, that if all suffering comes from craving (or being averse) to various experiences, then logically, it would make sense that by eliminating those cravings and aversions, you eliminate your suffering. Make sense so far?

So here's how you put it in to practise. All over the surface of the skin there are constant little bio-chemical reactions taking place. We sometimes feel these as itches or tingling sensations, muscular twitches, or sometimes it feels like maybe an insect is on us but when we look there's nothing. In Vipassana, they refer to these sensations as 'sankhaaras'. Throughout your life (and if you believe in reincarnation then you can add your past lives as well), we have moments where we react to things either positively or negatively. Vipassana meditators believe that all these reactions get stored in your mind as sankhaaras. Some of your reactions are very superficial, and they come and go quite quickly, think of ripples on water. But there are other moments in our lives where we carry these cravings or aversions with us for very long times, and we hold on to them forever (some people even believe that at the time of death, these very 'heavy' sankhaaras get taken with you to your next life and continue to cause misery and suffering). These type of sankhaaras are described as being like a deep line etched into a stone. When you sit quietly, and still both your mind and your body, sankhaaras slowly start to bubble up to the surface of the skin and manifest themselves in the form of sensations. Some of them (the 'lighter' sankhaaras) are subtle sensations while others can be quite gross, intense sensations (such as pins and needles). The idea is that when you feel these sensations arise, the reactive part of your mind will always want to pay attention to them, it will want you to either develop a craving for them or an aversion.

This is where equanimity comes into play. You have to teach your mind how to observe these sensations without reacting to them. If you feel an itch on the tip of your nose, don't scratch it, don't react to it. Just sit and observe it. If you feel a pain in your leg and you want to change your position, don't. Just sit and observe it. You have to remind yourself of the law of impermanence. Nothing in life is forever, nothing stays the same. Everything changes, or as they say in Paali: Anitchya. When you realise that whatever sensations you feel are bound to dissipate eventually, you can learn to accept them, and observe them, without reaction. This is how you get rid of your 'old stock' of sankhaaras. But again, you have to be careful that even this doesn't become a craving. It's very easy to sit for meditation and crave freedom from your sankhaaras. That's not the point though. The point is to become equanimous, so that you desire nothing, and you are averse to nothing.

Perhaps I sound like a crazy person. Even if you don't believe that your cravings and aversions are stored in your mind and bubble to the surface in the form of tingles and itches (and I don't blame you if you think this sounds like utter 'bull'), anyone who sits in one position for long enough, in silence and stillness, will eventually feel the kind of sensations I am talking about, and will desperately want to react to them. There were days towards the end of the retreat where I could feel subtle sensations throughout my entire body (and apparently these sensations are constantly there but our mind is too cluttered to even notice them). There were also days where I had such a severe pain through one of my legs that I thought would never go away, and it didn't. But I experienced some moments where even though I had the pain, my mind had become so equanimous that I knew the pain existed, and I could feel it, but it didn't matter to me, because I knew eventually it would pass. Anitchya.

I can feel the scepticism already and I haven't even posted this! Is all that I learned from these 10 days, and 100 hours of meditation, how to sit and detach from pain? Not at all. Because when you realise that physical suffering is impermanent, you begin to apply your equanimity to other non-physical situations in the 'real world'. It is so much easier to learn this lesson by feeling it physically, before you can learn to apply it to more abstract experiences and reactions. And I'm not in any way completely equanimous in every situation. I still find things upset me or hurt me - but the reaction is nowhere near what it used to be. I'll give you an example. About six weeks after the retreat, I went to Vancouver for my friend's wedding. The flight there was extremely turbulent (and it was quite late at night so the sky was pitch black). I am not a very confident flyer, and a flight that turbulent would normally have been grounds for some serious freaking out. But instead, I sat quietly in my seat, and I thought about my life, and I asked myself:

"Divya, in the unlikely event that this plane doesn't make it, would you be all right with your life ending now?"

And normally I would have expected a response like this:

"Of course not! There's so much more I want to do. I still need to finish my PhD, and I need to find a job, and I need to meet a nice person and get married, and I need to become enlightened" and so on and so on.

But instead, I felt so...so strangely fine with everything. And maybe I knew that the idea of a domestic, 5 hour flight crashing and killing everyone on board was so impossible that I made peace with a rare outcome, but the even stranger thing was that during all the turbulence, I actually fell asleep for the rest of the flight (and slept quite well oddly enough). Have I overcome my fear of flying because of Vipassana? Of course not. Turbulence is scary, and the idea of falling thousands of feet to your death or exploding in an airplane is something that nobody wants to happen to them. But I think the little pocket of peace I managed to find was more about accepting that life doesn't last forever, and that death isn't a demotion, it's a promotion - so why fear it? Yes there is grief, yes there are tears in those sad moments, but why do we develop aversions to them? If you're grieving, just observe your grief, don't react to it, don't try to fight it, just accept its impermanence. Anitchya.

Vipassana: The Basics

It's officially been four weeks since I returned from my Vipassana meditation retreat. After putting off this post, I have forced myself to finally sit down and write about my experience, all the way from Miami, Florida! As a side note, my parents and I decided to run away for the week to get some beach-time in, and it's been lovely so far (more on my summer travel adventures another time).

In short the retreat was, quite easily, the best 'thing' I have ever done in my life. For ten days I was put through quite a mental/physical/spiritual challenge. But there is no greater feeling than that of overcoming challenges - and by the end of the retreat I was full of peace, harmony and happiness. So here's how it happened...

On the evening you arrive (which doesn't count as part of the 10 days, by the way), the centre explains the code of discipline you are expected to keep for the entire duration of the course. This is known as 'sila' which means 'moral conduct'. As I mentioned in my previous post, Vipassana is a Buddhist meditation technique. During the time of Buddha, the commonly spoken language was Paali - which is a sister language of Sanskrit (that's why some of the words have a similar sound and/or meaning as Sanskrit). Sila includes 8 precepts. They are:

1. to abstain from killing any being;
2. to abstain from stealing;
3. to abstain from all sexual activity;
4. to abstain from telling lies;
5. to abstain from all intoxicants.

6. to abstain from eating after midday;
7. to abstain from sensual entertainment and bodily decorations
8. to abstain from using high or luxurious beds.

The eight precepts are followed by all students who attend the course (meaning new students who are attending for the first time, as well as old students who have previously attended other 10 day courses). However there is a slight difference for the sixth precept. All new students are allowed to have some fruit and tea with milk after midday (this is served around 5 in the evening) while old students are only allowed tea without milk. Trust me when I say that the fruit doesn't really make much of a difference. Our days started at 4 in the morning, and ended around 9:30 pm. Ten of those waking hours are spent in meditation each day, with small breaks in between for breakfast, lunch, time for showering, interviews with the assistant teachers (if you have questions) etc. Even though technically, you shouldn't require much food since you aren't really moving around, I found myself on many nights quite hungry, and learned early in the course to eat as big a lunch as possible. Another note about the food is that despite the lack of dinner, the rest of the meals were absolutely delicious. Everything was vegetarian, but extremely tasty, freshly prepared and healthy. Most of the lunches were Indian dishes like dhaals and curries served with rice. There was always a salad bar with such a variety of options and even desserts on most days. The kitchen staff go out of their way to accommodate all kinds of dietary restrictions and allergies - the food is cooked with so much love and selflessness that on some days I nearly started crying after a single bite (it may also have been the sheer joy of eating that I came to appreciate so much). The lengths that the volunteers will go purely in the service of others is truly inspiring and uplifting - especially when you're going through your own personal struggles during the course!

The question I've been asked most often since returning from the course is: Wasn't it hard not talking for ten days? The answer is always the same. No. Not talking for ten days is easy. Ten days of Noble Silence on the other hand, is very hard. Noble Silence means no talking, no gesturing to others, no eye contact, no smiling, no laughing, no exercising, no reading, no writing, no singing, no dancing, no physical contact with others, no praying, no music, no TV, no phones, no computers. You truly realise how alone you are in this world when you are forced to dis-connect from everything that you think is part of your identity. Even something as simple as not wearing your make-up or the jewelery you normally do can really deepen whatever vulnerabilities or insecurities you may already have. On the plus side, I actually learned to enjoy not having to follow my usual 'getting dressed' routine for ten days (and it was also nice to not interact with any males for 10 days as the course is completely segregated!). The other point I wanted to clarify was that although the retreats are often referred to as Noble Silence retreats, this is not really the main goal or purpose of the course. The Noble Silence is, like Sila, part of the foundation for successfully acquiring the Vipassana meditation technique. In order to fully understand how the technique works and to maximize its benefits over the ten days, you first need to be in complete isolation - this is what Noble Silence allows you to do. If you really want to go deep into your mind, deep into your unconscious mind (which I learned is actually the most conscious part of your mind), then you need to work in isolation, you need to dissolve your ego, even just a little bit, to gain better focus and concentration. For ten days you live like a monk or a nun - you accept what food you are given, you wear modest and simple clothing, and you live off the charity of others (which is why there is no cost to attend a Vipassana course - you can offer a donation to assist future students, but they do not charge any fees to attend).


Unfortunately I'm going to hit the pause button for a few days - mainly because it's getting late and tomorrow morning we are headed to Marco Island. But also because this post would get quite long if I tried to cover everything. What I've attempted to do so far is briefly explain the 'superficial' elements of the course, and next time, I will do my best to describe in more detail, exactly what Vipassana meditation is, and some of my personal experiences. Maybe what I've written up to this point makes it sound like a horrible, torturous experience - I felt that way during the first couple days of the retreat as well. But I promise that the 'good stuff' is coming up, just as it did towards the end of my course. Hope you have all had a wonderful July - stay tuned for part two in August!

Resolution One

Back in January, I made three resolutions for 2011. Usually I am quite open about my goals and intentions and I share them with my friends and family. One morning though, as part of my breakfast routine, I was watching a TED talk by Derek Sivers (it's only 3 minutes long and worth a watch). He explains why our goals should be kept secret based on some very compelling research. Essentially, when you articulate your goals to others, a part of your brain is tricked into thinking that you're closer to achieving that goal, which makes you less likely to take the necessary steps towards making it happen. With this in mind, I have decided to keep my resolutions to myself until they become a reality. But as of tomorrow, I will have begun my 10 day journey towards fulfilling resolution number 1, and thought it was about time I shared it with you all (also, if I don't write something today, I'll miss my June post!).

Resolution Number 1: Attend a Vipassana sitting

For a few years now, I've wanted to attend a Vipassana Noble Silence retreat. For some reason, it has never materialised for me - either due to work commitments or a wedding or some other obstacle. This summer though, it seemed that everything aligned to allow me the time (and courage!) to register for a course. What is Vipassana? It is one of India's most ancient meditation techniques, which was rediscovered by the Buddha over 2500 years ago. The word Vipassana means seeing things as they really are. This is done through a process of self-purification by self-observation. All over the world there are Vipassana centres which offer 10-day silence retreats throughout the year. I'll be attending the centre in Egbert, Ontario from June 22nd until July 3rd.

Some of the few friends and family I have told about my plans were a bit confused as to why a relatively quiet person like myself would need or want to be in noble silence for 10 days. Noble silence is not limited to vocal silence, but silence of the mind and the body. Maybe I'm not a big talker, but I'm almost always engaged in some kind of 'noise' be it watching TV, listening to music, reading a book or writing (case in point). By detaching from all of these distractions, we allow ourselves to experience the universal truths of impermanence, suffering and egolessness. This truth-realisation by direct experience is the process of purification which is meant to occur during the course.

I have never written a single lie or false-truth on this blog, so I won't start now. Of course I feel anxiety about going. Ever since I registered for the course back in February, I've been contemplating whether or not I am ready for such extreme discipline and detachment. It will probably be one of the most challenging experiences of my life. But since Swami's physical passing, His omnipresence is even clearer to me now than it was before, and whatever little doubt or anxiety I may feel bears no comparison to the magnanimous voice within me which is shouting: go! go! go!

While I'm away, I know there will be many special occasions and events I will be missing. Celebrations of new life and birthdays, long-weekend festivities, rehearsals and deadlines - and I apologise in advance for my *physical* absence during this time. You will certainly be in my thoughts and prayers, and I'm sending you all my love and well wishes for the rest of the month! Wish me luck, and I'll definitely post a follow-up when I return in July.

Embodiments of Love!

Preface (written on April 24th, 2011):

Less than 24 hours ago, I wrote and posted the following entry. This was during the time when Sai Baba was in a critical state of health. As we know now, early this morning, on Easter Sunday, Swami passed away. I don't want to change anything I have written below, because it still remains true, though asking for His immediate and full recovery as I have done, is clearly no longer possible.

Swami always said, 'My Life is my Message'. Though His life as this avatar has ended, let His message live on forever, and let us continue to follow His teachings, and to raise our children, and our children's children with the same love, compassion and divine guidance we have been blessed with in this lifetime.

*********

When I was about 12 years old, my parents took my sister and me to India for the very first time. We went on a spiritual pilgrimage to Prashanti Nilayam, the ashram where Bhagawan Sri Satya Sai Baba resides. Some of you might be asking, who is Sai Baba?

'I am God. And you too are God. The only difference between you and Me is that while I am aware of it, you are completely unaware'

This is His response when asked about His identity. Providing an entire summary of His life and mission would be an entry on its own and not the intention here (especially since most of my readers already know about/are devotees of Swami). But for further reading, I highly recommend the Sai Radio website, which provides a truthful explanation. My purpose is not to try and convince or instill belief in those who do not believe, but to merely express my own experiences and devotion.

Up until my visit to Prashanti, Swami's presence in my life was only in the form of pictures, prayers, bhajans (spiritual singing) and stories I was told by others about Him. Every Saturday morning, we would have our Bal Vikas classes with the other children. Bal Vikas means the blossoming of a bud into a flower - and so too we blossomed through spiritual education. We would learn about epic stories such as the Ramayana and Mahabharata, practice singing bhajans, and mould our bodies into various asanas during yoga class (not all at the same time of course!). Most importantly though, we were taught the importance of Swami's five-fold path for leading a meaningful life: Satya (Truth), Dharma (Righteousness), Shanti (Peace), Prema (Love), and Ahimsa (Non-Violence). Adherence to these five principles in all aspects of our life would keep us on the right spiritual path. One of the most beautiful aspects of Swami's teachings is that they are applicable to all faiths and religions. His aim is 'not to disturb or destroy any faith, but to confirm each in his own faith, so that the Christian becomes a better Christian, the Muslim a better Muslim and the Hindu a better Hindu'. I prayed to Swami every night, thanks to my parents’ reminders, and tried to embrace the five-fold path to the best of my abilities.

But suddenly I found myself at the tender age of 12, implanted into the birthplace of all my spiritual education. Before this, Swami had come into my world. Now, I had come into Swami’s world and something felt radically different. On the first day we went for darshan (blessings from Swami) we sat amongst the hundreds of devotees in the darshan hall, patiently waiting to see Swami walk past us. We were so many rows behind His path (everyone draws numbers in order to determine the seating) but you could not miss Him in His bright orange robe. Suddenly this being who I had only seen in pictures and videos, this being who I had prayed to every night, whom I sang the praises of in bhajans, was walking only a few metres in front of me. Tears were falling from my eyes, and I was overcome with a deep love for Swami that I suppose was hiding inside me for many years.

On one of the days as we lined up, waiting for our turn to pull a number for darshan seating, someone in my family (perhaps my mum or one of my aunts who had come with us) had pulled out either a number 1 or 2 (the details are foggy). This was very exciting – finally one of us would have the opportunity to sit so close that we could maybe speak with Swami or bow to His feet, with His permission. Through the generosity of my family, they let me take the number and sit at the very front. They passed me several letters we had been taking with us every day, from other family members, hoping that Swami would collect them personally from my hands. My heart was racing, and a thousand thoughts were going through my mind: What if He asks me something? What if I can’t understand Him? What if He lets me ask a question? What do you ask God? And so on and so on.

Then Swami appeared and began to walk on His usual path. Once I saw Him, all the thinking stopped. He slowly walked past us, with His right hand lifted, showering His divine blessings upon us. My hand was stretched out with the letters, just like the hands of those beside me, and my focus was on His face –trying to take in this moment of closeness that I may never experience again. He looked at me, with an endearing gaze, His dark eyes filled with pure love, and a slight smile. My eyes brimming with tears, my mind completely empty, I could think of nothing to say. He continued walking along, and the letters remained in my hand. I will never forget that moment, because it reminds me so much of the way my mother looks when she is immensely proud of me. The literal translation of Sai is mother, and it was that brief moment, a moment that could not have lasted more than two or three seconds, in which I most clearly understood the meaning of His name, Sai.

This is the only story I have to tell of my experience with Swami. I don’t have dreams about Him, He has not spoken to me, He has not materialized anything for me. But I don’t really need anything else to know that every cell of my body, every inhalation and exhalation, every word I speak, is one with Swami. When I pray, I do not pray to Him, but I pray in salutation to the oneness of our divine beings. When I feel lost or frustrated, I say to myself ‘Swami, I surrender everything to you, do as you wish’ and I find solace in my unwavering faith that He knows what He is doing.

But this month, that faith has definitely been tested. On March 28th, Swami was hospitalized and continues to be in a critical state of health. All over the world, millions of his devotees have been praying for His physical well-being. We are all puzzled as to why He has chosen to suffer in this way, what is the meaning and intention behind His condition? For the first time in a long time, I find myself praying to Swami, asking Him to please, get better. I feel a depth of sadness and grief that I’ve not felt before. Even writing this entry has been a long process, filled with many tears. In my mind, I know that we shouldn’t be so attached to forms, and I know that Swami’s existence is beyond His form. But in my heart, when I close my eyes, I still see the image of Him smiling down at that 12 year old girl, and part of me is unable to detach. I know many of you reading have probably been feeling the same way over the past month, and I’ve been reading about the many prayers and bhajans that have taken place for Swami, longing to be with you all during this very difficult time.

If one thing has become clear, it is the pure, all-encompassing love that we share for Bhagawan. Let us channel that love in our prayers for His immediate and full recovery.

Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti (Let peace prevail everywhere)

Sai Ram