I spent most of the day sitting and talking with Steve, a homely oafish man from Germany or somewhere like that. He was very boring, but after the retreat I find that even boring can be alright. After we had lunch, he found other company that he preferred over mine with an interesting man who sounds like he has spent a lot of time in the US.
Although I've always enjoyed sitting and just observing life, I'm probably more partial to this activity in my current state of mind. I never realized how difficult it was to just do nothing. The mind is always wandering to the future, the past and (my personal favorite) fantasy. Focusing or concentrating the mind on just the movement of the breath while sitting or just the movement of the feet while walking provided me with hours of frustration. Even after I managed to overcome the feelings of discouragement and inadequacy, I still found myself unable to control my internal flights of fancy for more than a few minutes.
There was one day that my resolve was strong and I withdrew into myself so far that, upon being brought back by the ringing of the small bell, I discovered that both of my feet had fallen asleep. I knew I had it then. I must have gotten too full of myself because I have not since recaptured it.
I've come back to yoga practically by force. This was the only activity that I knew well enough to do on my own. Yoga was every morning at 5:15. There wass an instructor, but the class moved so slowly that it was not challenging or interesting enough to hold my attention. There were about 10 women who did their own individual yoga practices in the rear of the open air hall. We seemed to feed off each other's energy: strong and steady on some days, wobbly on others and, on one day in particular, most of us spent the majority of the hour and a half lying down. Most mornings, I completed both sun salutation series, a half dozen standing poses and about a dozen sitting. I only did inversions on my best days, fearing injury from an awkward landing on the cement floor. I spend my yoga time in my own mind and body, feeling what I need and doing it without much regard for anyone else. I have Annabelle the Yoga Nazi to thank for that. Although it has been many years since I was her student, she successfully programmed me with her strict, no bullshit, no excuses, military style instruction. It's too bad that she went crazy.
I think I've lost some weight, but not as much as my loosely fitting clothes would lead me to believe. Without laundry machines and with the steady rain keeping most of my clothing from ever getting completely dry, it hangs off me like it is maybe two or three sizes too large. It's so hot here most of the time that I wouldn't want it to fit snugly anyway.
I thought the two vegetarian meals a day would leave me hungry, but I found myself satisfied except for day 9 when we were served only one meal. That meal was unpalatable to me in flavor and texture. I could only bring myself to eat enough to subside the hunger pangs I was already feeling. I disliked it too much to eat enough to sustain me for the rest of the day. Luckily I had a small bag of almonds in my pack. A handful of nuts was enough to get me through it. We do a sort of food blessing before every meal. It is more of a reminder to control the desire to be influenced by the sensual pleasure of eating. I have it memorized:
With wise reflection I eat this food
Not for play not for intoxication
Not for fattening not for beautification
Only to maintain this body
To stay alive and healthy
To support the spiritual (way of) life
Thus I let go of unpleasant feelings
And do not stir up new ones
Thereby the process of life goes on
Blameless, at ease and in peace.
Reciting this at every meal has freed me from my tendency to over eat, at least for now. One could call it brainwashing, but I prefer to think of it as the key to freeing me from the need to ever count another calorie or weight watcher point. This is something delightfully unexpected and at the same time humbling. I feel as though having enough is enough. I can't describe it any other way. My favorite meal was the sweet potato curry. We had it during our last lunch at the retreat yesterday. It made me very happy and brought my Suan Mohkk International dining experience to a pleasant end. We had breakfast at the main monastery this morning on the other side of the highway 2 kilometers away. It was my first time having sweet sticky rice in Thailand. It was not rich and creamy like those in California, but as my last meal with the Buddhists before hitting the road, it left me with a joyful feeling of closure. I bet that sounds weird. Oh well. It was a strange feeling unlike any I've felt before as far as food is concerned.
I apologize for this blog being so long, but I've got almost 12 days of internal monologue to document. It has been like watching a movie of my own life with my voice narrating it. All I must do is act, playing the role of myself. One of the things we were instructed to do was observe our minds. I found myself thinking (in my narrative voice), 'the mind is unable to let go of a song. The mind wonders if it is doing this correctly. The mind is wandering into lustful thoughts about monks (this was especially entertaining and caused me to almost burst out in laughter during a sitting meditation period)'.
There is an English monk Tan Dhammavidu. I enjoyed his cynicism and morbid humor a little more than I should have. He is not sexually attractive in any manner except for the way he speaks. He would ramble on from one tangent to another during his lectures because he was much too self critical to prepare anything on advance. He said that every time he wrote his lectures out before presenting them, he would drive himself mad finding fault in what he'd written every waking moment until he eventually scrapped the whole thing just minutes before his lecture time. Sound like anyone we know? His admission of this made me fond of him from the very beginning. What I found so hilarious was how small and fragile he appeared with his hunched over walk and pasty complexion. Exactly what kind of fantasy was I having anyway? I had no real desire towards this man. My mind was just circling the drain of sexual deviation. I thought, 'Hester, you are truly ill'. I had similar thoughts about the one other monk who lectured us, a Thai they call Tan Medhi. I found those to be disturbing at best, but I was able to just observe them without guilt or obsession. I figure this is what happens to anyone who has indulged in sensual pleasure as much as I have when they first start to build a meditation practice. The thought of swaying someone from the path of Enlightenment with desire after they'd been on it for 21 years was too tempting not to explore. It's difficult not to pick the low-hanging fruit so to speak. Pushing a thought away only brings it closer, especially when you have absolutely no opportunity to get out of your own head.
I have become very close friends with DEET. I didn't have enough to last the entire retreat, so I had to conserve it by wearing it only on the exposed parts and limiting my reapplication to twice a day. I have about a hundred bites all over my body. The billions of mosquitos never gave me any peace. They attacked me continuously without mercy, finding their way into my pant legs and sleeves and even biting through my clothing when entrances were not available. On the fifth day, when the itching began to prevent and interrupt what little sleep I was allowed, I thought that perhaps I would have to give up and leave the retreat. Or dorm mistress Khun Pimtip had given a lecture about extending loving kindness to all beings including mosquitos. I find it ridiculous to think that a mosquito can differentiate between friend and enemy. In desperation, I meditated on it anyway and found the ability to let go of my frustration. After all, the bloodsucker only lives for a day and knows nothing but to feed and mate. I cannot hate it for doing all it knows. It will likely meet its end by being eaten, and my blood will go on to feed a fish or bird or bat, continuing the cycle of life as nature intended. The bites will heal. The scars will fade. I made it through and am better and stronger because of it.
Last night, there was a large centipede under my bed. When I say bed, I am referring to an elevated concrete slab built into the wall like a shelf three feet off the ground. We have sisal mats to sleep on and a wooden pillow: about three times the size of a brick with an arch curved into one side to cradle the head. It is much more comfortable than it sounds, but a stomach sleeper such as myself cannot use it for more than a midday nap. I knew it was a good idea to bring a sleeping mat and pillow. Centipedes are poisonous, and a sting from one will provide the receiver with 48 hours of swelling, pain and general misery. It was good that this happened on the last night because I was unable to relax enough to go to sleep after helping the dorm mistress capture it with a plastic bowl, a broom and a bucket. All week I feared coming in contact with one of them or a scorpion, but I was calm when it happened - at least on the outside.
This battery will die soon since I have no outlet available to recharge it. I've more than 24 hours before I'll be able to find a new temporary home base in Chiang Mai. So for now I must be off again and out of reach, but I miss you all and send you love from the East.
P.S. Please call my mom and ask her how she's doing. I'll email her telephone number to Janet so you can get it (jminix@clifbar.com for those of you not from CB&C). She must be lonely by now. It's the middle of the night where you are so I won't wake her. I'll call her myself when I land somewhere, but I won't have time to really give her a listening ear. I'll be in your debt. Thanks.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
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