Become Aware of Your Desperation

The quieter you become, the more you can hear. - Ram Dass

Greetings yogis,

It’s hard to say what the omens were pointing to as I pulled up to the North Fork Vipassana Center for a 10 day silent meditation. Trailing off in the rearview mirror was a glowing blanket of light over the valley below, but as I encroached on the ridgeline ahead, charred thunder clouds bloomed above. I pulled in amidst the chaotic shuffling of newcomers trying to figure out where on earth they were, and what on earth they were up to. A volunteer pointed me in the direction of a cart and I lugged my belongings to my assigned room, 22F, in the male dorm. I unpacked into the simple room and got myself set up, not knowing what would lie ahead. Walking out of the dorm to bring the luggage cart back, I looked up and a stunning, picture perfect rainbow arced over my dorm. Oh the mind, always trying to make meaning out of symbols.

Upon entering the meditation hall, I was assigned my spot, C5, on the men's side of the dimly lit long space, plus a corresponding mat and zafu. The night seemed to start fairly easily as we settled in and the teacher shared the guidelines. From 4:30 AM to 9 PM each day, we would be sitting for approximately 10 hours of silent meditation, some in a group setting and some on our own. Noble silence was held throughout—not a word was to be spoken amongst students, no eye contact, and not even hand gestures. No writing, no reading, no stimulation. We were asked to behave as though we were on our own solo journey. We would have a simple breakfast and a simple lunch, with only tea and fruit for a snack in the evening.

The next day was our first official full day, Day 1. At 4:30am we settled onto our cushions and the recorded audio of S.N. Goenka, the late and very prominent teacher of this tradition, started to play over the speaker. In his thick, Burmese accent he said, “Become aware of your desperation.”  Wait. What? It took me a moment to realize that he had actually said, become aware of your respiration. However, by the end of Day 1, desperation seemed much more apropos. My knees were already killing me, my back was lit up with fiery pain, and my mind was spinning like a Vitamix. I thought for sure I had made a grave mistake.

By the end of Day 2 I had devised my escape plan. Seriously. I was certain I could not complete the course. Total desperation, minimal respiration. Every cell in my body was kicking and screaming in agony and my mind raced faster. I devised what I thought would be the perfect exodus plan. I wouldn’t do it too reactively, I would tell the teacher that even in this short amount of time I had thoroughly examined the teachings and discerned that they wouldn’t take me any further on my path and that I would plan to leave in three days time. Cunningly, I included that I have so much discipline that my exploration of detachment was now playing with letting even that go. I had all my words buttoned up perfectly to make sure he understood my spiritual prowess and finely tuned mind. And I would tell everyone back home that I was too unorthodox to be in such a disciplined meditation tradition like this, pinning me as a heroic, rebellious spiritual leader. And of course, I would arrive home on Thanksgiving to be with my beloved, painting me as the model partner I always want to be in her eyes.

Day 3 came and I was more miserable, the stories in my mind swirled at a staggering velocity. I didn’t know if I could even follow through with my escape plan and make it two more days. Trudging through my aggravation, I was waiting for the right moment to tell the teacher when it wouldn’t seem too hasty. But everything ravaged through my aching muscles and bones. I sat there in my swirling self loathing, despising every single thing about this tradition.

Day 4 got worse. By the final meditation of the evening, which was starting the actual technique of scanning the body for sensation, the instruction delivery was so painfully slow that I wanted to rip my shawl to shreds. I could sense the heat coming off of my body as I fought tooth and nail to sit still and not run screaming out of the meditation hall. How on earth could any of these people sit through this? And some people have come over a dozen times? What is wrong with these masochists? In my mind not another day could go by. I had to follow through with my well devised exit strategy and tell him tomorrow.

Then Day 5. Oh, Day 5. Something clicked and at the same time something in me loosened. Surrender. The discourse that night started connecting the dots around the experience I was having and the journey that lay ahead. The raging fire inside my mind cooled to a steady burn for a brief enough moment that I got a glimpse of what we were working so diligently towards. I paused my planning, if only for that day.

Day 6 was interesting, we got assigned our private ‘pagoda cells,’ #14 for me. These were shoe box sized private rooms in the main pagoda hall, where we could turn the lights off completely and sit without external distraction. It was actually a relief to have my own sanctuary to go through this hell-ridden ride I was on. At this point my mind was doing fascinating things, I could feel it desperately searching in the dark for meaning, looking around for something to make sense of. In my walks on the center grounds between sits, I could feel its continuous grasp as things started to slip away from it.

Day 7 was much of the same. I watched my mind clinging onto old stories, then fabricating new ones and trying to tether itself to some concrete form of reality it once knew. It was incredible to witness.

And then Day 8.

Everything stopped. I finally stopped writing this newsletter in my head (easily for the 40th time) from the perspective of a victim. I just stopped. My mind went completely blank. It just completely stopped. The story maker stopped. Everything changed. It was brilliant to witness and the sweetest balm after the agony of such a swirl.

On Day 8 the moments unfolding inside of me were filled with mind-blowing insight. Dots were being connected in ways I could never have imagined. As the observer, the expansive stillness let me zoom out and bear witness to all of the functions of the mind that keep us from seeing reality as it really is. And that is Vipassana—seeing things as they really are, beyond our clinging and aversion.

Day 9 was not a walk in the park. At this point everything was coming in waves and rivulets, swells and stabs, ebb and flow. Moments of brutal pain weaving into euphoric bliss. But more dots were being connected, and I started to see tangible merits of the practice come through. I found myself having moments of ridiculous internal laughter as I surveyed the landscape of my mind.

On Day 10, we broke the noble silence. The ecstatic gush of pure presence and energy that came through when you would make eye contact and smile at another was euphoric to say the least. Some of us just looked at each other and cried, while with others we laughed like madmen. The conversations that spilled forth were sputtering and stuttering at first as we all reassembled our linguistic skills, trying to form words into sentences and convey our experience to one another.

And now, moving forward, each day will always be Day 11. A new day to break free from the mental loops and see it all for what it really is.

Vipassana was by far the most challenging thing I have ever done in my life, but also the most potent and rewarding yet. To move through such physical, emotional, and mental strain and come out with clarity, presence, insight, and deeper love keeps bringing me to tears.

Did I get enlightened? Who cares? I stopped the search for that a long time ago because the only thing that prevents one from finding it is the looking itself. So, become aware of your desperation.

May you all experience real peace, real happiness.

Nat K

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti