Alone, Not Lonely…

Many people thought it was odd that I was traveling alone. For me, the more interesting aspect of this trip to India was that I was taking it on an “upswing”. The first time I went to India in 1998, I had recently left the corporate finance world and I was “lost” professionally. The last time I went to India in 2002, I was going through a divorce and I was pathetically lonely. This time, I was (and am) in love with my partner, my profession and my life. So, traveling alone was not a big deal.

I actually enjoyed my alone time and found that I sought it out. Partly, this was a protection mechanism from the bombardment of India: “Hello, HELLO, what is your country?” Three weeks of silent meditation was another obvious isolator. But even when the sangha (meditation family) came out of silence, moved on to Sarnath and became quite social, I still kept some distance. This is a stark contrast to my 2002 trip to Sarnath where I was hoping (even “expecting”) to meet special someone. This time I was quite happy to share conversations when they arose, but I often walked, ate, practiced yoga and even meditated alone.

That practice continued when I got to the beach in Goa. I was on “retreat” again, but a yoga retreat is much less intense than a meditation retreat. Four hours of yoga a day is a lot of yoga, but 20 hours a day is a lot of free time.

Part of what I value in a retreat is setting up routines and/or rituals. This gives us the chance to build healthy practices or break unhealthy patterns. There were only eight of us (including our instructor, Heather) on the retreat. Most of that contingent would spend the days together on the beach. My routine was less social. After yoga and breakfast, I would wash and hang a load of clothes (I regularly sweat through about half of my wardrobe each day), enjoy a carefully timed tanning session (15 minutes a side), shower, then meditate on my veranda.

This routine still left me a couple of hours until the afternoon yoga session. When I did choose to connect during this period, I gave shiatsu treatments where I could connect energetically and verbally with one person at a time. The universe greatly aided my ability to choose independence when my assigned roommate flaked out of the retreat because the door happened to be locked when he arrived two days late.

My favorite daily “ritual” came after the day’s second yoga session. I would walk down to the beach for a sunset swim. There were a couple of days of heavy surf, but most days I could just float and play in the waves as the sun fell peacefully into the sea.

Even with my isolated ways, I couldn’t help but like and bond with the others in the retreat. As Paulo Coelho suggested, “Groups are very important because the force us to progress…Groups create a collective energy and ecstasy comes more easily because everyone infects everyone else.”

I always thought it funny when students of mine declined to attend retreats because they didn’t have a friend or a partner to accompany them. We all need time to re-connect with ourselves. That’s exactly what retreats are for. The group bonding occurs naturally when others around you are sharing similar inward journeys.

One cannot visit India and fail to notice the infrastructure. During the silent meditation retreats in Bodh Gaya, power failures were regular events. As Martin commented, “I am not surprised when the power goes out, but continually amazed when it comes back on.” The water in the Thai monastery was equally inefficient. It only came on three times a day and those times were not known. Therefore, the taps were always left on so their respective basins (some huge pools other mere pots) would fill (and frequently overflow) the resevoirs of water we used for bathing, flushing and laundry. I won’t even talk about the garbage (burned if not just abandoned). In many ways, meditation like these utilities requires patience as it works in unknowable ways.

During the second 10-day silent retreat, our evening programs were often “Inquiries”. In an inquiry, one brave/curious/confused yogi (meditator) would sit next to one of the teachers on the elevated platform at the front of the group and discuss/investigate/pontificate any topic that came up. These sessions were often intense, frequently emotional and almost always interesting. In retreats of years past, I had gone up front and had amazing experiences. This year, having recognized my aforementioned desire for attention, I did not “go public” but I sure went somewhere.

One evening’s inquiries had included a sangha member comparing rhetoric of 12-step programs (like the one that “saved his life”) to that of the dharma (teachings of the Buddha). “How can I be an addict if there is no I?” At some point in this discussion, Radha (the teacher) suggested that any time one acts in an addictive or obsesive way, it is wise to explore what emotions are behind that desire. This got me thinking…

I have been known to push the reasonable limits of consumption when it comes to certain adult beverages. If this comes as a mild shock to your pre-conceived notions of appropriate behavior for a yoga teacher it is probably healthy for you to recognize your judgements and broaden your perspective. If this strikes you as a gross underexaggeration of historical experiences, this is not the time to dwell on specific details. Suffice it to say, I was paying attention when Radha suggested any overindulgence is usually “an attempt to stop or prevent some emotion”.

For me, overindulgence has often been a conscious choice (even rationalized as “responsible” when I am not driving and there are no early morning yoga classes). I began to question, “what emotions have I been trying to prevent or avoid when I decided to turn the party switch on?” I came up with a few plausable theories: Maybe I was working so hard to look good or impress others (as I wrote about last blog) that I just wanted to let go? Maybe the wanting, doing, having and becoming of the western culture had worn me down? Maybe there was some fear of intimacy that I didn’t want to let anyone get too close? Maybe these are actually all the same thing but still only a contributing factor in the big picture? What finally dawned on me was that there was no one emotion or sensation I was avoiding. I was avoiding ALL of them. There were times when I just didn’t want to feel anything.

Sure, this conclusion fits nicely into simple male stereotypes, but sometimes, the truth is simple. I felt it deep within my being. Somewhere along the way, I had started to shut down, to constrict. My heart was still full of love for my fiancée Anna, for my family and for my friends, but it’s easy to fill a small heart. So as I began the evening meditation, I decided to just focus on opening and expanding. Not much in the way of a strategic gameplan, but it’s simplicity seemed well suited to the diagnosis.

I was in a nice peaceful meditative state when the top of my head blew off. An endless funnel of light ejected all the crap from my head. It looked much more beautiful on the way out than it had when it was cramped inside. In some bizare moment of awareness, this reminded me of the scene at the end of the first Indiana Jones movie when they opened the Ark of the Covenant. Cool, Steven Spielberg was producing my epiphany! But I was directing it (as much as it could be directed). I am not sure whether I brought my attention to my heart, or whether it was drawn there on its own. My heart was beating. It was glowing. It was growing. My ribs stretched as it expanded, but there did not seem to be any restriction nor any restraint. It just kept growing. I don’t know how long this took. There was no hurry. There were no distractions. How could there be? Like someone watching a mushroom cloud or the Hindenberg exploding. Who could look elsewhere? My eyes were closed, but there were colors, many of them, eminating from within to illuminate the screen at the back of the optic theatre.

At some point the awareness wandered downward. The colors turned orange and I recalled that there were associations between orange and the lower chakras. As a yoga teacher, one might expect me to have intimate knowledge about the chakras. Remember how we talked about dropping those expectations earlier? I had read about them and talked about them, but never actually felt them, until now. Starting from the root chakra up, one by one they opened, they turned, they pulsed and throbbed. I could feel myself rocking back and forth, undulating. I don’t know if anyone noticed or saw. Most had left a while ago when the bell rang to end the meditation and invite everyone for a warm evening beverage. I just kept with the experience as it continued to work up through my body. It went back through my heart on the way up and eventually, the top of my head blew off again in what were the least disappointing re-runs ever.

I sat there a few minutes until I heard the bell calling everyone back for the final (optional) sitting of the evening. I was done. Exhausted and exhilerated I crawled back to my room and crashed onto the cot. I lay there awake for some time and then I slept soundly. When the morning bell woke me, everything looked the same and felt the same as each of the previous 18 mornings. At the same time, everything was different.

…Keith

Last summer, when I registered for the recently completed silent retreats in Bodh Gaya, I volunteered to lead the morning yoga sessions. A response came back thanking me for the offer, but indicating that there are always multiple yoga teachers attending the retreats, so the teacher would be determined at the beginning of the retreat. My sensation at the time was one of relief. Good, I didn’t really want to be the yoga teacher anyway. I didn’t want to be “the” anything, just “a” or “an”. Another yogi embraced in the support of the sangha. Were that to have been the case, none of none of the following would have happened…

When the retreat started and I was asked to lead the yoga (largely because I was the only yoga teacher who had previously attended these retreats, so I was theoretically the most prepared for the experience) and I humbly accepted. Functionally, this was not a big deal, there was only one class a day (regularly I teach up to 4 per day), it was short (45 minutes the first 10 days, an hour the last 10 days) and there were no demanding expectations (just get everyone moving a little before a full day meditation). It was a great opportunity to help out, to contribute, and to give something back – all good intentions. However, it was also my chance to shine, to stand out, to show off, to impress, to feed an ever-hungry ego and to observe how good intentions are easily corrupted.

With my new roll came some privileges. I initially declined the offer of a private room. As one of the boys, I had always bunked in the basement of the temple and I did not want to abandon that camaraderie (even though I always suspected there were rats down there and that suspicion was repeatedly proven as the retreat progressed). However, when yogis started getting stung by bees from one of the three massive hives near the basement door and I recalled how severely I had reacted to my previous stings (both of which involved doctors, the latter had me on crutches), I felt the universe was telling me something and I accepted the upgrade. Of course, I got stung anyway. On the morning of day 15, after mindfully eating my morning fruit, while mindfully reading a book on mindfulness, I mindlessly sipped my lemon ginger drink that also happened to be hosting a bee practicing his backstroke. I will never know whether the bee was already dead and only pricked my tongue or if he got his dying chance to vent whatever angst a bee might hold against the world. Nor will I know if my immune system warded off the event naturally or if the antihistamine (Benedryl) I took on the advice of our resident nurse (Tracy) prevented significant problems. I do know that the drug wiped me out for most of the day. That was one of the rare days I did not practice yoga.

Being allowed to carve out time during the day’s schedule for my own yoga practice was the other privilege I inherited with my roll as yoga teacher (while this approval wasn’t technically necessary, it did relieve any guilt for missing sitting or walking sessions). These solo yoga sessions were absolutely great. Never in my years of teaching had I allowed myself three weeks of dedicated daily self-practice. It was fun and I was kicking my own ass on a daily basis. I slowed the breath so that each movement was patient but fluid. I held difficult postures mercilessly long, toyed with tricky balances and repeatedly attempted things I could not do well, if at all. I was getting myself in yoga shape (my body was getting stronger and my pants were getting looser). I was falling in love with yoga all over again. I was also showing off, desperately seeking attention (as others were frequently doing their walking or standing meditations as I was practicing). I was feeding my ego. The practice wasn’t wrong, but the intention wavered back and forth from healthy to ridiculously petty.

It didn’t help that the yoga classes were going very well. The positive feedback came from the teachers, the managers and via notes from the silent meditators. Each night, before retiring to my private room, the teachers would remind the sangha, “Yoga with Keith in the morning.” I was (at least in my own clouded mind) “the yoga guy” I had always wanted to be.

Some clarity came on the 11th day (the first day of the second retreat). There were new teachers (primarily Christopher Titmus – AKA the headliner) and the schedule had shifted a bit. Actually, the schedule shifted more than I suspected and I mistakenly missed Christopher’s first dharma talk to fit in my yoga practice. Upon realizing this, I tried to practice non-attachment. It’s only a dharma talk, right? But when the talk extended 10 then 20 minutes past it’s schedule end time it began to take on a much grander significance. Perhaps this was the best dharma talk ever. All the secrets of the spiritual life being explored and explained and I, “the yoga guy”, were missing it. Literally, standing out. Alone.

As the retreat continued, I looked deeper into this need (greed?) for attention and acknowledgement. Unfortunately, these unbecoming characteristics were not neatly contained in retreat, but everywhere in my life. It doesn’t help that success as a yoga instructor is effectively tied to my popularity. And, much of our western culture revolves around celebrating (and marketing too) the stand out individual. Nor, does it help to realize that I am not really standing out here. Mine are the same insecurities and delusions shared by many.

I wish it was as easily solved as seen, but there is always more work to be done.

…Keith

Meditative Moments and Odd Occurrences (Part 1 of ???) – “The Buzz”

I didn’t know it was a Monday. For me it was day 16, a lot like the 15 preceding it, but up to this point a relatively disheartening one. So far, the day had been a series of tired (I thought I was over that weeks ago), distracted (my mind was everywhere), even painful (not usually a problem) sittings. There had been doubts (“What am I doing here?”), idyllic fantasies about my next destination (Varanassi, a town I have never enjoyed) and a general feeling that I was wasting my time.

Now, there was a buzz in the air. Not a figurative one, this was literal. Everyone knows the sound of a mosquito buzzing by your ear. When the mosi leaves, the buzz goes with it. But not now. The single buzz just faded into the bigger buzz of countless mosquitoes circling the room choosing their seemingly idle targets. But they don’t concern me (nothing does). The few parts of my body not covered in at least two layers of clothing are covered in at least two layers of toxic deet (and this is good for me?).

The second sugary chai (milk tea) during our sunset tea break gets some credit for my alertness. This delicate balance has been carefully researched. Chai in morning leads to mid-day fatigue, as does the starchy porridge breakfast (both of which were give up in the first week). So, I have been eating only fruit for breakfast. This makes lunch the only real meal of the day (which is fine) and makes my late afternoon chai(s) my only real “treat”. As I was worshipping this treat one recent afternoon with full attention rapturously focused on lifting the mug, savoring the taste and quickly repeating, I wondered what I might look like to anyone else. A line from an old Billy Joel song came to mind. “There’s an old man sitting next to me, makin’ love to his tonic and gin.”

Back to the present…

I hear monks chanting from the neighboring monastery. I don’t remember hearing them begin to chant. Nor will I notice when they stop (but they are there in that moment). Even the noise from the distant road (about 170 yards/paces from the meditation room should anyone have soooo much free time to actually count, twice) is a non-factor. I am completely content. At ease and awake in the present. This presence is not the goal but it is a very pleasant reminder that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

…Keith

As I optimistically promised more words after the silent retreats, I am writing to re-adjust that forecast. I could easily say the universe is conspiring to make it hard to find computer time (when the electricity is on). But more honestly, I am not in the proper headspace of heartspace for writing right now, so I am honoring that.
I am doing well. I have moved on to the village of Sarnath (near Varanassi) where most of the meditation sangha (team/friend/family) have re-located with much looser parameters (i.e., we are not in silence). But there is still a fairly comprehensive schedule and I am still teaching yoga (so I need to find time to fit in my own practice). The transition into the speaking world has been a little more challenging for me than in retreats past, but this too shall pass.
I will write more (probably MUCH more) when the time is right. Until then, be well.

…Keith