I really had no idea what I was in for when it came to my first experience of this silent retreat. Friends and clients at the time couldn’t believe—or understand—why I’d want to sit in silence for 10 days straight. Would I even be capable of it? Such a doer of all sorts and so talkative—how would I maintain silence for that long?
My attitude, however, was that, like many things I’ve given my time and energy to, I could probably do it well (and that is by no means big headed!). So, I decided to go in, take direction, learn, and see what happens. It’s not forever, after all…
But what is Vipassana, I hear you say!
This extract is taken directly from dhamma.org:
“Vipassana, which means to see things as they really are, is one of India’s most ancient techniques of meditation. It was rediscovered by Gotama Buddha more than 2,500 years ago and was taught by him as a universal remedy for universal ills, i.e., an Art of Living. This non-sectarian technique aims for the total eradication of mental impurities and the resultant highest happiness of full liberation.”
Here’s another in-depth link about the technique:
How to Practise Vipassana – Insight Meditation
I felt fairly relaxed upon arriving at the site, though I was mostly concerned about where my bed would be. Prime location matters sometimes! On Day 1—or possibly it’s called Day 0—everyone was arriving and settling in. Some people were sociable, others weren’t. It was interesting to gauge why people had come and what had brought them to this moment in their lives.
There was a slight unease, though, as I wondered who wanted to talk and who preferred to be left alone. From the start, some people clearly didn’t want to engage, though I imagine that might’ve been down to nerves.
We were given some information on what the following days would entail, including the daily schedule. Each day would essentially follow the same routine. The ‘gong’ would signal meaning we should be somewhere at a given time, and it didn’t take long to learn the rhythm.
I faced some struggles as time went on: my sitting posture became uncomfortable, lack of sleep crept in, and irritations arose. But every evening, we were shown a discourse video reminding us why we were there—doing this “deep surgical work of the mind.” These talks offered little nuggets of wisdom through stories and guidance. Somehow, for me, there was always something that struck a chord and made me think, “YES! That’s exactly what I experienced today.”
These talks helped piece the experience together, boosting my confidence and determination to keep going. If you really weren’t coping or had questions, you could book a slot after lunch to speak with the assistant teacher (AT). Their advice was often vague but designed to steer you back on track: observe your mind, notice the sensations in your body, and don’t get caught up in your thoughts.
Some days, this was easy. Other days, my thoughts would wander off into lovely stories, and I’d get carried away. I explained this to the teacher, saying how wonderful I felt and how I couldn’t wait to share this beautiful mindset when I got home. The teacher smiled knowingly and said, “Ah, yes… the monkey mind—it will do that.”
While such moments weren’t ‘bad’ per se, I was reminded that this wasn’t the purpose of being here. The goal was to focus the mind and remain equanimous, no matter what thoughts or sensations arose.
Equanimity is defined as “an even-mindedness and balance, where you remain calm and composed, even in times of conflict. It’s about monitoring your immediate judgments or reactions, pausing, noticing, and reflecting.”
By Day 3, 4, or maybe 5 (the memory’s hazy), I was starting to feel great. I was ready to leave, thinking, “I’ve got what I came for!” Speaking to the AT the first time, but I was encouraged to stay focused and return to the practice. So, I pressed on.
Then came the crash. A few days later, I was exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed. Deep pain from my life began swirling in my thoughts, rising to the surface. It felt like the top layers of mud—my distractions, fleeting happiness, and so on—had been cleared away, leaving the buried pain and hurt from childhood to flood through me.
I couldn’t sleep that night, and the next morning, the pain still lingered. It was rough. By mid-morning, I was in the meditation hall, attempting (and failing) to focus. I got up, walked out, and sat waiting for someone to come and check on me, hoping someone would come and I could just get sorted and leave.
A quick 5 minute break came, I spoke to the course manager, saying I wanted to leave—I couldn’t bear to stay any longer. The physical sensation in my body was gut-wrenching, and I was desperate to escape. I was advised to speak to the AT, though I was sceptical, he would just try to convince me to stay, even rolling my eyes at the thought of it.
When I finally sat with the AT, I broke down. I sobbed like a child, sitting on the floor with my knees hugged to my chest, head down. Through tears, I explained that I simply couldn’t go back into that room.
The AT didn’t ask for details of my upset—they didn’t need to. Instead, they gently asked, “Do you think you can come back to your breath? Be equanimous with this sensation, and see how you feel?”
Then they said something that shifted everything for me: “It’s not the room you don’t want to be in; it’s the sensation you don’t want to feel or be with.”
That was the moment the penny—or rather, many pennies—began to drop.
If I had run away in that moment, I would’ve taken all that pain with me. I’d likely have blamed the centre, associating it with negativity and distress. But the truth was, all that pain and upset was coming from within me/ associated to the thoughts and confusion.
The AT’s guidance—“Just 15 more minutes, come back to the breath, and see how you feel”—was the best thing I could’ve heard. Instead of running away and spiralling, I returned to sit with those intense sensations of overwhelming upset and slowly, I found my way back to a somewhat balanced centre.
I am fully open to questions about this experience so feel free to ask me anything about it. I will continue to share more about what happened the following days after this somewhat life changing moment.