What I Learned On My 9-Day Meditation Retreat-3

Part Three

Thursday, Day 6—Feeling much better, up at dawn, 2 hours of calm sitting. On the way to breakfast, just rounding a turn in the road at the fork of Casa de Angeles, the lodge dining hall, and Singing Bird Trail, I stopped, rather, was stopped at the sight of Coyote sauntering slowly down the trail toward me. He stopped, turned his head toward me, and there we stayed, eyes locked, just looking, for about 5 minutes. Then Coyote turned away and ambled on down the trail toward the big bell tower, which rang Christmas carols every day precisely at 6 & 9 a.m., 12 Noon, 3, 6 & 9 p.m., where Coyote again stopped and turned his head toward me, eyes meeting mine for another few minutes. I had not moved.

The encounter with Coyote dominated the first few minutes of my meditation period before the morning group reporting session. Then I saw myself walking a mid-sized dog for the next minute or two. Since I had been thinking about volunteering at our local animal shelter, inspired by my friend Bob Vance who has taken this on as part of his retirement volunteering and exercise regimen, this image did not come as strange. What did strike me was a big question that came into view: “Is it enough?”

I just sat with that question for what seemed a long time. Now that I am approaching my 73^rd year of living on the planet, the question of what do I do now with the rest of my life comes up now and again. Would it be enough to walk a dog? I’ve had for some time a sense of completion, of having done everything I really wanted to do, with no pressing sense of need to join any more groups, organize any more projects, or get involved in any more causes.

I want now to share some of what I have learned—with my family, my friends, and anyone else who might be interested. To write, to take pictures, to meditate. Is it enough? Seems like an entirely appropriate question.

What I Learned On My 9-Day Meditation Retreat-2

Part Two

Up at 6 a.m. the first morning, a quick shave and shower, and I was at the beginning sitting period by 6:30, ready for the day and the week. A half hour later I began to notice a strange yet familiar sensation, which was growing stronger in my middle section, while at the same time cold beads of perspiration were appearing on my forehead.

“Oh no! This isn’t really happening—I felt just fine—until now.” About 3 minutes later I was convinced that this was not going away soon. I got up as quietly as I could and headed for my lodgings. It was a half-mile walk down and up hills and by the time I arrived and made it to the bathroom it was as though all the energy in by body was literally and figuratively “flushed” out of me. I took the 5 or 6 faltering steps to the bed where I lay, barely able to raise any part of my body for the next 24 hours. The only good part of this situation was that I had Linda and our friends close by and willing to bring me food, should I desire any.

The 2^nd day I felt well enough to make it to one or two of the sessions and then head back to the bed. By evening the stomach cramps and gas pains began—these lasted through the night. By day 3 I was definitely on the mend. I could make it through most of the sessions and even to the dining hall for meals. “Ah, back into the reason I had come—the silence, the sittings, the spiritual journey.” I even managed to take a nature walk.

Then the mind-storms began. For two days my meditations were filled with obsessive thoughts about . . . surprise! . . . computers! Linda had been warning me for months that I was spending a little too much time absorbed in technology, which of course I denied. But denial is much more difficult when confronted by oneself without the defense mechanisms. Perhaps my weakened physical condition prepared the way, but in this one sitting period an image appeared, something like a Trojan Horse, only it came in the form of a big monitor connected to a larger-than-life desktop computer. Out of the screen were reaching for me—wires and cables and worm-like tentacles, grabbing at my arms and wrapping themselves around me, pulling me back into the screen and, if I allowed, down into the innards of this technological nightmarish computer thing. I was being strangled and suffocated by my own technology!

Right then and there a deep resolve arose. I did not want on my tombstone or have read at my memorial: “He was good with computers.” As soon as I returned from retreat I was going to downsize my computer equipment by one-third to one-half!

What I Learned On My 9-Day Meditation Retreat

Part One:

“Oh Boy! I’ve been looking forward to this for months now—nine days of silence and sitting in meditation in ‘Friendship House,’ wrapped up in my soft maroon throw, with a crackling fire sending warm welcoming rays toward me from the corner fireplace at the end of this hall filled with angels.

Arriving at Questhaven on the day after Christmas, Linda and I settled into our comfortable and familiar lodgings in “Casa Contenta,” this roomy double-wide manufactured house with two bedrooms and baths and a large living room with kitchen and dining area, all the comforts of home. It was our turn to get the master bedroom with its own bath. Our friends and house-mates, the Butchers, graciously deferred and took the smaller bedroom with only a double bed, which was to be a life-saver for me as it turned out, in view of what the week had in store.

The schedule for the week was to be full but fairly relaxed, for a meditation retreat: Up at six for 2 hours of sitting in meditation before breakfast, followed by a break and a 9:30 short talk, then more meditation, combined with small group reporting sessions to share our sitting experiences with a teacher and receive feedback to help us in our meditation practice. After lunch and a break for rest or walks on one of the beautiful trails on this several hundred acre property in the coastal mountains of San Diego County, we would gather for an hour talk by the lead teacher, Jason Siff, a little time for questions, then more sitting until 5, and then a break before dinner, usually spent horizontally in our rooms, unless we had signed up for dinner prep, one of the many jobs the 20 of us would take on to help the retreat run smoothly. Evenings would start with a meditation period followed by an open discussion and end with one of Jason’s “bedtime stories,” most often a reading from his novel, King Bimbisara’s Chronicler. We would then be ready for bed by 10 p.m. and up for the same routine the following morning—for eight full days.

As I said, I was really looking forward to the retreat, a perfect way to transist from one year to the next, in silence for the most part, and in this beautiful green hill country setting. The first evening after an opening orientation and meditation we had our first vegetarian dinner, which was to be the fare for the whole week, prepared by Sandy, a gourmet vegetarian cook, who gave us combinations of grains and vegetables, many of which I had never heard. All was going as I had anticipated! After the first evening’s talk, meditation and bedtime story, we were tucked in our king-size bed by 10, ready for a wonder-filled week.

So much for anticipation . . .

The Worst Winter Ever

It was the worst of winters. It was the best of winters.

The worst winter I ever experienced turned out to be one I have the fondest memories of and best stories about. It was 1977 in Pennsylvania. I lived in Boston, or at least the rest of my family did, and that was the address on my driver’s license—27 Dartmouth, Boston, Mass.

I was on the road that year all but seven weeks. The blizzard hit Pennsylvania like a fast freight train roaring by in the middle of the night. Only it stopped and dropped 3 feet of snow before moving on. I was snowed in for 2 weeks in Harrisburg. I couldn’t even get a train out to be home for Christmas. My host, one of our organization’s volunteers, put 10 of us up for 2 weeks.

The most “fun” that winter was a trip I made from Pittsburgh when I thought the storm had passed. I was on I-80 on the way to Snow Shoe, PA, when I began to snow again. The borrowed Nash had windshield wipers that didn’t work. I spent the next two hours reaching out the driver’s side window to grab the wiper blade to keep the snow off. I made it to Snow Shoe to find a group of townspeople waiting for the scheduled meeting I had arranged. The mayor let me know that a little dusting of snow like this would never stop them from meeting.

But it was the Harrisburg Christmas that taught me it was possible to bond with a dozen strangers, many of whom I’ve not seen again.

A Christmas Tradition Today

Christmas Eve is always at our house, at least for the past decade or so. We didn’t plan it so, but since no one else ever makes the offer, my wife and I have concluded that it is now a tradition, and our “gang” just assumes it as a given.

On Christmas morning we all go out for breakfast at IHOP. Or occasionally our friend Leslie T. makes sourdough waffles at his apartment. But that is only when he takes a notion, or one of us says “Why don’t we go to LT’s for waffles this year.”

In the afternoon we always troop over to the Krikorian for a Christmas day movie. Then in the evening we may take my mother and son for a drive around Redlands to see the lights, or if we feel adventurous, the Mission Inn in Riverside.

This year we may vary the schedule slightly.  We have a flexible tradition but the essentials will hold:  Friends and family together to share the spirit of the season.

Our (almost) Brand New Bathroom

Our bathroom is almost brand new. You would not believe what a small, 4’ X 8’ room would take to remodel it: Contractors for tearing out shower and floor tiles right down to the 2 X 4s; a counter-top company for the 24 by 18 inch sink cabinet; a mirror company to install the big wall mirror we had to buy when the tile contractor nicked the current one; and Ric the plumber/handyman who my wife worships for correcting all the mishaps made by contractor and husband. I am no longer allowed to install towel bars, hooks, door hinges, or anything that requires drilling holes in doors or walls. “Let’s call Ric” has become an oft heard mantra of Linda’s.

But in spite of the minor inconvenience of having to walk (or run) a quarter block to the pool bathroom and shower (we only have one bathroom) for a few days, and the few nicks and gouges in our bathtub (which Ric repaired), the tile looks beautiful, the new shower doors shine, the corean counter and sink is classy, the brown colors actually go with the light tan textured tiles, the chrome fixtures gleam, and even the new toilet stool seems proud to be in its place. I now understand why it is called the “throne.”

The mirror was delivered on time and Ric was there to see that it was properly installed and that the finishing touches were added. Just in time for Christmas Eve. I wonder if all of our guests can get in our 4 X 8 bathroom at the same time. It is the most elegant room in our home.

The Mysterious Patio Cat

It began to appear a couple of years ago. It would come two or three days a week and explore our patio. Then it began to settle on our chaise lounge. One summer evening when the patio door was open it stuck its nose in and then gingerly stepped into the living room and proceeded to explore every room in our 900 sq. ft. apartment. It disappeared for a few weeks or maybe a couple of months and then re-appeared on our patio. One thing we became aware of was that it was missing one important detail. In fact it was “de tail.” Was this the same cat? It must be, we concluded. Its actions were too much like the cat-with-tail that used to frequent the patio.

We had also been puzzled by a mysterious call from across the street that we noticed occurred each evening around 8 p.m., a high-pitched woman’s voice that sounded a little like a siren song. On one visit the cat was wearing a collar and we noticed a name engraved on it. The mystery was partially solved. Our patio cat’s name was Norma Jean and the strange sounding high-pitched call was a woman across the street calling her to come in for the night.

But we still had not solved the mystery of the missing tail. Until this week, that is. Norma Jean had been sleeping on our patio every day for several days and then going home at night. A couple of nights ago, the “Norma Jean call” came when we were watching the cat stir from her comfortable bed on the lounge. Linda called to the woman that Norma Jean was on our patio. The lady came across the street, surprised to learn what her cat had been doing every day. It was then that we learned that Norma Jean had been crossing Center Street a year ago and was hit by a car. Her injuries required the “amputation” of her tail.

I just looked out on our patio and Norma Jean is in her favorite spot on the lounge. So I took a few shots on my trusty Sony to show you Norma Jean, formerly known as the “mysterious patio cat.” We are pleased with her having adopted us because our apartment complex has a ‘no-pets’ policy.

Norma Jean