Dhamma Shringa Vipassana Meditation Centre, Part 1

Letter #31: Get ready to hear about the most miserable, but most enlightening experience of my life.

This was the tricked out taxi that took me to the meditation center. Above my head was a huge portrait of Heath Ledger as the Joker. You won’t see many images of me in these posts since I didn’t have access to my phone for about 11 days…yikes!

4/26/23

Where to even begin? I’m sitting on the plane, about to depart from my layover in Dubai. I’m traveling from Kathmandu, after spending a month in Nepal, to Tel Aviv. I’ve been awake since 3am the day before. It is 7am now and I’ve had maybe 1 hour of sleep. But somehow I am less agitated and tired as I normally would be during a long day of travel.

The things that normally cause me minor irritation at the airport—passengers cutting in line, people listening to TikTok videos without headphones, human traffic jams, screaming babies, incessant hawking of loogies—just kind of rolls right off my back. I’m aware these situations are occurring, but I am unfazed by them. The Instagram videos my friends are sending me are making me laugh much harder than they normally do. I’m excited to engage in friendly conversation with the strangers I interact with throughout the airport. I’m more aware of the small kindnesses I witness between people. And all I want to do is text my friends and my parents to tell them how much I’ve been thinking about them.

I’m like a warm little PopTart, fresh out of the toaster oven, oozing sugary love and strawberry filling. I’m not sure how else to explain it. I’m not in love, I’m not infatuated, I’m not even excited for any one thing in particular…I’m just happy, calm, patient.

But I wasn’t like that even 72 hours ago. And certainly not 11 days ago. 72 hours ago I was still desperate to run away from Dhamma Shringa Vipassana Meditation Centre. I was counting and re-counting the days, the hours I had left, certain I had made a mistake, I couldn’t possibly have 2 more days left here.

10 days doesn’t sound so bad, right? Kind of the perfect amount of time for a vacation. But in this course, which was actually a total of 11 days, that amount of time felt like an ETERNITY. I called it a “retreat” to all of you. How foolish I was, it was more of a bootcamp.

I’m going to give a very honest account of my experience, but if you’re going to read it, read all parts completely so that you receive the full scope. These will be longer posts because I owe it to myself to record the full experience, the good, the bad, and the ugly. So hopefully it’s interesting enough to the rest of you, because I’m doing this mostly for my own benefit. 😌

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When I chose to visit South Asia I knew I wanted to experience a meditation retreat. I have very little background in meditation and no serious practice. I opened up Google Maps, typed in “meditation retreat”, and scanned options in Nepal, India, and Tibet. I chose the center that had the highest ratings on Google (4.6⭐️ ), which also happened to be free 😱. I did not research it any further. I didn’t even try to make sure it wasn’t a cult—it 1000% is not—I just signed up and went.

What a blessing that I did not know what I was getting myself into. Because if I had known, I may never have gone. Sure—I knew I couldn’t have any alcohol, no cell phones or laptops, no reading, no writing, and no facility for exercise. And I’d have to spend 10 days in total silence. I knew all that. But, much like the cold I experienced in the Annapurna Base Camp trek, I had no prior experience to check this info against. So I said “well, I’m up for a challenge” and I went. 🤷🏻‍♀️ I’d be staying at Dhamma Shringa Vipassana Meditation Centre for a total of 12 days with no outside contact, and no option to leave the premises.

On the morning of registration, I made FaceTime calls back home and texted everyone to say goodbye for the next 10 days of silence. I gave my mom the center’s contact info in case of emergency.

When I got to the center I was debriefed by a volunteer, a Chilean woman who had also completed the course, so I could ask all my dumb questions before the course began. Could I use a white noise machine at night? Nope, and you’re staying in a dorm. Can I take a sleep aid? Nope, that could make you groggy. Do I need to keep my tattoos covered as mentioned in the code of conduct? No…and the code of conduct shouldn’t even say that, tattoos are totally ok unless overtly religious.

Then I dropped off my valuables at the front office for safe-keeping—my phone, wallet, passport, laptop, Kindle, journal, and jewelry. I kept only a tiny journal in my bag just in case I was desperate to record anything that was happening.

Another volunteer, a Nepali woman, led me to the dorm. The grounds were pretty but basic and dated. I’d be staying in the “Q House”, a large, uniform building with 4 floors of rooms. The women’s and men’s living areas were kept separate, with the exception of our group meditations in the Dhamma Hall.

The dorm room was very basic—7 beds separated by cement walls and curtains. I shared my space with another female student from Dublin, Ireland. The bed was a wood and cement platform with a thin pad, a thin pillow, and a heavy blanket. The bathrooms had two toilets, three sinks, two showers, and were desperately in need of a deep clean. My personal bed area hadn’t been properly cleaned—I found items left by the past student. But I had to remind myself that I wasn’t paying for this course, for the room and board, and the compound is run by volunteers. So I did my best to remain humble, take care of these things myself, and try not to get discouraged right from the start.

I met the volunteer who’d be staying in our room, Anna, a woman from Vietnam who had just completed a 10 day course. We could speak with her regarding any accommodation or food and health related questions during our stay. My first question for her? Where was the toilet paper in the bathrooms? She explained we had to supply our own T/P, so she’d help me buy some from the small supply of toiletries the center keeps on hand for the students. And so, just like in the mountains, I’d be carrying toilet paper with me constantly.

Then I met two more roommates from our dorm, all of us expressing that we’d never done this before, none of us serious meditators. Everyone in my room was a Westerner in their early 20s-30s. I was the oldest one in the room, and was impressed that so many young women would be interested in completing this course—I was so different in my early 20s, much more focused on friends and parties. I was relieved that at least the rooms were divided up by culture and age, because—and I feel awkward admitting this publicly—I think it made things just a little less shocking for everyone.

The older women were grouped together, the Russians were grouped together, the Nepali and Indian women were grouped together, and then the foreigners (Westerners) were grouped together. It helped for when we’d break out during the evening discourse to listen to the teacher’s lessons in our respective languages, but it also helped us feel more comfortable with what we’re accustomed to culturally in terms of a living situation. Over the time I observed how everyone lived, it was interesting to see the similarities and differences.

We all gathered for tea time and to meet other students. At this time, men and women were still allowed to mingle. At 5pm, we dispersed to our gender segregated dining halls for our first meal. We each had a large metal plate, small bowl, a cup, and a spoon. These are the standard dishes/utensils for a traditional Nepalese meal of dal bhat. The women—about 100 of us students—lined up with our dishes, still chattering away as Noble Silence had yet to begin. The volunteers dished out our dinner, which was a large helping of porridge with almonds in it and a cup of chickpea dal. A strange combination for my Western senses but both were tasty. Milk tea and herbal tea were offered for both breakfast and dinner. I was pleasantly surprised to like this first meal, so it made me less nervous about the options for food the remainder of the time—you could take as much food as you needed, but be sure not to waste.

We gathered for our first discourse at 7pm. We gained first instructions, in person, from the assistant teacher, and further instructions from the main teacher, which were delivered over a loud speaker, much like the Wizard of Oz. I had never heard a voice like that before. I was instantly cringing. He was obviously older, the voice raspy and broken up as he led drawn out chants. It was not beautifully melodic as one might assume of meditation chants. How could I possibly bear this for 10 days?! Surely the whole course won’t be like this. The chanting was in a language I couldn’t understand (I came to learn later it was Pali, the language of ancient India and Buddhism). I found it very distracting and couldn’t believe the instructors would put us through that for entire course…

The collective student body—about 200 of us— committed to the 5 precepts for the 10 day course:

1. No killing. Even if a mosquito is biting you, you can’t kill it. We’d be observing a strictly vegetarian diet.

2. No stealing.

3. No sexual misconduct.

4. No lying. This was one of the reason’s we practiced Noble Silence—that inevitably when we open our mouths to speak we exaggerate or omit certain things (they’re definitely not wrong about this). By remaining silent for 10 days we will naturally keep from lying.

5. No intoxicants. Hence the recommendation to abstain from alcohol for at least 15 days before the course even began.

I happily committed to all 5 precepts. And, finally, the assistant teachers reminded us there would be no outside contact, and absolutely no communication between the students. We must keep from speaking with one another, making eye contact, and gesturing towards each other. We were to work in isolation, avoiding any distraction. We proceeded to meditate for the next 30 minutes, focusing only on the breath passing through our noses before we were dismissed for bedtime at 9pm. Sitting for that half hour, focusing only on my breath, already felt like torture. My mind wandered constantly, doubt already making its way in—how could I sit here for 10.5 hours a day? With another 1.5 hours of sitting for the nightly discourse? This is truly IMPOSSIBLE.

The volunteers use a Tibetan singing bowl to signify the changes in schedule. There are only two clocks in the entire compound—one in the dining hall and one outside the meditation hall—which means you couldn’t even check how long you’d been sitting in the meditation hall unless you had a watch. Those two clocks were my only way of telling time, so I had to be very aware of the singing bowl calling me for a shift in schedule.

My back was relieved when I laid down in bed. The bed was too stiff for me to lay on my side like I normally do—just a thin pad between my hip, shoulder, and the wood platform. But I figured laying straight would be good for relieving the back pain that was already creeping its way into my body. I listened to fellow students across the hall hawking loogies into the sink, blowing their noses using water from the faucet to clean them out (common hygiene practices in place of using tissue), and grimaced as my roommate began to snore. I slipped in my earplugs, threw on my eye mask, and prayed I’d slip into a quick sleep, despite all the noise. Luckily, I fell asleep maybe an hour later, by 10:30 or 11pm.

The singing bowl rang again at 4am on Day 1. Yes, that’s right, the day before was Day 0. Only now was I beginning the 10 day course. It was still pitch black outside, no birds were chirping yet. I laid in bed a few moments before rising to brush my teeth. We had 30 minutes before our first meditation of the day began: 4:30am-6:30am. We were, again, to focus on our breathing, observing only the breath passing through the triangular area of our nasal passages, the ring our nostrils, and the space between the nostrils and the upper lip.

BUT FOR TWO HOURS?! We just did this last night…

And so it would continue for the remaining 8.5 hours of meditation that day. Again my thoughts entered in a fragmented way, constantly distracting me. I shifted my body non-stop, trying to get comfortable and prevent myself from nodding off.

What have I done…?

At 6:30am the bell sounded and we lined up in the dining hall for a delicious breakfast. The options were a combination of dal (lentils or beans or chickpeas), some sort of rice (sometimes porridge), cornflakes, a piece of bread with jam, little digestive biscuits (like cookies), and tea. At least I wouldn’t be going hungry. I ate in silence, staring at the wall directly in front of my seat. My number was G6, from room Q3, bed number 44. G6-Q3-44.

I finished my meal quickly and went to clean my dishes. There was something robotic, almost zombie-like about the whole thing. I tried not to overthink it as we were all doing it, I certainly not alone in the experience, even though I could not discuss it with anyone.

I went back to my room and crawled into bed for a nap from 7-8am.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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What I’m Watching Right Now: Shrinking on Apple TV. Starring Jason Segel, a grieving therapist decides to try a new approach of unfiltered, brutal honesty with his patients, and works to rebuild the relationships he’s been avoiding since the passing of his wife. So far, it’s lighthearted and funny, but deals with some real issues. My bestie, Alie, has been pushing me to watch it for months so we can finally discuss it together. I am THRILLED to be able to watch a show again. I hardly watched any TV or Netflix for the entire month I was in Nepal, so I’ve been very eager to get my aunt and cousin to watch shows with me before bed. I’ll be staying with them in Palestine for the next month. ❤️

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Hey! Would you like to connect over creativity, self-growth, and problem-solving? Or just to have a virtual glass of wine or mocktail? Please book a time on my Calendly for us to chat! I can’t wait to see you. XOXO.

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