Vipassana Vault: Day 0
Context
After more than a week spent mulling over the experience, losing the plot at times, forgetting everything I learned and felt, and being swept back up into the real world, I finally have set aside time to reflect—in writing—upon my 10-day Vipassana retreat in Kyoto, Japan. I tried my best to keep a mind palace throughout the ten silent days (plus the two additional days as well). Mercifully, I dumped everything into a series of voice memos on the train back to Ōsaka, which has allowed me to let go a little bit over the past week, knowing that my in-the-moment thoughts are there to return to.
In short, a mind palace refers to the mnemonic technique of mentally placing information in specific locations along a familiar route or space. For me, I chose my bedroom growing up, with each day being allocated a particular section within it. To recall the information, you simply take a mental walk through that space and pick up what you left there. It leverages the strong spatial and visual memory of the brain to encode otherwise abstract or hard-to-remember information. I tried my best to make up little stories and objects scenes that would stick in my mind more easily.
Hence, I’d originally titled this series Inside the Mind Palace of a Mad Man, but that felt too complicated in hindsight and kind of misses the major detail about these reflections in that they relate to a Vipassana course. So, the Vipassana Vault it is instead.
Over the next ten days, I’ll share my Vipassana adventure with you through this mind palace lens, hopefully offering a light-hearted spin on the whole journey and using it as a gateway to dive deeper into what I felt. Ultimately, this is both an exercise for myself in aiding my own digestion and processing of the retreat, but also a medium to share everything I experienced with others.
Day 0: Arrival
Really, a long day. Yet, much to my dismay, not even a real day.
I wake up, check out in Ōsaka, and hop on a train. Then, another. Another. The time passes quickly as I look out the window and think, catch up on Clement’s adventures, and try to scramble and tie up any loose ends as best I can. Attempt to cauterise the inevitable bleeding that I’ll leave in my wake by dropping off the grid for nearly two weeks.
We arrive at a bus station in the middle of nowhere. Only a shuttle to come. I didn’t realise it at the time, but nearly everyone on that bus was headed to this retreat. Most were focused, silent, and perhaps a little anxious or afraid. I certainly was.
Enter Carlos. The clear highlight of my retreat. A light at the end of the tunnel. Although, I didn’t envision it fully at the time. He approached me and asked, in perfect English, the question that everyone else was implicitly beginning to answer about one another—”So, are you heading for this retreat?”
Although I left that maybe-fifteen-minute-long conversation feeling like there was so much left on the table, I felt infinitely more at peace because of it. I had a friend here. At least once. At first, I couldn’t place his accent. Sheepishly, I asked with complete speculation if he was from the US. Unfortunate irony. He hails from Venezuela. Really awesome. Never would’ve guessed it though.
So many things from this conversation made me feel at ease. Looking around, the majority of these retreat-goers seemed to be older Japanese speakers. Some exuded an aura of experience. Others looked just as nervous behind a stoic gaze. Carlos spoke fluent English, was approachable, matched my age bracket, and openly shared so many of the same feelings I had.
Two men with wispy beards and kei trucks came to pick us up eventually. Less of the organised shuttle bus I’d envisioned and more an impromptu lift from those with access to a vehicle. Fair enough. The journey was short anyway.
Arriving, your first thought was how beautiful, how serenely tranquil, this place is. That perspective never shifted throughout the full journey. The Dhamma Bhanu centre near Kyōto was truly an idyllic location and I feel extremely grateful to have stumbled into this specific course. I later learned that there was a man completing a 30-day retreat here. Despite having embarked on dozens on Vipassana courses across the globe, the Kyōto centre was distinctly his favourite. Perhaps it lacks the international diversity and relative youth you may find in a Thai or Indonesia centre. The approach may be somewhat softer and more palatable than a traditional Indian or Nepalese course. But as a place to sit quietly with yourself for ten days, it felt perfect—like a spot where I’d happily return to camp for a weekend with friends back home.
Anxiety quickly flooded my mind though once I stepped inside to complete registration. Reception dropped out completely about five minutes closer to town. I hadn’t said my goodbyes, to Mary, or my family, or anyone really. A cliffhanger for all. Not a pleasant one though. Subsequently, I began my retreat with guilt. Spoonfuls of it. But alas, truly nothing could be done. Any means of communication had just been surrendered, and I was stuck in this beautiful prison now for the next eleven days. As would become thematic, I simply had to embrace the reality of my situation, and move on.
After laying my things out neatly in the five-person dorm room, we were summoned to the dining hall for an orientation meeting. This was sneakily so important for me. Not because of what was said, necessarily, but more so how it was delivered. With character. With humour. With personality. These people were incredibly likeable. As I read the English translation sheet reiterating the rules and regulations of the course, I kept consciously reminding myself not to believe everything said here. To make sure I keep my guard up. Only dip my toe in the water. Submerge my leg, and perhaps the Goenka cult I’d been warned about would drag me under the surface, never to be seen again. But when I listened to Kei and Masa speak—the manager, and assistant manager (and translator!), respectively—my caution softened. Further still when the servers addressed the group. They was no real power dynamic at play here. There was no hierarchy. No authority figure keeping responsibility. You held yourself accountable. If you wanted to opt-in, that was your decision. Everyone here was volunteering their time and precious energy. Each person in that room had travelled here to devote time to themselves and their meditation practice. A solitary journey.
Dinner was excellent. I purposefully hadn’t gotten my hopes up imagining what simple vegetarian meals would look like, but the love poured into each and every meal throughout my time was a constant. The meals were incredibly nutritious, utilised great-tasting local produce, and were just about the highlight of my day, every day. Shame that this was the only dinner I had. Each of the remaining nights were spent fasted after 12pm, with the exception of some fruit and tea. It was a big adjustment, but I tangibly felt great because of it I think. I’m veering into many more retreat-wide topics than I first planned to with this post, but my mind did feel noticeably clearer as a result of this fasting.
Post-dinner was mediation sit number one. Intentionally, I’d not done much digging into the fine-grained details of the technique, nor how it is taught in the course. Not a mistake per-se, but I wasn’t as prepared as I could have been. Again though, I keep returning to the idea that I don’t think there ever would’ve been a point at which I felt ready to dive into something like this. As much of an imposter as I felt I was each time I walked into that dark and eerie hall, it was okay. Even though these were group sittings, this was very much a battle between you and the cushion only. Starting out, at least. Eventually, that combative framing—positioning each sitting as a struggle—was replaced with more optimism.
The first sitting was hell, though. For starters, I felt like an idiot. I didn’t even know how to sit properly. I was completely out of my depth amongst these battle-hardened warriors of meditation. I’d never even used a meditation cushion before! I hadn’t ever realised what the purpose was! Gradually, I figured it out. What worked for me, that is. Not a correct technique, perhaps, but a bearable position, nonetheless. Not on this night though. Within five minutes, pain everywhere. Lower back. Glutes. Knees. Ankles. Everything hurt. I stop, stretch my legs out fully to the side. Hype myself up. Okay, try again. Everyone around me seemed statue-like, undisturbed entirely.
Next attempt, a little longer. I grit through fifteen minutes before my right leg falls completely numb. It scares me tremendously, and I instinctively leap away from that feeling. Rest once more. I don’t want to damage any nerves. I should listen to my body. My inherently analytical, medically-leaning mind advocates for quitting. Over and over again. Strange, guttural chanting mercifully marks the end of my suffering—for now. There are many thoughts I have about the verbal delivery from Goenka. At times, it was most relieving, soothing sound in the world. Often, it made me want to cover my ears and scream. On the whole, it didn’t sit that well with me, but it isn’t as unbearable as some critics would lead you to believe. Anyway. Perhaps something I’ll unpack more later.
Throughout the session, my mind was shrouded in a dense fog of guilt, regret, and fear. I couldn’t stop worrying about how anxious those close to me probably were, unable to see that I’d arrived safely, their existing seeds of doubt sprouting in every which direction faster than they could’ve foreseen. Plus, this wasn’t even a real day, per-se. I’d made it through one group sitting. I won’t drag on and on, but this was the daily schedule.
As I cried myself to sleep and tried to mentally prepare for a daunting day ahead, punctuated by a 4am gong-assisted wake-up, a glimmer of gratitude shone through. By chance, Carlos was in the bed across from me. That also means we meditated and ate—albeit in solemn silence—side-by-side. We could share our strength. Share in our struggle, too. Also, this place was really amazing. I really cannot fault the infrastructure surrounding the retreat. Physically, all my needs were resoundingly met. Plus, the people were incredible from everything I’d seen so far. Their kindness and overall human-ness would continue to resonate as the retreat wore on, and the gaping chasm between where I saw myself and everyone else slowly closed. It was hard, but in some ways, I felt at home. Still, I wept. I missed home. Everything about it. I told myself this would be the hardest ten days in my life. I’d be proven correct.
