My Monkey Mind on Crutches

Journey: Damma shringa Monastery, Kathmandu Valley - Tiffany's unconscious. Total duration of travel: 20 days...

Having experienced Nepal's many tourist attractions, I was relieved to seek refuge from the chaos in the Dammashringa Vipassana meditation centre. In a sense I left Nepal and entered the depths of my unconscious mind for a ten day commitment, which I was determined to finish properly.

I was kidding myself when I fantasized about being quiet on the day before the retreat as to not create any social temptations. Within an hour, I knew where all the foreigners were from, I was taking orders for momos while we waited for the bus, and I was dishing out meditation advice (from the girl who snuck out of her last meditation retreat.) I had to laugh when I met Kelly, my Australian equivalent, we're both asthmatic fitness instructors, with current travel inflicted digestive upset being treated with Ayurveda herbs, and we'd both taken meditation courses before, which we'd both snuck out of. And as if the universe was testing our strength, we were placed side by side in the Dhamma hall and designated beds three feet apart. It took a tremendous amount of will power not to look at her and chat at any opportunity, otherwise we likely would've lost it, snuck over the fence, found some toblerones and facebooked everyone we know...

Vipassana meditation, as taught by Goenkaji, is a technique used to examine the reality of our body and mind as it is, not as we would like it to be. If any sensations arise in the body, we are trained to observe it and not react to it, understanding its nature of impermanence. Students commit to ten days of silence and refrain from any contact with other students and the outside world. IPODs, books, lap tops and every form of entertainment are handed over on the day before the retreat so we have nothing left but our minds to keep us busy. And busy we certainly were, meditating for 12+ hours a day, an hour for each meal, 1.5 hours for discourse each night, barely enough time it seemed to fit in a shower.

Having attended two other meditation courses, I had an idea of what to expect, both from the course and my monkey mind. This type of meditation however, was completely new to me and presented many new challenges to overcome. The first came in the form of a gift bestowed upon the entire centre, from their neighbour. He must have realized how bored we were so he decided to blare the latest Nepali top ten, followed by the news each day for hours. He was perfectly in tune with the meditation schedule as well. I'd sit down and settle into a nice, peaceful, meditative groove and then suddenly the music would come. In my rage all would be lost and I'd stew in my madness for the rest of that hour. I soon realized that this was simply another lesson in not reacting and expecting circumstances to be exactly as I needed them to be in order to meditate, so I let go of the need to try and control the world around me and paid less attention to the news and more to my knees.

By day three or four I began to feel excruciating pain in my knees whenever I would sit for more than 15 minutes. Goenkaji calls this pain a releasing of "sankaras" which are mental impurities lying in the unconscious, which through meditation rise to the surface level of the mind and manifest as physical sensations in the body. We are taught to just observe the pain, and by not reacting, we eradicate the old sankaras and seize to create new ones. I was convinced however, that my pain had to be worse than everyone else's. Every moment I sat through the pain I would say to myself it's impermanent, anica anica anica, and my ego, frightened at the prospect of losing control, would assert its authority and complain, "there's no pain worse than this!" "You're going to cause permanent damage to your knees!" "This is ridiculous, you could be eating chocolate and climbing mount Everest right now and you're wasting your time with THIS!" I was fiercely determined to win this mighty battle with my ego, and eventually I did... It was the words of my dear friend Rae that carried me through, "Just surrender and trust in the process" she recommended after coming out of her meditation course. I thought, I've got 12 hours of meditating a day and seven more days to go, perhaps it's about time to give this surrender thing a try. On day four, all students move into the true technique of Vipassana through mind, body awareness and are asked to sit for at least one hour a day without moving even a tiny muscle. Despite the pain, discomfort, fatigue and a very slow moving bug of some sort moving across my face, I fought with all my might to sit for that one hour. On day six I was ready to let go of my knee pain, which I was sure I had some control over. I woke up at the usually scheduled ungodly hour of 4:30 am and wandered into the meditation hall saying to myself "the pain is done today." I scanned my body when I sat down and it was still present but I didn't attach any labels to it nor did I react to it in any way. By 6:00 am it was completely gone, and it never returned.

I've heard the many stories of miraculous experiences that people have while meditating and I've always harboured a secret desire that something exciting would happen to me as well, which, according to Goenkaji, is the strongest way of ensuring that it doesn't happen. I imagined writing my blog to tell you all that I had levitated off my cushion or had a vivid glimpse into my past or future, but unfortunately none of that happened. Instead, I was simply amusing myself with my new found ability to change my body temperature from freezing cold to intense heat in a matter of minutes, and once I'd eradicated my knee pain, I began to feel an even mass of sensation covering my body, followed by subtle vibrations in my hands and feet. The problem with the realization of these sensations is that once I labeled it as a pleasant sensation and started getting excited that something is finally happening to bring me out of the curse of boredom, like a hand tries to grasp a small hair in the bathtub, the more I tried to grasp a hold of it, the faster it would float away.

I completed the first of my two ten day courses and left the centre for a break in the middle feeling peaceful and lacking the impulse to freak out when returning to society. On the night we returned to Kathmandu, 15 or so of us got together for dinner. As we were walking to the restaurant, a rickshaw came really close to me and suddenly ran directly over my foot. Everyone else seemed to notice but me and asked "Oh my God are you ok?" Surprisingly I was. Goenkaji says that the first yard stick of progress after the course is observing how it has impacted you, then sharing it with others. I have to disagree. I think the first indication of progress should be, having a vehicle roll over your foot and observing how well YOU do at not reacting!

Following my first course, it was my sincerest intention to return and serve as a Dhamma worker for the following course. I was so adamant about serving, convinced that this would be a great opportunity to GIVE and for ten days, be completely selfless, putting the needs of the meditators before my own. So I returned to the centre after two crammed days in Kathmandu and moved through my training in usual Tiffany style, not allowing a single breath before, between or after. When I finished, the students started arriving and I was busy showing them to their rooms. At dusk I was basking in the glory of being in a position of importance, and my head was held too high to see the stairs below my feet, which I gracefully tumbled down. As I fell, dropping the box of supplies I was carrying, I heard a "snap" and the swelling of my left ankle began immediately. Turns out there is worse pain than my knee pain!

So for the first four days of the course, everyone was helping me and my torn ligaments, seeing to it that MY needs were met. It's funny how things can go so opposite from what we plan. I'm grateful that it happened though, as it truly humbled me, made me slow down and look upon each small task that I was still able to perform, with gratitude and care. Due to my slow pace, which caused me to open my eyes and take in the amazing surroundings, I ended up bumping into one of the wild monkeys who frequently visits the monastery. I was outside doing yoga one day when I was approached by the monkey who was wandering about 4 feet from my yoga mat. He exuberated peace and self assurance, surely he was a meditating monkey, practicing his own form of vipassana.

I had to laugh when I realized the irony of my injury, seeing as I had just spent a month trekking and came out without any bruises or scars. Perhaps it was meant to happen in the midst of my meditation, in a place where I was truly blessed with people to help me. When I came back from the hospital, hobbling on my crutches, Beem, the office manager looked at me and laughed saying "Oh, you're lucky Teefany, you have big sankara come out!" So now when travellers see me with my crutches and aircast and ask, "did you fall down a mountain while trekking?" I can reply "No, I did it while meditating!"


I'm sorry that don't have any exciting pictures to post, as the shot of the monkey is my one of my few pics in the past 20 days. Hope you enjoyed the blog and I shall write again soon. My apologies to those who are awaiting a reply, Internet has been in short supply in my world these days, but I promise to make an effort to get back to you soon!