Let the Happiness Begin

Day 5
What amazes me is how the very intention of retreat sets events in motion that are beyond anything I could ever have imagined—finding true peace for the first time in my life; Linda making shifts with her health; both of us opening to an entirely new paradigm for being in the world. These shifts have nothing to do with anything external--it comes from the pure and simple intention of opening the space for “retreat.”

Still, it's very easy to get caught. When I look at the calendar, I’m surprised to find that I’ve set up appointments for every day of the week—doctors, dentists, acupuncturists, massage. Surely this couldn’t relate to my being on a silent retreat? The mind is so tricky. I cancel every appointment I can and breathe a sigh of relief.

Linda and I fall in love again--not that we ever fell out of love, but there is a deep renewal of gratitude and appreciation for each other.

We walk on Thomson Road with the dogs.It is one of those magical spots on Maui--a narrow, winding road on the slopes of Haleakala that leads to Oprah's ranch and a few other houses. Far below us we can see the ocean and the island of Lanai; to our left pasture and ranch land rise up into the clouds, looking like the moors of Scotland.

“Let the happiness begin,” Linda says, looking into my eyes with love. These are the words that came to her in a dream before we even met. In the dream she had a vision of us both facing each other, with sparks of light flying between us. Linda has had profound mystical experiences since she was a child. The first time she attended a spiritual retreat she went into a state of bliss where she could barely feed herself for days. Although she never joined a spiritual group, had a teacher, or did formal practices, she is able to effortlessly slip into that place of unity consciousness where the whole universe can appear in a dewdrop.

Doing Nothing

Day 4
As “serious” spiritual retreats go, this is a joke. I think of Tenzin Palmo, an Englishwoman who spent 12 years alone in a remote Himalayan Cave at 13,200 feet. Every night she sat upright in a tiny 2’6” X 2’6” meditation box, having trained herself to do without sleep (sleeping is for wimps). I have my nice king-size bed with Linda at my side and two dogs at my feet. Is this any “less” spiritual?

Linda and I go into a deep place of joy every morning as we listen to Peter Fenner’s CD course on Radiant Mind. Where it hits home is when he speaks about our habitual need to be doing something.

Can I really give myself permission to do nothing? What an outrageous idea! My whole life has been defined by how much I achieve and how busy and active I am—sitting at the computer, writing the book, doing errands, getting exercise, seeing friends. Deep down I have this fear that if I was to stop I'd become one of those old geysers in a nursing home, with drool running down the side of my mouth! When I was at the dentist the other day, getting two new crowns, the drool did start running down the side of my mouth. And it wasn’t so bad.

Peter Fenner offers a beautiful practice called “Just Sitting.” It involves little more than sitting still for twenty minutes a day, either on a chair or lying down, observing whatever comes up—thoughts, sensations, feelings. No need to change anything. No need to do anything. By just sitting, with no need to effort or force anything, we naturally open to unconditional awareness. Everything we could ever need is present right here, right now. There is nowhere to go. This is it.

I start to slow down—even though I’m still making calls about selling the Roadtrek and responding to a few e-mails. Linda and I talk, but remain mostly in conversational silence. Our dogs Luke and Kamalani love it when we’re quiet. The four of us open up a whole other level of communication—a simple level of “beingness.” Since I started the retreat three weeks ago, our puppy Kamalani has dramatically calmed down, no doubt reflecting my inner state of being.

Colors are heightened. Sounds are intensified. I see trees and sky and things around me that I have been oblivious to. I even start to walk differently, my shoulders relaxed and arms hanging loosely by my sides, instead of being all tensed up and leaning forward, as if I’m in a desperate hurry to get somewhere (which I usually am). I feel like Yogi Amrit Desai (my former guru), who looked like liquid velvet when he walked. At least that’s one thing he did right.

I become aware of when my mind is racing. I begin to access quiet mind.

David and Tom, my newfound counselors and “life coaches,” support me on the journey. “Be gentle with yourself,” Tom says. I explore the role that comforts play in my life (sex,wine, and chocolate). For years these have been my “friends,” and have served a purpose. Now it’s time for a change. Instead of relying on these comforts to "fill me up," I am filled by the richness of silence. Still, a little spoonful of ice cream every night couldn’t be that harmful!

As Richard Dreyfus used to say, (playing the psychiatrist in What About Bob) used to say, “Baby steps. Take small baby steps.”

I see my urologist (who has a “God bless America” sign on his office door) and find out that the cancer is still active in my body (though my PSA has stayed relatively stable since the radiation). I’m happy as a clam to find out that I don't have to do any further treatment for at least six months.

Linda and I fall in love again. We go for walks on Thomson Road with the dogs (where Oprah has her ranch). We sit in silence together. As soon as I start to slow down, Linda begins to undergo a major shift around her health. After 12 years of pain and suffering she is opening to a new way of being. We begin to see that she doesn’t have to be down for me to be up, and vice-versa.

Hedonist's Retreat

Retreat is for those who desire to deeply realize the truth of their being and the essence of existence. Retreat offers time to step back from the course of daily life and enter into the Unknown. Adyashanti

Day 1

Today is the first day of a month-long retreat—Peter style, with wine, good food, talking when needed, reading what I want to, and The Daily Show. “You call this a retreat?” you may ask. Yes, because it's about doing nothing; it's about stepping out from the thinking mind; it's about stopping long enough to be quiet. I spend most of my time in silence, but talk when practicalities need taking care of. Linda and I talk from time to time—but for the most part we are just as happy in silence. What I enjoy most is giving her a warm hug in the morning and looking directly in her eyes, all without words. What a difference from, “How did you sleep last night, honey?” as I glance up from the newspaper.

This is no Vipassana retreat—no getting up at 4:00 AM, meditating until your knees and whole body aches, eating watery soup and tea, not even looking at other people. Leave that for seekers who believe that deprivation and hard work is the way to enlightenment. Who said that we had to torture ourselves to find God? Yes, we need to drop old beliefs and move beyond attachment and aversion, but who says we have to flagellate ourselves in the process? Even the Buddha got that one.

The big difference is that I’m not doing this retreat in order to get anywhere. There is nowhere to go, no place to get to. I know that I’m already here/there. I know that all it takes is slowing down enough to see what has always been there—spacious presence. Personally, I can drop in to that awakened awareness a lot more easily if I’m not in pain and major discomfort.

My morning “practice” on the first day of retreat is draining the pond, a physically demanding job, using the sump pump, squeegees, and a bucket to get all the sludge out. At 10:00 I take a break so that Linda and I can listen to Peter Fenner’s CD course on Radiant Mind. In no time we are both blissfully resting in unconditioned awareness. It’s not that difficult, not that dramatic. It’s right here, right now.

Peter Fenner, a spiritual teacher from Australia, has a beautiful approach to awakening, using the mind to transcend the mind. He begins by exploring the obstacles to awakening, naming five main ways we keep ourselves from bliss:

1. Through our attachment to suffering.
2. Through our habitual need to be doing something.
3. Through our need to know.
4. Through our need to create meaning.
5. Through our projections about what unconditional awareness is or isn’t.

Remove the obstacles and what has been there all along is finally revealed.

“What are the main areas in life where you suffer?” Peter asks on the CD.
I start jotting down the first thoughts that come to mind: expectations about being successful, being recognized being accepted. What suffering I create for myself through wanting any of them, because, no matter how successful I am, how recognized I am, or how accepted I am, it will never be enough.

“Why do you think that it’s happening?” he asks.

Because I don’t accept myself as I am, because I’m terrified that I will fall into a dark, black hole if I stop struggling and achieving.

He then asks, “How do you feel about your suffering right now?”

Fine, I realize. There’s nothing wrong with the suffering being there. Who said that identification with form didn’t bring suffering along with it?

Then it’s time for lunch and a nap. No need to answer the phone, no need to respond to e-mails. What a delight. Although I love my friends, it’s refreshing not to have to talk to them—especially since most of what we talk about is the same stuff we’ve talked about for thirty years. (Only later do I realize that it's me who is keeping things from going deeper).

The minute my poor, wretched, exhausted mind starts to unwind and slow down, a sense of spaciousness begins to open up. It feels like my brain has been in a death spin for the past few months, constantly going over scenarios, trying to figure out what to do with the book, worrying about this and that.

Now it’s time for “no thinking.”