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.