Retreat

"to be lost is to be fully present, and to be fully present is to be capable of being in uncertainty and mystery. And one does not get lost but loses oneself, with the implication that it is a conscious choice, a chosen surrender, a psychic state through geography." -Rebecca Solnit

This weekend I made time for retreat.  A day to go inward.  When I think of the word retreat, what immediately comes to mind are Mirriam-Webster's main definitions:  

• "the act of withdrawing from what is difficult"
• "the process of receding from a position"

Given the past few weeks, I one might assume this is the form of retreat I was taking.  Battles at work have been taking my time and there is nothing I have wanted to do more than withdrawal.  

But that was not the retreat I had endeavored to take. This retreat was closer to Mirriam-Webster's other definitions. "A place of privacy and safety." "A period of withdrawal for meditation."  

It is interesting to think that the same word that means privacy and safety also means withdrawing, giving in, surrendering.  Because another way I think about retreat is that it gives me a chance to reconnect with myself.  And that is usually some of the most difficult work that I can do.  But it does require surrender.  It is one thing to stand up to a bully at work; it is entirely different to take a good hard look at your own self and sit with all the aches and discomforts that arise once all the distractions are gone.  That chosen surrender is anything but easy. Withdrawal can take you on some pretty deep journeys.

"The problem is not the amount of things you have in your life, it's the attitude. It's your fear of space. Busy-ness in the Tibetan tradition is considered the most extreme form of laziness. Because when you are busy you can turn your brain off."  -Reginald Ray 

Retreat becomes a way to turn your brain back on. It is is turning away from the things that alienate me and moving into the life I want to live.  But it requires getting lost in those deeper spaces within.

When it's a conscious choice, getting lost, in Solnit's assertion, is its own form of retreat. It is a surrender. 

 

Practice Imperfectly into Deep Winter

This is the last day of the juncture into deep winter.   The juncture has taken me into some unexpected places and helped me see that depth is not always what I think it's going to be.  

What do I mean by this? In my mind I had envisioned this juncture to be one in which I would meditate more, journal in solitude, stick to mindful cooking and eating, and revel in the quiet of the coming deep winter. It was anything but that.  I did increase my meditation practice.  And I have been consistently journaling.  I have also included some additional meditative practices, like walking each day.  I had some great days of mindful cooking and eating.  Wonderful days of making curries and soups and kitchari.  But it has been anything but a peaceful journey into deep winter. And I have had to fight for these practices.

Having done this work with clear dedication for about 3 and 1/2 years, I think that some of this work had turned into habit. And this juncture was hell-bent on getting me to feel that. And I mean feel it. 

[Honestly, I was starting to reach the point of boredom in these practices.]

Things were no longer feeling new and exciting and, although my attention span is pretty good, when I hit a repetitive wall, I usually am ready to jump into the next thing. During this juncture I have been presented with a number of intrusions and challenges that reminded me that cyclical processes are not boring if you approach them with fresh eyes.

[A week ago, when I lamented that my journaling was feeling repetitious and boring, a fellow practitioner said to me, "when things start to feel boring and you grow tired of your internal dialogues, that is when you know a true transformation is about to happen."]

In particular, I have had numerous work and personal challenges that have taken my time and challenged me to find new ways to keep my practices alive. I have had to work hard to keep my personal time for my juncture practices, and oftentimes, it has limited how much time I can spend in meditation, cook dinner, and do my journaling.  In all that time, I felt like I was not staying true to my practices, but as I reflect back over the past couple of weeks, I see how frequently I have been bringing the practices into the challenging spaces of work. How frequently I have been creatively making time to do the work that means so much to me.  Sometimes it means I take five minutes after a terrible meeting to listen to an intentionality recording. Or it means I leave for my class 20 minutes early and sneak in a walk before class.  Or it means that I journal and read with Matt watching television. 

How I understand this work as I look back, is that I am learning to understand what following ayurvedic tenets feels like in real time.  I cannot practice perfect in real time.  In the reality of a semester and in the constant deluge of drama that keeps on emerging around me, the practice is imperfect. That is the practice. Practicing imperfection.  What has become clear to me is that practice does not make perfect. And that is exactly what it means to live a whole holistic life. Practice is always imperfect.  As imperfect as a human being like me. 

In my moments of frustration, I return to a practice that requires me to look at my shadow self. It requires me to take those darker parts of my being that I fear and learn how they help produce the complicated and complex and complete human life I live. Practicing everyday to be imperfect.  Practicing imperfectly into deep winter.  

[A transformation has started to happen. I am seeing those dark spaces with a degree of compassion that I have never felt before.  I can see how I'm ready to delve into something new in myself.  I have my work cut out for me in this deep winter season.]