Seriously. But, really, seriously; I have no idea what I’m about to go through these coming days. As you read this, I will be still in a silent retreat in a pagoda in Battambang, Cambodia. I have done silent retreats before, but of my own. I have, twice, left the house (with Kobi’s blessing) and just sat alone in a client’s underground basement home, in a neighboring small town, where I knew no one. I would sleep days, nights, days, all mixed up and however my body desired; walk for hours, in silence; read whole books at a time; and be, in silence. I would write- one time I actually went through six pens in those 6 days. I would write, until I’d fall asleep in bed, only to be arisen again at 4 am, to keep writing. I wrote about my pain, and pealed layers of if off, slowly, one layer at a time. I cried a lot, too. I also wrote some of my most inspired work- one of which is the 70% completed draft to Burnt Honey: A Practical, but Spiritually Enlightened Parenting Guide.One day, I know, it will see the light of day.
And so, I am about to go to my to my first official one. Before we left home for this voyage, I knew two spiritual things that I wanted: to do a ten day vipasana, and to buy and learn to use Tibetan bowls. So, I’m off to get one done, full knowing now, already, that I want to do another when we get to India, and another in Nepal. I am reading to jump in and scrub my soul in its deepest corners and corridors.
There is so much I hope to walk away solved. This is what I’m trying to write about here. What I think I may discover, and what I hope will be the result. Ever wanted to do the human-experiment? Here we go…
I am about to be silent for ten days. That freaks me out beyond measure. I have layers of pain that I know are ready to shoot out and I’m terrified that I will drown it. It’s not deep inside, hidden, and waiting to reveal itself. It is a pain, I carry in my chest everyday; a pain, living, breathing, and just a hair below the surface, crushing me, every day.
Can I breath when I have to sit for ten hours and just sit, just be with it? I can’t write it off-my therapy since Mrs. Leroy’s 7th grade English class where she made us write every day in a journal. (Thank God for Mrs. Leroy and her tacky wearing long skirts with sneakers, which everyone laughed at, but I just thought was cool). I can’t exercise it off- burn through it, sweat it off, allow my pours to cry it out. I can’t garden it, play guitar, it sing it, dance it out of my system. I can only be it. Be with it, look at it, observe it, live it, become it. Damn, am I scared.