January 30, 2025

I love being on retreat! I love the structure and focus of the schedule, and I love the way my mind feels when it gets calm and concentrated. I am filled with immense gratitude that I was able to get away for a month again in December and January to dive into the solitude and support of the Dharma Sanctuary in Kula. Of course, my experience was very different from the last time I was there two years ago. As an expression of the law of change and impermanence, the land was brown and crunchy after a long dry spell when I arrived a few days after Christmas. After one severe thunder-storm and many days with rain, everything was once again green, lush and blooming by the time I left at the end of January. This was true of my heart as well.

Another big change was Steve’s health. I had seen him occasionally online, smiling and waving to the faithful attendees of the Wednesday morning sitting group. It is still a miracle that he is alive almost 8 years after a glioblastoma diagnosis. In person, I learned that while still cancer free, he had suffered some collapsed vertebrae about a year ago, which left him stooped and twisted, walking slowly with a cane. He still came down to the hall for the group sittings twice a day but had more difficulty getting up and down from his sitting cushion. I watched my mind and heart want to help him, as I often do with Michael. I also watched and learned as Kamala let him fend for himself. When I met with him for the  twice-weekly teacher interviews, or “check-ins” as they called them, he seemed to have more cognitive difficulty with short term memory and superficial worldly chat. But when we talked about meditation and my practice, he was as clear and sharp as ever, always giving me an instruction that was exactly what I needed in that moment. Kamala, at 77, seemed as strong and healthy as ever, handling everything with apparent grace and ease.

After a short stop-over in LA and a great visit with my sister, I easily settled into a calm and focused state upon arriving at the sanctuary. I was staying in the Yurt this time, nestled farther back on the property, away from the dazzling views of the ocean and sparkling lights of the tourist towns. I had my own hot shower in a separate small bath house, and a lovely garden with a table, chairs and umbrella where I could have my meals. I feel like I am aware and mindful a lot of the time in my regular routine at home and at school, so I just kept going once in Paradise. Of course there were challenges. Body dukkha: constipation, as always on retreat – how many prunes are enough to get things moving without causing too much gas? Drink more water, but then pee more and clean out my composting toilet more frequently. Self-view: Steve’s curved spine made my own curved spine more prominent in my experience, and it took a while to find a comfortable sitting posture. Greed: ripe avocados from the orchard were available at every meal but without riding my bike 100 miles a week, I wasn’t burning enough calories to justify eating them three times a day. I finally gave up the delicious banana/avocado smoothies I was making every afternoon. Fear and worry: the crazy thunder and lightening storm one night provided a great venue for working with equanimity: is this yurt sturdy enough for this wind? If a tree falls on it would it collapse? What about a flash flood coming down the hill?  Should I get dressed, or just stay in bed? Am I overreacting? It actually was a really severe storm, and the retreat manager came by once it stopped, to check on everyone and make sure we were OK. I was impressed and grateful that the Yurt kept me dry and safe.

As usual on retreat, I started looking for something special to happen. I felt a lot of calm and equanimity most of the time. Isn’t that enough? Just keep going and enjoy it. When I really let go of thinking about the cool things that have happened on other retreats, or trying to have some insight, of course that’s when interesting things started to happen. I saw the distinction of seeing color, shape and movement, and perceiving “bird.” I felt the sensation on my skin, heard the sound of leaves moving, watched clouds rolling by and recognized the perception of wind. It seemed very clear and simple, just seeing, just feeling, just hearing, just thinking. At a meeting with Steve I said, “so if there is no meditator, and no observer, then where does the narrator or coach chatting away in my head come from?” He said, “they aren’t important, no need to engage with them. Just don’t pick that up.” A day or two later, as I was sitting in the hall and the coach was chatting away, I thought “if there is no meditator, then who doesn’t engage with the coach, who doesn’t pick that up?” Like stepping off a cliff, I was suddenly expanding in all directions to infinity and imploding into infinite smallness at the same time – whoaaaaa, cool. It was a bit scary at first, but then I settled into the sensation and it felt really amazing and lasted more than a few moments. When I described this to Kamala the next time I saw her, she smiled and said, “you are seeing things come apart. It’s good.” I have had similar experiences before, but not exactly like this. In a book by U Tejaniya that I found in the Yurt, he advises not to look for special experiences to happen, or catalogue special experiences you have had because there are always new things to see, and they will each be different than what you have seen before. I found that extremely helpful and encouraging. 

Shortly after that cool experience, I had an amazing close encounter with my favorite bird, the Japanese Bush Warbler. After desperately wanting to see this bird two years ago and learning, after I came home, that it was typically very shy and difficult to spot, I had accepted that I would not look for it but just enjoy its beautiful song. One morning as I was sitting under some scrubby trees overlooking the ocean, I heard the warbler singing not far from my chair. Then I heard it move to a closer tree, and finally it sounded as if it was right next to me. No, don’t look for it, the coach advised. But then after quite a while of just listening, I did open my eyes and I saw the bird, perched on the top branch of the tree just above my head. It threw its head back, opened its beak and sang its glorious song, then flew away – absolutely thrilling!  Wow. The next day as I was walking on my favorite morning track, I saw the warbler again, scuffling around in the brush under a tree, singing its squeaky wheel song. I did bring small binoculars with me this time and I very slowly retrieved them from my bag and watched and listened for a long while enjoying the gift of this special glimpse. Another day, I used the optics to look out at the boats on the ocean and I actually saw whales breeching. Incredible. Wow, when you get really quiet and calm and don’t expect anything, all kinds of amazing things present themselves. 

The day before I left, I was sitting in the hall and the narrator started chatting, “if everything is arising and passing away, where does it come from, and where does it go? Is there some sort of Amazon warehouse where they keep everything until it is needed and then it goes back there after it does its thing?” And then the answer came – “no, everything is here and not here at the same time, all the time. Form is emptiness, emptiness form, you know, as they say in the Prajna Paramilta.” Yes of course. But then when I got up from sitting to walk, the really interesting thing was that everything was just as it was – the sun warm on skin, the sky clear and blue and the ocean calm; the dappled sunlight through the trees looked like that and the warbler’s song sounded like that, but there was no sense of pleasant. There was no clinging at all and it actually felt a bit odd. These are perfect conditions, all my favorite things, but no pleasant, just this. I walked for a long time and then started to feel a bit of doubt. Where is the joy? Is this right? I sat on the grass for another hour and when I opened my eyes everything looked lovely and my heart filled with delight. OK this seems more normal. When I described this to Steve and Kamala the next day as we had our final meeting, they looked at each other and exchanged a knowing smile. Then they presented me with a Ti tree lei and we hugged warmly.

Since coming home from Maui, I have felt surrounded by a buffer zone of equanimity as terrible things happen in the world. I have felt calm and more patient and accepting of Michael’s physical and cognitive limitations. “This is the way it is” Kamal had said about Steve. I have felt a tremendous appreciation for our house, our jobs, our financial situation, and our loving companionship. I think back on that experience of things just as they were without the attachment of pleasant and let its clarity and power carry me along. I know the world will eventually seep in and cause liking and not liking, irritation and aversion, desire and attachment. But maybe it won’t be quite as strong.