March 15, 2026

I returned to Forest Refuge for another two-week retreat in early March. Over 20 inches of snow covered the ground when I arrived, but as usual, with the drastically changeable early spring weather in New England, it was all gone by the time I left. In between we had two ice storms, wind, fog, rain, and two sunny beach days with temps near 70. A familiar cast of characters was in attendance to practice with Rebecca Bradshaw and devon hase, and I once again signed up to lead the metta chanting at the early morning sitting. Devon seemed to remember me from two years ago as she looked right at me in the hall and announced “we have singers here” in her opening instructions on chanting. In my first interview with her, we had a lovely reunion as I described the interesting things that happened in my final days on Maui over a year ago. I was interested in her take on it. “Oh, that sounds like deep equanimity” she said, seeing things just as they are without attachment or pleasant or unpleasant… “no wonder Steve and Kamala got excited. Try to notice when there is an absence of pleasant or unpleasant.” I settled into a relaxed and even state of calm, with a good amount of equanimity and enjoyed the cold, grey snow and ice.

         When I met with Rebecca a few days later, we also had a lovely reunion, and she remarked on the deep equanimity which she had heard about from devon. Hummmm, teachers usually stay neutral about the “special” experiences students describe. Was this so much more special that they had actually talked about it??? I was practicing with the “no one not doing anything” I had experienced the last time I was here, also the “welcoming everything” that Ajhan Sumedho recommends in the talks my Dhamma Farers reading group are discussing. It felt pretty normal and easy, even as I had the usual body aches and eating  challenges wth too much delicious food. I was also having a lot of sleepiness. Rebecca said that equanimity is one of the more low-energy enlightenment factors and I could turn up the joy or investigation factors to find more balance. In her first dharma talk, devon had ended with the question “is emptiness empty, or full of love?” I have loved that question for a long time and invited it into my practice. One night after that, I awoke to a clear understanding that the awareness that welcomes everything is metta, or allowing, or unconditional love. It felt cool and bright, like the full moon that was shining down on the frozen landscape. Another night when I was awake in the wee hours, I had an experience of my body vibrating and dissolving into a quantum soup of the stuff that makes up everything. When I described this to devon, she said that the universal stuff could be called love. Humm, I’m not quite knowing it like that yet. It was interesting to walk around seeing solid objects and quantum soup existing at the same time. It wasn’t scary or disorienting, but more like “of course!” Everything belongs – how could it not?

It was not so easy to walk around outside, however. The trails through the forest were treacherous and icy, and I avoided them most of the time. On the warm sunny days when I longed for the beauty of the woods, the melting snow gave way in unpredictable ways, causing either slipping on the icy surface or sinking down up to your knees. It was a comical adventure but left me sweaty and sore. Walking on the road was also challenging with either crusty ice or brown mud on the shoulders and not a lot of room to avoid cars. One day I saw devon and her husband Nico out walking, holding hands. It was not until later that I realized this had precipitated a review of my whole relationship with Michael, a technicolor movie featuring many of the most painful episodes. Yikes, where did this come from!!!??? Luckily, once I recognized the cause, and welcomed the storm of thoughts and images, they dissipated quickly and equanimity returned.

         As the second week started, there was also toilet seat drama: ”Really? You’re at Forest Refuge and supposed to be practicing mindfulness – how can you forget to put the toilet seat down!!!??? Well, you must have some other stuff going on – may you be happy.” There was also meal dana drama: “I put a request in the box last week. Why wasn’t it showing up on the board? Should I say something to someone?” I finally went to the office to inquire and withing an hour, several dedications, including mine, appeared. “Well, you must have some other stuff going on – may you be happy.” 

In the online Wednesday sangha from Maui, Kamala had mentioned a book by her teacher U Pandita, In This Very Life. These were talks he had given at a three-month retreat at IMS back in 1984. I found it in the library and read through it, a bit each day. He systematically described the path of awakening including a typical progression of unfolding insights. “Yup, I’ve seen that, check, I’ve had that experience, yes, that sounds familiar…” I was getting near the end of the book. Humm, what does that mean????? Yeah, familiar habit, trying to figure it out, be a good student, and get the right answer. The chatting in my head was reflecting on the ways of describing nibbana: unborn means something that has not arisen yet, sort of the potential to arise given the right conditions. Deathless means if it hasn’t arisen it can’t pass away. But is there something that endures beyond the sense consciousness that arises with contact? And is there awareness in the unconditioned if there is no sense contact? I shared these musings with devon in my next interview. She responded with a typically brilliant and nerdy comparison of the different approaches to these question from Zen, Tibetan and Theravada Buddhism, but said really, she didn’t know the answer. Even Joseph Goldstein, who has wrestled with these questions for years, finally relaxed his inquiry and decided he would know when he knew. She said this kind of reflecting is the investigation enlightenment factor at work and maybe I could look at the moment of “about to” just before whatever comes next happens. The moment of potential.

I spent the next few days exploring the “about to” moment – before taking a step or a bite of food, before turning around or reaching for something, before sipping my tea. Steve Armstrong, who had finally died in December after eight years with a terminal glioblastoma diagnosis, floated in my mind. I was hearing his voice and seeing his smiling face all through the retreat, but especially now. Just waiting calmly for the next thing to arise, nothing special. Really, could it possibly be that simple? The about to moment started to feel very sweet and quiet and, well, empty, and a lovely place to be. One morning after breakfast I was enjoying about to sip my tea in the pre-sunrise moments of daylight savings. I started noticing a subtle sensation at the base of my throat. I felt the liquid slide down and warm my chest. Then it felt like honey and then it thickened into gooey chocolate. My throat was warm and my chest was glowing, and while it was a cloudy morning outside, inside it seemed as if there was a sunrise happening in my heart. The sensation bloomed and I was engulfed in a delicious golden light. There were no other objects, but there was definitely awareness of the experience. “Oh, this is indescribable bliss and I have never felt this before.” When the experience finally subsided, maybe five or ten minutes later, I had tears trickling down my cheeks, but felt remarkably normal. There was no doubt about this, but also no clinging either. As usual, I wiped down the breakfast tables and walked on the porch before the morning group sitting. When I described this to Rebecca at my final meeting with her, she smiled warmly. I asked for her take and she wisely said, “maybe you don’t have to tag it or define it. The heart is mysterious, maybe just welcome the not knowing.” Wonderful advice.

At the final group sitting the morning I was to leave I was savoring the quiet when I heard some noise behind me. Something dropped, then some unusual vocal sounds and finally the words “help, help.” An older woman sitting in a chair was having a problem and the man next to her was trying to assist. Rebecca jumped up and said, “I’m calling 911!” Lots of flurry, various folks trying to help, the rest of us staying for support…quite soon the EMS team arrived, chatting amicably in full volume and stomping briskly into the hall with their boots on – so unlike the usual energy in that space. The woman was ultimately fine after some strange A-fib symptoms, but they bundled her off to the hospital just to make sure. Rebecca stayed with us in the hall and skillfully guided us back into a more collected, quiet state. Then I got into my car and drove home. Such a strange way to end the retreat, but I suppose everything belongs, even the EMS guys. 

Back at home as I was going through my emails, I noticed that my Ride with GPS summary for February recorded that I had ridden 108 miles – actually a low number due to the bad weather. But it was spooky and significant because my room number at FR the past two weeks had been 108, AND the odometer on my car had been within 108,000 miles as I drove up and back from Barre. Wow! The universe appeared to be telling me something. Maybe I could just welcome it and rest in not knowing what it meant.