On November 24th I embarked on my first ever 10-day silent meditation retreat at a remote location in Colorado. I have been meditating daily for about two and a half years and have seen great benefits in my daily life. I finally had the rare opportunity to drop off the face of the Earth for ten days to explore the workings of the mind in-depth, and I gratefully accepted it.

Vipassana means “to observe” or “to see things as they really are”. That has been the main objective of my meditation practice from the start, so this seemed like the perfect technique for me. This technique not only claims to offer the classic benefits of meditation like increased focus, attention, and wellbeing but also a more interesting benefit: the uprooting of defilements of the mind (like greed, hatred, and ignorance) and the end of suffering.

Ultimately, when taken on fully through years of dedicated practice, this is also the technique to reach the state of total Enlightenment.

I was not shooting for Enlightenment on my first 10-day but I was very interested to see what would happen. What followed was extremely difficult, surreal, and undeniably transformative and positive. I had immense frustrations and incredible peak experiences. I experienced peace in a way I didn’t think was possible. It was one hell of a ride.

The course was put on by the Rocky Mountain Vipassana Association, a branch of the global Dhamma organization that offers free retreats to spread Vipassana meditation practice. The organization is entirely volunteer and donation supported, and they refuse donations from anyone except students who have completed a 10-day course. The practice is supported only by those who have received benefits from the tradition and want to help pay for other’s experience in the future, not their own.

I arrived at the campgrounds the night before the retreat began and had a few hours to meet some fellow meditators before we began observing Noble Silence. This was also where we gave up our phones to be kept safely away from temptation. We were also not to use any reading or writing material, instruments, games, etc. for the duration of the course. Giving up the phone felt quite good actually, but that was when it really sunk in that I was stepping into a different world for the next ten days.

There were about 30 men and 35 women. There was a wide age range (the youngest person I met was 21, the oldest around 70) and people from many ethnicities and backgrounds. Men and women were soon segregated and were to be kept segregated until day 10 of the course to prevent “distraction”. Separate dorms, separate walking and dining areas, bathrooms, etc. The only time men and women saw each other was in the meditation hall: men sitting on one side, women on the other.

After a light meal, we soon entered the meditation hall and took on Noble Silence: no speech, touch, or any form of communication. The silence was to remain absolute for ten days except for a few times each day if you wanted to talk to the teachers about your instruction, or if you needed to talk to the course manager about logistics.

We had a short introductory lecture and met our teacher: the late S.N. Goenka.

S.N. Goenka

Goenka was a Burmese-Indian meditation instructor who was pivotal in spreading Vipassana across the globe. He died in 2013, but he remained the primary course instructor through a series of recorded video lectures and audio instructions. Two assistant teachers sat at the front of the hall, running the course.

If you’ve ever met a very experienced meditator, someone who has spent years on retreat, you might know what I mean when I say Goenka and the assistant teachers had a shocking presence about them. They exuded a sense of focus, calm, ease, and compassion that was nearly tangible. Goenka somehow managed to get this across even without his physical presence, but the assistant teachers were absolutely radiant with the fruits of their practice.

In addition to the silence, students formally agree to five precepts to be followed at all times:

to abstain from killing any being; to abstain from stealing; to abstain from all sexual activity; to abstain from telling lies; to abstain from all intoxicants.

We would be provided breakfast and lunch each day. Old students (anyone who has already completed at least one 10-day course) fasted after lunch until the next morning. New students received a small meal of tea and fruit at 5 pm. Nothing except for water outside of mealtimes. We were advised to only eat until we were about 3/4 full at each meal to aid in our meditation practice. My stomach nearly growled in anger at the advice, but I resolved to do my best.

We then had our first one-hour meditation and retired for the night.

We were housed in dormitory cabins spread around the campgrounds surrounding the central meditation and dining hall. Living with seven strangers, I soon realized not being able to talk made for a peaceful but slightly dysfunctional cabin. I never found out who insisted on keeping the thermostat set to 85 every night, but thankfully I was in the perfect environment to practice acceptance and equanimity in the face of extreme suffering.

Structure

From then on, each day was about the same. We awoke at 4am with the aid of a gong being rung around the campgrounds. We meditated for two hours in the hall. Then breakfast. Three hours of meditation and instruction before lunch. A short break after lunch, and an opportunity to sign up to meet with the assistant teacher for questions. Four hours of meditation and sometimes new instruction from Goenka. Tea and fruit at 5pm. An hour of meditation, then a 1.5-hour video discourse from Goenka. A final meditation and then bed.

All meals were vegetarian, prepared by volunteer old students who have come to serve for all or part of the 10-day course. Though simple, they were normally quite good and nutritious. I definitely did not stop eating at 3/4 full the first few days, but soon I was able to at least not overeat as my body adjusted to the schedule.

The highlight of mealtimes came from a surprising source: the quotes on the ends of Celestial Seasonings tea bags. My only reading material for ten days, I looked forward to those quotes more than I care to admit. And I was always so disappointed when I had a repeat. “No man is an island entire of itself” — Thanks John Donne, just the reminder I needed seven times while I talk to no one for ten days. (My favorite: “How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!” — Emily Dickinson)

During breaks, we were asked to refrain from exercise or any activities that would be distracting to others. I mainly spent my time stretching, walking when the weather permitted, or laying in bed.

It was later explained more explicitly that in many ways the course was an opportunity for us to live as monks for ten days. Our needs were taken care of by the generosity of others, we practiced complete silence, and we took on a simple and structured life. We were allowed the opportunity to dive as deeply into the practice as possible.

Meditation

I was surprised to find out we would not be learning the Vipassana technique until day 4.

I had intentionally not looked up much about the course so I could come in without expectation. I soon found out that before we learned Vipassana we had an important prerequisite: Anapana.

Anapana meditation focuses on respiration, specifically just the sensations felt on the inside and outside of the nostrils, and on the area above the upper lip. For the first two days, we focused on nothing except sensations on that area for the entire 11 hours of meditation each day. Then the area became even smaller: just the area above the upper lip.

The purpose of this practice is to sharpen the mind and hone attention. The idea is that the smaller the area you are concentrating on, the sharper the mind becomes. We were informed this was necessary to even begin the real practice.

The fourth day (which happened to be Thanksgiving) was a big day, and we finally received our Vipassana instructions. After about 35 hours of meditation, I was eager to attend to something more than a few square inches of skin, and I was not disappointed. The Vipassana technique is still focused entirely on one thing: sensation. But now we were to experience that sense throughout our entire body. Beginning at the head, we were to carefully pass our attention over every surface of our body down to our toes. We were to move a few inches at a time, simply noticing whatever sensations were there. This was the practice.

At first, the technique was quite difficult. There were many areas where I did not feel any particular sensation, and the main things I could feel were the pains of sitting for more time than the human body was ever intended. But with continued practice and the concentration developed by 35 hours of Anapana and very few distractions, I soon began to feel sensations in most areas.

I was mainly feeling what the teachers called “gross” sensations: things like pain, intense vibration, deep pressure, itching, etc. Mostly unpleasant sensations, or obvious ones. But with continued practice, my awareness opened to “subtle” sensations: a soft tingling, a slight coolness, a feeling of lightness. These sensations were often described as pleasant.

It was surprising to me that there are always perceptible sensations on every part of the human body. Goenka would sometimes describe the sensations as the vibrations of the subatomic particle components of the body, which seems a little out there to me. But for whatever the reason, due to subatomic vibration, larger-scale biochemical processes, or anything else, there really is a whole world of sensation that is normally tuned out.

The keys to the practice were attention and equanimity. We were to maintain awareness of the sensations during the entirety of every session and to practice indifference to whatever the sensation was. If it’s a good sensation, do not crave or value it. If it’s an unpleasant sensation, do not feel aversion or discomfort. Just experience. Just observe. Remain unattached, as if you were a scientist exploring the sensation in a laboratory.

We were also instructed to notice the most crucial part: the constant changing of the sensations. Anicca (impermanence) was nearly a mantra in our instructions. For gross sensations, that meant noticing that over time any itch or pain would eventually go away or change. An itch here would get stronger, or move over there, or disappear. Constant change.

For subtle sensations, the changing was even more apparent in each second. These pleasant or neutral tingling sensations were perfect representations of impermanence, as each vibration was basically one moment of arising and passing. A fluctuation. Here and then not here, here and then not here. Impermanent, changing.

Soon after these new instructions were given, things turned up to 11: at three one-hour group sittings each day, we were to practice Adhiṭṭhāna, which means Strong Determination. We were to take a posture and not move for the entire hour. Technically, guidelines were no movement of the arms, the legs, or opening of the eyes.

As you can imagine, this primarily meant one thing: Pain.

I had pretty severe upper back pain from about day 3 onward, and this new constraint on movement added terrible hip pain to the mix about 15 minutes into each sitting. My first sitting of Strong Determination went horribly. I must have moved at least a dozen times, and the one hour felt like five. The next sitting was better, and I made it through the whole hour unmoved. It was an empowering practice of will, and it was an effective way of testing and developing equanimity.

Day five was better, but still extremely difficult. I was having to bat away thoughts of quitting, along with the natural thoughts of “what the hell am I doing here” and of the people in my life that I missed. But I was energized by the new practice and to finally be observing more than a few inches of skin. Practicing Strong Determination was sometimes wonderful when I was able to stay peacefully detached from the discomfort, and sometimes horrible as I gritted my teeth and waited for the pain to end.

The technique remained mostly unchanged for the rest of the course, but we were given slightly different instructions each day to help hone the practice. Head to feet. Then feet to head. Sometimes we would feel sensations bilaterally and simultaneously. We would try to feel the sensations flow through the entire body continuously from head to feet, like pouring a bucket of water over your head and feeling it run down. More advanced instructions were given for those at the appropriate level, including expanding awareness to internal sensations as well as surface ones. But no matter the new practice, in every session we would always return to going through the body part by part, piece by piece, so we maintained awareness of sensation globally.

The only significant addition to the practice was that on day 10 we added on about 15 minutes of Metta (loving-kindness) meditation to our regular sittings. Metta is a practice of wishing well to others, as I’ve written about on the blog before. After a normal meditation session, the teacher guided us with short phrases like “may all beings be at peace” as we used our attention to connect with feelings of compassion and kindness.

Notable Experiences

If you plan on doing a retreat, especially doing one soon, I might suggest skipping this section. I came in with a few stories of “peak” experiences that can happen on retreat, and I did my best not to let them color my expectations. However, the mind is prone to craving. So of course, a part of me was wishing for something out of the norm to happen, some psychedelic or interesting experience to emerge from this intense practice. I was not disappointed.

I should first say that, in general, the entire process of the 10-day retreat was an interesting and psychedelic experience. Your normal mode of being, the condition of your consciousness, is just different when you meditate for 11 hours a day and do not talk to anyone. Living in a more constant state of focus and presence was abnormal and quite pleasant, sometimes serene. Yet the mind accommodates to change so quickly, and so each day it was not as if I could put my finger on exactly how different my interaction with the world was. But in retrospect, the entire process feels like an extended, surreal dream.

Each of my meditations was usually much deeper and more focused than my practice at home. But again, I adjusted and my baseline kept resetting to the increased state of focus, so I was not able to appreciate just how different those sessions were until returning home.

On top of this new baseline of concentration, I had a few very interesting experiences during the Adhiṭṭhāna (Strong Determination) sittings without movement.

During one such sitting, we were halfway through the one-hour session and I was moving my awareness toward an area of intense stabbing hip pain, about 8/10 in severity, that had been plaguing me since shortly after we began. As always, I tried to simply experience it with equanimity, with no aversion or desire for it to change. And for once, I seemed to accomplish that perfectly. I simply did not care about it. I experienced it as if it did not even belong to me, just a complex of sensations. And miraculously, as soon as I did that, the pain 99% disappeared.

I still felt the physical sensation of the spasmed muscle, yet the sensations I normally would construe as pain were gone. I went through the rest of the sitting in a blissful state of equanimity, and afterward, I asked our teacher about the experience. His explanation was that the mental component of the pain can disappear with acceptance. It is our resistance to the sensation that creates much of the suffering.

Working in medicine, I know that pain is a complex phenomenon, and our mental interaction with it is often the most salient component. However, to have the direct experience of this myself was incredible and empowering.

It also helped me to better wrap my head around a phenomenon that has always been morbidly interesting to me since I began meditating: self-immolating monks. To be able to set oneself on fire and peacefully sit through the process… it is shocking and terrible, but it leads to the conclusion that pain can be entirely overcome with sufficient concentration. I have no idea how long it takes to get to that level, but to have the smallest hint of that experience with just one body part was an incredible look into that possibility.

On day 7 I had incredible energy and creativity. During breaks, I was composing poems and even songs in my head effortlessly. I thought of an idea for a problem I had been brainstorming for months. It was fascinating, and a testament to what I’ve read in creativity research about the need for “unstructured time” for the brain’s creativity to take off.

Later that day, the most extraordinary event of the retreat happened. During the evening Strong Determination sitting, I was in the zone. My mind was effortlessly tracing through my bodily sensations in the gridlike pattern I had executed dozens of times by this point. I felt deeply concentrated and totally equanimous to each sensation. I just accepted, observed. As per our instructions, I noticed how each sensation was continually changing.

My concentration deepened and my mind continued scanning the body on auto-pilot. I soon felt an unbelievable, overwhelming sense of happiness arise. It then turned to euphoria. Part of my mind was still thinking: “this is one of those peak experiences!”, “don’t get attached to it, they warned you about this”, “just keep scanning”… and so I just kept scanning. The less I cared about what was happening, the deeper and more blissful it became. I could effortlessly feel every sensation in my body. It did not feel like I was sitting in a meditation hall, it was like I was on my own planet.

I would also call it a self-less experience, or an ego-loss/ego-death experience. I lost a sense of ownership for the sensations, or the emotions, or the thoughts for that matter. No attachment to them. They just were.

I was soon having to restrain the urge to burst into laughter and break the perfect silence in the meditation hall. Tears of joy began silently streaming down my face. After what felt like hours, but was likely about 30 minutes, the gong rang and I slowly opened my eyes and came back to reality.

I left the hall with the biggest smile on my face in days.

When I came in for the next sitting after a 10-minute break, I was quite eager to see what would happen. As I closed my eyes, I felt like the entire hall was spinning furiously around me, yet I did not get dizzy. I continued my body scanning and the spinning soon diminished, and I felt the euphoria slowly recede throughout the following session.

Despite all the warnings I had heard about what happens after these blissful experiences, I could not prevent my mind from craving a return to that state. And of course, since the goal of the practice is equanimity and non-attachment, craving made returning to that peak experience entirely impossible. I was frustrated, but it was hard to put too much of a damper on my mood.

On day 8, I had several similar experiences, but instead of euphoric, they were more characterized by profound peace and contentment.

I should also say that from day 7 onward it was not uncommon to hear sobbing in the meditation hall. Sometimes people had to leave the room, other times they kept on meditating. Without talking, it was difficult to know what was going on, but my impression from talking to people afterward was that these were mostly from powerful and cathartic experiences, and likely not tears of boredom.

Theory

So, you might be wondering, how does experiencing sensations on your body lead to these interesting experiences, uprooting defilements, the end of suffering, and reaching an enlightened state of inner peace? Great question. Luckily, this was addressed in our evening discourses. The theory is simple, elegant, and fascinating.

As regular readers of this blog will know, diving deeply into theory is one of my favorite activities. And I had A LOT of time to think this over. I can only speculate as to just how many paragraphs of this post I wrote in my head during the retreat only to have them erased by time. Oh well, everything is impermanent… but blog posts live forever, so this section will be a long one.