Equanimity

Maggie
Aug 24
4 min read

Last Tuesday, I began my pilgrimage to Kripalu in western Massachusetts. I drove to DC and spent the night there to catch my non-stop flight to Albany the next morning. Kripalu is just over an hour drive from the Albany airport, which, like Richmond is an “International” airport. It isn't much larger than Richmond either, which makes it easy to navigate.

A steady rain fell as I made my way to Kripalu on quiet backroads. I honestly welcome rain when rolling into Kripalu - it’s as if the universe is granting permission to me to slow down and pause. It’s saying, “Rest.” The final road to Kripalu is “Richmond” (specifically, Richmond Mountain) which struck me as ironic - particularly since this was my second trip to Kriplau since moving to Richmond.

I had booked this trip to Kripalu back in May, registering for a silent retreat - but arriving early to participate in Kripalu’s retreat and renewal programming (which is always fantastic - I highly recommend).

Let’s talk about the silent program in this post (yes - I see the irony). I didn't really know what I was getting into and it was probably better that way. I thought I’d been on a silent retreat before - a day hosted on a farm in Virginia. Once the host of this retreat began explaining the weekend ahead of us, I realized this was something entirely different. The guidance provided was to not read, not write, not listen to music, podcasts, or books. No speaking to others - even non-verbally. And no speaking to ourself. Just be in stillness and silence - with our own thoughts. Ugh.

There were approximately 20 of us - 3 men and the rest women. Our host patiently got us set up to sit comfortably, and still, for the weekend meditation sessions (there would be many). As I experimented with how to best sit in a way that would support stillness, a participant observed me from across the circle and offered some input, referring to me as “fleshy”. This is not untrue but it made me look forward to the part when they, not small themselves, would have to stop speaking. Our host patiently answered all our questions.

“When we're on a break, we’re still quiet. Right?” One tall, 6 ft 7.5 inch, man inquired.

Yes. Still quiet.

“So…when does the quiet part begin?” the same tall man asked.

It began as soon as we were able to begin that night. I called Andrea.

“Our host’s name is Hawah.” I said.

“Challah?! Like the bread?” Andrea asked.

“No - H-A-W-A-H.” I spelled.

I hung up and decided I’d settle into the silence. That lasted until I walked down to the shower and realized I’d forgotten my towel in my room.

“Shit.” I said, then realized I had spoken and fought the urge to say ‘shit’ once more before trekking back to my room for a towel.

Haweh (not Challah) is a meditator of the mindset that one should be completely still while meditating. Have an itch? Ignore it. Discomfort? Ignore that too. This is not how I meditate but was determined to follow the guidance Haweh offered. Having said that - I hadn't realized how I reflexively scratch an itch without even consciously thinking I’m going to do that.

Haweh does understand how our monkey minds swing from thoughts of the future to thoughts of the present. My monkey mind was swinging from one branch to another…

I should pack my suitcase tonight - I’m not a great morning person. Wait. Ahhhh. My brain is in the future. Come back here, brain. I have a pain in my left hip. Maybe if I move a little? Stop fidgeting! Stillness! Stillness and liberation. Oh my god. Someone is snoring! Imagine if I went over there and gave their foot a little kick? Hahah. That’s terrible - but not as bad as thinking of placing this pillow over their face. I wouldn’t do that. Dammit. I’m doing it again. Thank you, snorer.

We break from that “sit” and Haweh speaks about equanimity - which is a state of mental balance and even-mindedness. It involves maintaining inner calm and stability regardless of external circumstances. I think he’s talking about the snorer but can’t be certain. I mean - sure, Haweh looks gorgeous and beatific, but maybe the snorer was getting under his zen skin.

We sit again. And again. At times, my brain goes silent. It’s like it flatlines for a moment and then wham! Back into the past, then rocketing into the future.

I have that meeting on Monday. I’m still annoyed by that situation …

My brain supplies bullet points for the meeting.

Future. Future. Be here now. Where you are. Ass on this pillow. I think my foot is falling asleep. See? My foot being asleep? That’s the goddamn present moment! Ah ha!

Saturday evening, around 615 PM, I’m eating dinner, alone and in silence and feel kind of… sad? Lonely? I stay with the shitty feeling and the shitty feeling passes as shitty feelings tend to do.

Sunday morning, I awake and begin packing the rest of my things. I can’t find a sneaker but know it has to be somewhere in the small room with me. I peer under the bed. Nope. I pick the suitcase up, “Ah ha!” I shout in victory. I’m doing this wrong….

Back on the cushion, in silence, my mind is less busy. We break the silence in a vulnerable and beautiful way. My eyes water as I look into a woman’s tear filled eyes - she had come to the retreat after loss, grief, and then, happiness - her first baby.

After the retreat, I pass another participant in the hallway. She approaches me.

“Are you in healthcare? Are you a therapist?” She asks.

“Oh, no. Human Resources. Sometimes it’s like therapy.” I offer in response.

“I felt so safe and comfortable with you.” She says.

I thank her and decide that maybe there’s hope for me after all.

(Tune in tomorrow for my R&R report - where I describe my attempt at archery. It’s as hilarious as it sounds).