Meditation retreat in Chiang Mai

Jane Burrows spent a week on meditation retreat at Wat Tham Doi Dawn, a forest retreat southwest of Chiang Mai, and recounts her experience.

Many visitors come to Thailand to fulfil their imagination. They come to stuff their mental photo album full of impressions and memories. Perhaps they go home with exotic images of glistening temples and ancient chedis, or the unusual odours of a bustling food market and incense soaked shrines. It could be a heart-melting Thai smile or a breathtaking coastal vista – whatever your adventure here it’s almost impossible to leave Thailand without, at least, something to think about.

But, I left with nothing. Well, not entirely nothing, but certainly very little in the way of memories. And if I had, then surely I would’ve failed in my endeavour. While others were out toting cameras and riding elephants I was seated perfectly still. As they tucked into sumptious Thai curries I fasted, and while they amused themselves with go go bars and cultural performances I stared blankly into the recesses of my mind – spring cleaning it with an imaginary feather duster that took every inch of my discipline to wield.

Entering a temple for a meditation retreat is an increasingly popular activity among foreigners to Thailand, and several temples across the country have developed programmes specifically for English speaking practitioners. And so I came to spend a week confined to a small kuti (hut), eating a single meal per day and meditating for up-to ten hours each day. Believe me, it wasn’t easy or relaxing.

“Your entire focus should remain on your breathing” the Ajarn (instructor) told us on our first day, “not just the intake of air but the actual point it enters you nose, so that you feel the draft on your nose hairs, that is the only thing in the whole world you should be aware of”. With that in mind we were left to get on with it. There was no further instruction or team work exercises, for the teachings of this particular monk were both simple and subtle. “Breath in slowly on a count of three. Pause for two counts. Breath out on the count of three. Pause for two counts. Breath in on the count of three…” and so it went on. If this was the way to some enlightenment or revelation then I had better find a lot more patience.

In hindsight I came to understand his wisdom, for meditation involves very little in the way of action. There are methods, yes, but the essence of many them is quite simple – to empty your mind or keep it focused on a single thought. Of course I hadn’t found that insight just yet and so I followed the instructions, somewhat bewildered and frustrated. We had all been given a quick tutorial on how to sit comfortably, for it is important to be comfortable in the lotus position if you are to spend ten hours of the day wrapped up like a human piece of origami, but most of us appeared to struggle immediately with numbed legs and aching backs. Herein lay another hidden lesson that Ajarn was later to reveal to us, but for the time being we suffered.

Suffering, he taught us on day two, was part of human nature. It was the first of four noble truths taught by the Buddha. That was the second day’s lesson. I hadn’t slept well on the hard wooden floor of the kuti and certainly wasn’t feeling comfortable or relaxed, but I guess I wasn’t exactly here on vacation. Ajarn had politely enquired after our thoughts on how day one had gone, but it was brief and so was lesson. Back to the meditating. “It is perfectly normal for thoughts to enter your mind while you are meditating. This is human nature” he said in a droll, matter-of-fact voice “the objective is to catch those thoughts before your imagination and mind do something with them. Softly let them go and return to a state of emptiness.” Guide to Thai Buddhism

But day one hadn’t been quite that easy. Thinking back, for remembering what I was experiencing at the time wasn’t exactly encouraged, the first few days were certainly the toughest. Within 10 minutes I wanted to give up. I became restless and uncomfortable. Thoughts of my real life, out ‘there’ somewhere, kept jumping into my mind – excitement of a strange and unusual place full of new sights, smells and sounds. Of course it’s nearly impossible to suddenly sit down for an hour at a time staring at your navel when you’ve never done this before. I took a break after 10 minutes. Ten minutes became fifteen. Then more breaks, sitting silently while around me in the small temple where others sitting motionless and oblivious to me as they too ‘wound down’ the clock.

It wasn’t long before my mind began to become philosophical I guess. I thought about how fast paced our lives are and how obvious it becomes when you can’t even get through ten minutes of nothingness. By the end of the day I was suffering some pretty strong emotions. I was already dreaming up excuses and lies on how to make an early exit from the retreat without losing face. At the end of the session no one spoke to each other, as you would on a conventional camp, for that would simply ‘fill your mind with garbage’ as one of the junior monks had aptly put it. It was a lonely task. There was no ‘break out’ relief, just the dull anti-climax of returning silently to the rock hard floor of my claustrophobic 8 square feet kuti in the forest.

So why would anyone put themselves through this unpleasant ordeal. The answer to this would take a few days yet to arrive, and by now I was counting hours in boredom – there were still five whole days left of this. But the first glimpse of appreciation is the moring meal you take after the abbot and monks have helped themselves. There is a heircarchy here and women eat last, it’s nothing personal but Buddhist establishments are strictly traditional. I’ve never been an avid vegetarian but this simple food never tasted so good. When you’re seated and inactive all day your apetite fades anyway. After breakfast we each had an assigned chore and herein lies another meditation lesson.

“Like this” the junior monk shows me kindly, with a genuine smile. He demonstrates the sweeping motion of the broom. I notice his meditative focus, the way he deliberates on the patch of leaves beneath him, and I start to understand the concentration he places on the steady movement of the handle and the small perfect path it leaves on the ground. I realise that my mind had been on rock music as I absently swished away. Later, in a moment of further contemplation I realised that his smile wasn’t a deliberate act of friendship to gain my interest, but a concerted effort of focus to keep positive and happy and it reminded me of the grinning face of the Dalai Lama on the cover of his books. Then I realised that this too was a distraction of thought and I returned my attention to the leaves. Now I was beginning to get it.

Day three and I was beginning to get used to the endless hours of sitting motionless. Everything improves with practice and so it was that I could now shut out everything from my thoughts for long periods. My existence had become boring, my outside world forgotten and now I was beginning to feel the benefit of meditation. Ajarn now began to unravel his cryptic lessons, as if it was all methodically planned. He explained that our minds are endlessly challenged by the influence of thoughts. They arise from the experiences around us and we find ourselves thinking about anything but the present moment.

Ah, ‘the present moment’. Now there’s a key element of meditation. In my ‘pre-retreat’ interest I had taken the time to read up about Buddhist meditation and ‘living in the present moment’ seemed to be a central theme. Ajarn was right of course. We spend our lives deaydreaming on memories or future wishes and we fail to concentrate fully on what we are presently doing. We make mistakes, forget things, say and do wrongly to those around us. His morning lecture – as we sat at his feet like kindergarten children – was certainly astute. He let us with the thought of ‘remaining mindful at all times’.

And so the days ticked by, with mindfulness uppermost in our minds, so that we had little room for anything else going on around us. Soon we were to even learn walking meditation as a tool for the Vippasana Buddhist meditation techniques we were practicing. So mindful were we, that we end up spending long periods simply concentrating on our walking, each movement of the feet, the feeling of grass against our soles, the pace of movement – counted out in fours – and above all, an empty mind focused on a single present movement.

If I had expected some kind of peaceful, friendly, relaxing course, then I was wrong. Getting through the week wasn’t easy but I succeeded where several others failed. Every day another of the kutis around me became empty as others gave in and left early. Others, I came to learn, spent a whole month there. The cost was minimal, just a small donation, but the basic facilities were clean and hygienic. All I arrived with was two sets of lose white cotton clothes and some toiletries.

Finally, by the fifth and sixth day I was achieving almost 10 hours of proper meditation, mixing the various techniques we had been taught. All monks arise at 4am to begin, and so it was with us. Sitting silently in your kuti meditating in the dark takes a little courage and discipline but by sunrise you certainly feel like you have achieved something. After breakfast the walking meditation would help us get focused, then there would be seated meditation and maybe group meditation and chanting in the evenings, using the mantras we had been taught. Of course, along the way we learnt some valuable lessons in Buddhism to help understand the nature of human emotions, but never did the religion encroach on our own personal beliefs. Even when we returned to our beds we were encouraged to meditate on our every movements. And so, gradually, we descended deeper into an understanding of our true selves, my emotions became more settled and any fear, anxiety or negativity I had brought with me seemed to fade. Thai culture guide

On a bright sunny morning, after a final chat with Ajarn, I checked out. There was nothing ceremonious about it. Together with four others we silently filed out of the temple grounds and into a waiting mini-bus. We spoke little – I for one was cherishing the noticeably peaceful demeanor – and took away with us a unique and rewarding experience. I recall the lovely silence in the temple, the sense of space and expanse of lawn. The was the large Bodhi tree and simple forest temple, clearly designed for low key practical use. I noticed all these things now, there was time for this as I had little else on my mind. At last I felt I could really see. And despite the tough challenge of spending a week on a meditation retreat I really had no regrets I had done this.