For those who believe, no words are necessary.
For those who do not believe, no words are possible.

~Attributed to Saint Ignatius in Think of an Elephant : Combining Science and Spirituality for a Better Life (2007) by Paul Bailey, but earlier attributed to Franz Werfel, Philippine Studies (1953) by Ateneo de Manila, p. 269; also in Everest : The Mountaineering History (2000) by Walt Unsworth, p. 100.

I spent October 6-13, 2019 at a Deep Spring meditation retreat at Oakwood Retreat Center in Selma, Indiana. Great advice on how to respond to the question if you had a good retreat is to simply smile and say, “It was Divine.”

Truly, for those who have a practice of Vipassana (mindfulness), no words are necessary. For folks who admit to being terrified by the mere mention of seven days and seven nights of silence there are no words possible to describe the depth of experience.

This is from the Deep Spring website: A meditation retreat is a wonderful opportunity to experience our own inner being while sharing in the support of others. Mindfulness throughout the day will be a focus, with alternating periods of sitting and walking practice. The retreat will be held in silence, free of conversational talking. This kind of retreat may not be appropriate for all people. If you have concerns about your emotional stability under the pressures of a deeply introspective meditation experience, please discuss your concerns prior to registering.

More specifically, this was our week’s schedule: First sitting 6:30 am. Breakfast at 7:30 am. 8:45 instruction and sitting. 10:15 walking meditation. 11:00 am sitting. Noon lunch. 2:00 sitting. 2:45 walking meditation. 4:15 various afternoon programming. 5:15 dinner. 6:30 pm evening sitting. 7:15 dharma talk. 8:30 final sitting. 9:00 rest. (It is almost incomprehensible that one could lie awake staring into the darkness much of the night after such full days, but we often did.)

The theme of this retreat was experiencing light within the darkness. Sunrises were exquisite!

We were guided to stay present with the aversion or dislike, the wanting to escape. You can hold attention skillfully with openness of heart. Being present with kind attention, you are including everything in your experience.

It was easy to see beauty within destruction on the Oakwood campus because they sustained severe wind damage a few weeks ago. The bridge between the meditation hall and the teaching space was roped off, but brave meditators ducked under the “CAUTION” tape and gingerly tiptoed across to the other side.

Breath-taking beauty resulted from branches having been cut off a pine tree.

Perhaps it is true that beauty grows up through the cracks of our pain.

People came to this retreat with genuine human burdens: incurable cancer, Alzheimer’s disease, history of abuse, addiction, loneliness, anger, sadness, grief, physical pain.

And we each sat with what we brought…. sitting in meditation is done for relief for all sentient beings.

Pain. Unpleasant. Fear.

We were instructed to understand the difference between armoring and shielding. It is very appropriate to shield. We appropriately shield without moving into a place of armoring. Shielding with physical pain might mean applying some arnica cream or taking an aspirin.

The armor does not just appear. There is a feeling ‘unsafe.’ There is a wanting to armor. There is a wanting to feel safe. There are stories made up.

On Tuesday morning I noticed I had been gently rocking back and forth as I sat in the instruction periods. I vividly remembered having done that often as a child, and even into my adulthood, to comfort myself.

“Hindrances come as stepping stones to awakenings,” our teachers assured us.

The Buddha said, “It it were not possible, I would not ask you to do it.”

I reflected about so many of the attendees sharing deep agony of their habit patterns of self-loathing and self-criticism. I wrote in my journal: Perfection is present in every stage. The perfection of an infant only capable of lying and being held. The perfection of a toddler beginning to walk. A preschooler running with abandon. Teenagers active with hormones raging. A mother walking a child to the bus. A grandmother being helped to walk down the street. Every age has its inherent beauty.

I was given this focus for my practice: “You love so deeply. You support so many. But you often ask, ‘Did I do enough? Could I have done more?’Spend this week really feeling what it is to truly cherish yourself. You are enough. Cherish yourself.”

Thursday afternoon we had darshan with the Mother. There were very few words spoken. I wrote these down.

What if there were no right or wrong?

You are loved. You don’t have to earn that love.

You carry family karma. You did not cause it, but you must tend to it because you carry it.

I wrote in my journal: I set my intention for total relief of the karma of sexual guilt.

People found ways to skillfully process the heavy emotions. Like this art on the table in the dining hall:

I wrote a haiku.

Shadow Haiku

Stink bug in window
Its shadow toys with my mind
Are there one or two?

Who leads? Who follows?
Shadow looms larger than life
Illusion brings fear

Lips curl in a smile
Such games the light plays with me
I let myself play

Bees buzz and birds fly
Butterflies flit and then land
So brief their sweet lives

Does some distant God
Watch with curiosity
As I move through life

Perhaps we are all
Light and shadow just dancing
Nothing ever dies

Debra Basham
10/08/2019
Oakwood Retreat

I wrote “Am I Enlightened” and shared it at the campfire when we were invited to share about our week:

Am I Enlightened?

Many people have said I’m the most enlightened human being they’ve met. I don’t know what enlightenment is.

Am I enlightened because I think to close the door softly when my roommate is sleeping? Or when I pick up a piece of trash remembering the day the sheet of paper was sucked off the front seat of my van while I was driving on the highway leaving me with no way to retrieve it?

Am I enlightened when I taste the soil and the sun, and the sweat from the hands of the laborer, and the smoke from the cigarette held by the yellow-stained fingers of the delivery man on the bread I toasted dark brown and slathered with jam?

Am I enlightened because I celebrate like a 2-year-old every time I poop? Am I enlightened because I find no satisfaction in getting even or getting done?

Am I enlightened because I have felt a baby’s birth and an elder’s death and I know they are the same?

Am I enlightened because I crawl into bed at night saying, “I love my bed,” humbled knowing based on national reports, it’s estimated that no less than 150 million people, or about 2 percent of the world’s population, are homeless, and about 1.6 billion, more than 20 percent of the world’s population, may lack adequate housing?

Am I enlightened because unloading silverware from the dishwasher and putting it into the drawer, I hear the bell that rings calling us to meditation when I am on retreat?

Am I enlightened because I remember I am walking on the home of ants and moths and moles as I walk across the grass still wet from the morning dew?

Am I enlightened because I heard Ella tell me hers was a perfect incarnation for someone who desired to feel loved and wanted every second of their life as I was making the hour drive to be at the hospital to baptize her knowing a baby born with anencephaly might be stillborn or survive only a few hours to a few days after birth?

Am I enlightened? I do not say I am for I know wisdom and kindness and ignorance and cruelty and I know I am none other than All That Is.

Debra Basham
10-11-2019
Oakwood Retreat