In Retreat: Back in the USSR
Monkey-Mind is the real enemy to meditation. I can’t focus on my breath or anything else for more than a few minutes and then I’m thinking about what I ate for breakfast, or what the vegetarian meal I am about to eat at this retreat (that I didn’t want to go to in the first place) is going to taste like.
As you can see I am not very devout in terms of vegetarianism. As soon as it as an “ism” attached it sounds like an ideology and that could be fascism and I’m reminded of my childhood when I was forced to eat my spinach and I just get upset. I did eat at the Lotus Teahouse on at least three occasions and even at Jane Bond, another vegetarian restaurant, and I actually quite enjoyed the food and the experience. Although other than in my inner monologue, and of course writing about it right now, and my posting on U-tube and my entry on the wall in Face Book, would I ever admit that I ate vegetarian to another human being. Mums the word!
At one of these places my soup appeared to have sausage in it, like that Chinese soup with a real bird’s nest in it. I was as convinced of the authenticity of the meat as I was at seeing a bird’s nest in my soup. I was to discover it was some sort of mock concoction, a surreal version or protein and a cruel trick on the palate. Why should I be surprised as the menu actually read: mock salmon, mock chicken and mock beef. The menu in short was a mockery of everything I had grown to know as sacred especially the proper form of protein.
Although, just today, I had lunch with a vegetarian and I asked him how he kept up his energy level. I cited the fact that my daughter, who is a flight attendant for Jazz Air, and also a vegetarian, discovered the hard way that she did not have enough energy to do her job efficiently. Really, what sort of confidence does it engender when you see the attendant fainting in mid-flight. It’s like the captain coming on the PA system and randomly saying, “There is absolutely no cause for alarm.” And then just signing off to see what sort of reaction he might get. It’s just not done, well maybe on some West Jet flights. They seem to have a sense of humour.
My daughter, started eating chicken, not the mock kind either, this was very real. In response to my question my lunch partner indicated with an interesting piece of rhetoric, “Have you ever seen a cow eat steak?” Other than in a Far Side cartoon I have to admit that I have never seen a cow do that, although I would guess it has crossed their collective consciousness.
At the Buddhist Retreat I find myself sitting on my ass on a bean filled pillow in a remote area of the country listening to a monk chanting and explaining how I should be focusing on my in-breath and out-breath. That is my reality and I am cursed with this constant, rambling monkey-mind as I flash from thought to thought, somewhat like my writing style.
My self-talk or inner monologue goes something like this, “Focus damn it you paid almost $800 for this retreat and you will get something out of the experience if I have to kill you, (I often issue myself with death threats as it is one of the few ways I can take myself seriously), you are on a voyage of discovery and tranquility.” Then the loop from Seinfeld kicks in and plays several times through my mind in which Jerry’s dad is screaming for “serenity now.”
The monk actually makes a lot of sense. He explained in his very subdued intonation, that our brain is like a jar filled with swirling water. The jar, in this analogy, has five holes in the lid. I’m not sure why five. I think each one represents one of the senses. I thought we had six senses, but that might only apply to Bruce Willis. In each of these holes coloured crystals or sand or something, maybe its Kool-Aid, I’m not really sure, is slowly poured in. Eventually, and the point is, all of these coloured crystals, or whatever, blend together to make one colour and that too eventually settles to the bottom of the jar. The swirling is the ‘Monkey-Brain” that all meditators suffer from, but when the swirling stops, and it will stop, you will find yourself transported and in touch with yourself, which may be way too personal, but that after all is the purpose of this retreat, to stop the swirling.
The monk was perfectly framed by the expansive window over looking a wide river valley. On the deck behind the priest, a black cat leisurely stretched and then stalked an invisible creature, probably a mouse, stage left and out of my field of vision. This encounter would likely play out in a life and death scenario in the deep grass.
I was jealous of the cat for its protein lunch and ability to stretch. I listened as the monk alternated between speaking, chanting and silence, God how I learned to hate silence. But what does that say about me? I began my inner journey with the realization that my ass was now numb. My wife poked me and I silently chanted my mantra, ”White Album,” White Album” over and over again until I think I could hear “Back in the USSR” as sung by a heavenly host and praising Hosanna in the highest.
I had made a break through.
I looked into the light. It was pure and sweet. I wept.
Marty Rempel
From the short story collection, “Monkey Mind”
