A Winter Story

“Oh Jim I need to go.”

“Darling you don’t need to go, you want to go. I get it. You want a break. But, why don’t you go to the beach where it will be warm and you can drink cocktails on the beach? Why go to the mountains in the winter where it will be freezing. It is freezing right here in the Midwest. That seems crazy.”

“Maybe, but I heard this teacher is great. His teachings are authentic and powerful. I think it is just what I need to bring some excitement and perspective to the other practices I have been doing.”

This was six months ago. Jim supported my decision. He always supports my decisions. Now I’m on my way to the Rockies to participate in what is sure to be a magical, life-changing experience. He probably won’t even recognize me when I get back. I’ll be alive…electric. The energy has already started. I can hardly contain myself in this seat, 16 D on American Airlines flight 450 from Chicago to Denver. Oh my gosh! The woman sitting next to me is reading the autobiography of Yogananda. What a great sign! I tell her I love that book. She has a great smile, short red hair, and a firm, compact body. She looks Irish. Her name is Joy (the signs keep coming!) She is headed to the same retreat. It is so great to have someone to share this excitement with! We talk the whole way there. We decide to split the rental car from Denver to Estes Park and on to the YMCA of the Rockies. Everything is going so smoothly. The landing in Denver was a bit bumpy, but we have the car and are on our way. We chant the mantras we know. We talk about yoga, the postures we love, the ones we can do and the ones we can only imagine doing. We laugh about the people who pass gas in class. We both comment on the beauty of the mountains as we drive. Brisk, thin mountain air flows in through our open windows. We breathe it in with conscious gratitude for this moment where we are doing exactly what we want to do, when we want to do it. Obviously it is all meant to be. We are blessed and we know it. We pass through the small mountain towns remarking how cute and charming they are promising to stop on our way back to reality and the airport when we complete our retreat in ten days. We know we will really enjoy it after we are refreshed by the upcoming silence. I ask Joy if she is nervous about ten days of quiet. I confess that I am. She is too. Neither of us has done anything like this before. All at once, a sinking feeling interrupts, followed by an avalanche of doubt. What am I thinking? What am I doing? Shouldn’t I be home with Jim? There is so much to do around the house. And, I’ve used up all of my vacation days. What about that trip to the beach Jim mentioned? All of a sudden it seems colder. I hug my sweater a bit tighter. And then we are here, the retreat center. There are so many people.

To our great surprise Joy and I are assigned to the same room. Once there, we drop our luggage and survey our home for the next ten days. I notice the bed looks small for my tall frame. We decide to rig up the nightstand on the pillow-end of the bed, cover it with a yoga mat (so the pillow won’t slip) and abracadabra, problem solved (giggling about MacGyver as we work).

The first night we attend the satsang with Q & A. No one asks any questions as there is no opportunity. The retreat leader talks for three hours, but makes only this one analogy; a human being is like a wheel, rather than moving constantly with the spokes, stay in the hub of the wheel and be still, quiet, and witness the play of life. I am bored; we’ve all heard this before. I find my eyes drooping, getting sleepy. I notice the swami extends the “s’s” of his words in a hiss like a snake. His voice and his words are hypnotic. I feel anxious about losing control of myself. I open my eyes wider and look around the room at the other participants. They look sleepy too. It does feel good to be in a room of like-minded people, and the scenery…there’s that.

The next morning I can’t wait to get to morning yoga and meditation. I am smiling so big inside. Breakfast is in silence. We eat hot cereal with warm milk and homemade grainy bread, warm and toasty. Smile gets bigger. In the first education session, we sit on the floor waiting for the swami, our retreat leader. He saunters in with his entourage. His presence is calm and peaceful. This is it. He is so authentic. The room is filled with anxious anticipation. It takes a while for him to get settled in his throne of a chair covered in gold fabric. The table next to him has a covered glass of water, a vase full of roses, a bowl of nuts, and a brass statue of Shiva as Nataraj, the same one I have at my small studio. He sits, smiles, and scans the small crowd of eager students. He begins to speak of the subtle anatomy of energy in the body; yoga, prana, nadis, and chakras. I am feeling sleepy again. This time I am angry with myself. I have paid so much money for this retreat, I need to stay awake and alert so I can learn as much as I can to share with my own students. I notice the hissing in his voice, lulling me again. Forcing myself awake I look outside for distraction. I watch the groundskeeper shoveling. He stops every now and then, closes his eyes, and stands completely still. He turns his eyes toward me and smiles a gentle smile. I hold the gaze for longer than I should, but it feels so nice. I turn back to the class.

It’s been four days. The week is dragging on. I hate myself and all of these people. The practices and lectures seem ridiculous. I can’t believe I wasted my money on this. My roommate, Joy, has been a light in this darkness. She makes me laugh constantly. Closing my eyes during the guided meditations and all I hear is “MacGyver,” and I crack myself up. Sometimes I look out and see the groundskeeper. He somehow knows when I am looking at him and he offers that warm, gentle smile.

Day seven and the power goes out. Snow is falling. Our practices and lectures are canceled. I wonder where Swamiji is. Now I am bored and freezing. I pile on as many clothes as I can and head outside for a walk. I am warned not to go too far for fear I would get lost or mauled by the local wildlife. I just need some air and some quiet. This silent retreat is not as silent as I would expect. A lot of these women, and we are all women on this retreat, babble a lot, or sing, or chant. I realize I have done that as well trying to be something. Now I find it annoying. I’m annoyed with myself for once being like that. The sounds of nature soothe me for the moment. I am surrounded by an unbelievable quiet. I walk around the grounds, circling the buildings, and walk past cabins. I see a cabin with the lights on (in this power outage?). I walk toward it and squint my eyes to peer in the window. It is Swamiji, surrounded by his entourage, laughing and watching a program on television. Well, that’s just great.

My steps become more determined as I walk toward the dark, main building. I’m getting out of here. I get to my room and start packing. Joy walks in and asks me what I’m doing. “I am leaving Joy. I can’t take any more of this. Do you think you can catch a ride to the airport with someone else so I can take the car?”

“Oh, honey, she says. The roads are closed due to the storm. I’m afraid you can’t go anywhere. Come down to the lounge. We have a fire going to take out the chill. We’re singing songs and telling stories. It’s a hoot. Let’s make the best of it.”

I’m defeated and disappointed. I start to cry. Not a quiet, said cry but a loud raging wale. Joy tries to comfort me. I’m embarrassed but it won’t stop. What the hell am I doing here? Did I leave my husband and comfortable life for this? I am just so angry with myself and my stupid decision-making. Finally, I compose myself and assure Joy that I’m ok. She goes back down to the lounge. I can’t bring myself to join the others. I make my way back outside.

Once outside I pray for the snow to stop so I can go home. Then I look up at the light of the flakes swirling around me and feel a welcome sense of peace again. With a deep sigh, I close my eyes. When I open them the groundskeeper is before me.

“You are like an angel out here in the snow,” he says. I sigh that I don’t feel much like an angel. “You know I am sure angels have their share of disappointment and discouragement.” What happened next can only be described as emotional vomiting. I poured it all out…everything. I couldn’t help myself. I confessed my hopes and expectations of having a life-altering supernatural experience. I wondered if I would ever experience the Divine bliss that people talk about. I guess it is not meant to be…I’m just too ordinary. He listened to all of this with patience and a look of understanding. When the last drops of my confession choked out, there was silence. We both looked out into the snow-covered landscape. “My dear, intense spiritual exercises can be like a drug bringing an altered state. They do lead to a feeling of blissfulness, but one that is only temporary. When it is over one crashes and finds feelings of disappointing withdrawal in everyday life. These experiences bring an addiction of their own, and you will see a lot of people chasing that euphoria with one more workshop, a new teacher, or a new method. Meanwhile, they pour out their money in a gamble with no hope of a jackpot. Sometimes it takes a lifetime, or lifetimes, of learning opportunities such as these to come to the truth that enlightenment is in the ordinary, the every day, the simple. It is the faith, love, service, and hope that one breathes with every inhales and exhales. And, it is free so it is overlooked. Do not regret your trip here. You have learned a valuable lesson. Now you can go home and have more appreciation for the here and now of each moment. Notice everything with an attitude of faith and love. Recognize the support of your husband with gratitude, and offer him yours without expectation.”

I heard these words through my heart and a feeling of love, no bliss (real bliss!), filled me and sent currents of electric sensations all over my body like I had been plugged into an enormous electrical current of what I can only call “good vibes.” I wanted to run home to Jim, hug him, and tell him all about this. But, wait, the snow. I’m trapped here. I turned to the peaceful man next to me. He turned to look at me. Unconditional love, good vibes, deep knowing, all were present between us. I gushed my thanks. He smiled at me. I got up to go back to my room. I felt so alive…so awake.

I spent another five days there in the mountains. The power came back on the next day so we were comfortable. I no longer participated in the retreat. Instead, I read the books I brought, wrote in my journal, and took a lot of quiet walks in the snow. I know Joy wondered what had happened to me. I assured her I was great because I was. I felt peaceful and balanced. The urge to talk about all of this to Joy or to my husband Jim faded deep into my mind and I guess it eventually disappeared.

When I got home I hugged Jim so hard. Then we sat down to plan our trip to the beach.