Sure Travel Journey Vol 5.2 Autumn 2019 | Page 31

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© ALL PHOTOS COURTESY BUDDHIST RETREAT CENTRE
I’d signed up for a course titled
“Finding and keeping your centre”. At the
induction session I read the schedule:
times of noble silence, workshop times,
meal times… and meditation times. I
clench my teeth and not-so-nobly but
angry at myself. “How on Earth do people
do this?” I think, sliding off a puffy pillow
for the umpteenth time.
At the next meditation session, I notice
some people sit-kneeling on little stools.
I grab one before the start gong and my
experience improves. The teacher guides
us through ways to recognise when one
is thinking, and how to not get immersed
in those thoughts. “Ah. Yes, my car does
need a service. Let me return to right
now and experience how my breath is
cold going in, but warm going out,” she
explains. “Don’t hate yourself for having
thoughts. We are so hard on ourselves
for so much – but why?”
Why are we so hard on ourselves?
Fishing around in the dark for how to
be better, to be balanced. It’s both an
© AYOB/SHUTTERSTOCK
Above: The meditation hall and view from Nalanda Rocks. Left: Garden Buddha at the BRC.
“
It’s both an
empowering and
terrifying realisation:
we are responsible
for what knocks us
off centre; we choose
how to deal with the
events and people in
our lives.
silently think “Bloody hell, I didn’t know
we’d be meditating!” I hear a few other
people mutter to their partners with
similar misgivings; we’d come here for a
48-hour intense and practical quick fix,
not to learn how to say “Ohm” and wear
orange robes while choking down wafts
of incense.
Our group of 12 shuffle through to
the meditation hall and find a lean,
white-bearded man sitting on a cushion
at the front of the room. I experience
10 minutes of pure torture. My mind
flies, like a bat stuck in a bathroom, from
thought to thought, and I am distinctly
empowering and terrifying realisation for
me: we are responsible for what knocks
us off centre; we choose how to deal
with the events and people in our lives.
During Sunday morning’s free hour,
I walk to the BRC shop and buy a
meditation stool to take home with me.
Our group had completed six meditation
sessions by then, and in each session I
found it easier to observe a thought, give
it a little high-five and send it on its way.
Six months later, I haven’t looked at
my notes from the course once, but my
wooden stool has a beautiful sheen from
my bum.
MAKE MEMORIES FOR LIFE // 31
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