Skip to main content

Retreating

As a mindfulness teacher I remain an eternal student, for we never ‘arrive’ at enlightenment, though we may continually pursue a deeper and richer practice.  Going on retreat is a tremendously rewarding way to do this, entering an environment dedicated to rigorous practice and lively learning. 

For me, there is something particularly special about a residential, arriving somewhere in which there is literally nowhere to go, and nothing to do, beyond entering into a different mode, with a deliberate shift of gears, mental and physical.   A week long retreat is somewhat of a luxury, as well as a challenge, and requires a degree of preparation and subsequent ‘arrival’. 

The first day is an opportunity to do just this, and having travelled to somewhere new and unknown and be in the company of a group made up of likeminded, though unknown fellow travellers, there is much excitement, and curiosity, and a feast for the mind as it goes about its usual business of planning, and judging, in spite of an explicit and conscious intention to do otherwise.  So, whilst the essence of being on retreat is revitalising and rejuvenating, there is a process to get there, and after a day spanning over 14 hours, I must conceded exhaustion, albeit a contented one. 
Coming away, and giving myself an opportunity to adopt a ‘beginners mind’, to experience the practices, guided by others, afresh and, ideally, as though for the first time is a significant component of maintaining my practice.  Just as I take my car for its service, my practice needs to be investigated, and replenished.  A retreat serves this purpose, and provides a wonderfully supportive opportunity to dust it off and blow out the cobwebs, clearing the landscape, and enabling me to see with new perspective.  The acts of intentionally creating space to attend, and deliberately slowing down, allows me a chance to ask myself some important questions, about both the direction of my practice, and my life in general. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Table. Apple. Penny.

Whilst there were several places I might have been that morning, I wouldn't have been anywhere else.  The practitioner from the Memory Service arrived promptly.  I liked her instantly.    Mum was nervous.  I think I was a little, too.  It's been a difficult year.   "It's Friday, it's the fourteenth of December and I'm at home..."   No problems there.  CAMCOG, or the Cambridge Cognitive Examination is a thorough assessment tool used to assess the extent of extent of dementia, and to assess the level of cognitive impairment.  The standardised  measure assesses orientation, language, memory, praxis, attention, abstract thinking, perception and calculation.    "Table.  Apple.  Penny."   Three everyday items that were introduced at one point, and then referred to again later on.  Again, Mum was able to recall each.      I am reminded that the...

Glass half full? Glass half empty? Or perhaps the glass is broken

I am, constitutionally, a glass half empty gal.  I will always first acknowledge what I don't have, what I have lost, and what it is that I am seeking.  I tend to overlook my strengths, concentrating only on those bits of me that are underdeveloped or weak.  I refer to myself as a realist, but in doing so compliment myself and insult those who genuinely are simply realistic.  My modus operandi is to identify what's not working and acknowledge this before seeing more clearly what functions perfectly well.  This has its place: I edit others' written work pretty well.  My fastidious attention to detail serves me, and the author.  Accuracy counts, for me and I have an excellent memory.  I can remember a great many of my sessions with clients verbatim.  Even this asset is something I can, and do, diminish the true value of, by concentrating on 'I should have said...' or 'why didn't....  occur to me during the session?' Earlier this we...

Pausing in the sunshine

And so, chemo is over.  My best friend's diary has been chocker...  Line cleans, blood tests, scans and 18 weekly doses of the gruelling treatment itself.  Summer seems at last to have arrived and with it, we hope, some time, peace and space. She is, we acknowledged over a rather yummy luncheon served to us beneath the beautiful canopy of creepers and climbers at Petersham Nurseries, an inspiration. A small group of us gathered to celebrate her forthcoming marriage.  The sun's rays joined the warmth we all have for this very special woman.  Warmth and, in my case at least, pride. It is the greatest privilege to call this woman my best friend.  She continues to epitomise my understanding of grace.  Our bodies are fragile things.  Our minds are frailer still.  In her composure and wisdom, she possesses an outlook I can only aspire to adopt.  From you, dear Charlotte, I learn and I learn and I learn.   The ...