Driving Through the Clouds

On March 27th, I left Cincinnati. 3,300 miles later, 3.5 weeks later I returned. I have decided where to go to spend my next four years. I have seen more friends than I can count. I have met my nephew. I have sung at the top of my lungs. I have driven through the clouds.


View Big University Road Trip (BURT) in a larger map

Yesterday, was my final day of driving (for at least a few days). I was eager to return to Cincinnati, to have a nice meal with my dad, and to unload my car which I inevitably overpacked, using about a third of what I brought with me.  Still, when I drove up to highway I-40 just south of Asheville, something in me said, do not get on it. Instead, I veered right and hopped onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. I had woken up with worse knee pain then normal, and did not feel equipped to do a big hike, but I also could not bear to leave the area without spending some time immersed in the mountains. I had spent adequate time with the other jewel of the area, the food...

The Benny, Early Girl Eatery, Asheville

Salsas, Caterer of my Brother's Wedding, Asheville

As I started driving the Blue Ridge Parkway, I was instantly swept away by the vistas, joining the grandmas and young parents at the scenic overlooks. Together, we took pictures and deep breaths. Driving on, I was blown away by how many cyclists were braving the hills, the curves, the lack of burm. Fearlessly, they panted up the hills and glided down with joy. I took pride in each friendly wave I gave a cyclist, hoping to indicate to them that I was in solidarity. I peered through my rearview mirror at my bike, taunting me to give it a ride. I weighed my options, and reluctantly passed up places to park, ultimately deciding that on this day, my fear was greater than my desire. Still, I vowed to get out of my car and spend some time with the views.

It was the sign to the Craggy Gardens picnic area and hike that drew me in. I turned to the left, coming to a top of a steep hill, parked my car and set out on a trail. Just 500 feet in, I was standing atop a grassy, rock laden patch with a 270 degree view of the surrounding mountains. I walked on along a wooded trail with sporadic viewpoints of the blue ridge mountains. I breathed it all in deeply and marveled at the joy of such a simple act. Walking in the woods.

Craggy Rocks Trail, Blue Ridge Parkway

On my way back down, my knee had gotten worse, but as I kept going it slipped away, bringing me back to a lesson I seem to keep being reminded of, the importance of giving things time, hanging in there, standing by before reacting. When I made it back to my royal lookout point, I climbed atop and decided to give meditation a whirl. I think I have come to decide that meditating in the mountains suits me better than on the sea. On the sea, I want to move, jump, be the limitless freedom that is in front of me. In the mountains, I am more comfortable sitting still. There is something about being with the always changing water that makes it hard for me to close my eyes. While, the clouds move around in the mountains, the mountains stay pretty still. After meditating, a good 5-10 minutes, I stood up to take one final moment with the view. The urge to scream and unleash some inner joy rose up in me. Looking around, there was no one in sight. Yet, my yell still had a sheepish, self conscious nature. I tried it three times, by the end, letting out my best William Wallace cry, "FFFFRRRREEEEEEEEDDDDDOOOOMMMM!"

I got back in my car filled with a kinetic mountain energy. The clouds were building steam, turning the wide open road into a mirror just after a hot shower. I slowed to a crawl, taking each turn with the smoothness of Etta James' crooning voice on my cd player. Driving on, I kept hearing this voice saying, "driving in the clouds, ne'er a clearer view...driving in the clouds, ne'er a clearer view."

Part Three: Bienvenidos a Paradisio

In the city of Oaxaca, I was staying with my dear friend Nikki. Before I left for the coast, she told me there was a good chance she would venture to the beach for the weekend as well. She had wanted to go with me, but with my commitment to the meditation retreat, she saw it as an opportunity to go on a trip by herself, something she had never done. My first step to retreat from the retreat was to see if she actually decided to come to the beach. If she did, then I knew I would have a friend on the other side. If she did not, the escape was going to be trickier.

So, after the man selling tattoos walked away, I pulled my cell phone out of my bag. The fact that I brought the cell phone was an indicator that I was fixin’ to break a rule. I hid the phone with one of my hands for fear a fellow retreater would see me and I texted my SOS, “I am totally breaking the rules, but I am ready to quit. Did you come to the beach?” I laid back down and waited for a response. Nothing.

As I relaxed into the rhythm of the waves, I began to experience anxiety about having to go back up. I envisioned how much fun Nikki and I would have on the beach. So, before returning to the retreat center, I texted, “I just want to be on the beach with ynu.” I am still getting used to using my Mexican phone’s texting capabilities. I then walked back to the center feeling sullen. No response either meant she was in the mountains on her way here or that she had talked herself out of it. I decided it was probably the former.

When I got back, I showered and prepared myself to go in for the afternoon session. I debated whether I would still have the guts to leave if I did not hear from Nikki. I stopped back into my tent to put on my flowy pants and t-shirt and secretly checked my phone one more time. I had one new message from Nikki, “I am on my way to Mazunte! Where should imeet u!?”

If there had been any doubt about following through on leaving, the text wiped it away. I was determined. Still feeling tied to the rules of the retreat, I could not bring myself to text her back. I hurried into the meditation hall for the afternoon sitting as I tried to figure out what approach I should take to actually leave. For some reason, I did not feel like I could just tell them I had to go and walk out of there.

There was a pile of scrap paper in the back of the hall. If we had any concerns or questions, we were to write them on the scrap paper and give it to the retreat monitor, an experienced meditator who was guiding all of us to stay on track. I had been watching her watch us over the past two days. My fellow struggle buddies who had fallen asleep while meditating would return to their mats with little notes that said, “Dear love, If you are feeling sleepy, please stand up or open your eyes a little bit. I hope this helps. Love, the monitor (signed with hearts).” A part of me felt accomplished that I had not yet received a note, but a greater part of me knew it was not a competition and I probably should not have read other people’s notes. 

When I entered the hall, I grabbed a paper and wrote this, “I am feeling an immense amount of pain in my back. Do you have any suggestions to help that? It is definitely distracting my ability to meditate.” Just as I was going to give that note to the monitor, another woman got to her first. She had a long note, so their exchange took a bit and then it was time to meditate again. So, I went back to mat number 26 and did my best to meditate.

At the first break, I decided to rewrite my note. The first one was not empowered enough. It felt like I was letting her make the decision for me. So in the next note I wrote something like this, “I have been experiencing immense back pain. I had not been aware of the accommodations prior to arriving, and am feeling like I will not be able to withstand this for 10 days. I think I might need to leave. I am at a bit of a loss.” I gave the note to the monitor and waited for a reaction. She read it, looked up at me and gave me the first eye contact I had had in 2 days. Then it was time to meditate again. I watched her set the note aside and re-enter the zone. So, I decided I would too.

The next meditation went better. I had started to take the power into my hands to leave. But, why hadn’t she written me back? What was she thinking? I knew the way that I wrote the note had given her the opportunity to try and help me stay. Did she want me to stay? Did I want to stay? After about 30 min, I started to realize that if I was going to leave, I would have to just say it. During the next break, I wrote another note, “I have decided that the best thing for my body and soul is to leave. I feel only positivity [may have been a slight lie] toward this place, but I have decided it is not the healthiest thing for me.” I was ready to give it to her and pack up, but she did not stop meditating during the whole break.

I went down to my tent to find several messages from Nikki and realized that she must be wondering if I was coming. I snuck out another text, “I am coming but it might take me a bit to escape. Tell me where to go.” I then returned for my final meditation.

This meditation was one of my best. I had my note ready containing my declarative statement that I would be leaving. I had told Nikki I was going to meet her. I was free. And, I found myself becoming freer in the mind as well. I really saw the embers of my heart. I thought about living with an open heart. I took notes. I was present.

Finally, the afternoon session came to a close. The monitor emerged, and I was ready with my note. She read it and shook her head. She wrote me back a note encouraging me to stick with meditation and yoga. That if I stayed, they could help heal me. At this point, I had made my decision, so her response only made me feel defensive. I shook my head no. She took back the note and wrote, “Of course if you want to leave, you are free to go.”

I wrote that I was sorry for the disruption to the retreat, but I knew this was the right thing. I gathered my things from the meditation hall and went to my tent to pack up. As, I was packing, one of the owners of the center approached me. He was not in retreat, so we could exchange words. He said that if it was a matter of accommodations, they had a dormitory I could stay in. Had someone told me that 3 hours prior, I may have been convinced to stick it out a little longer. But, now, I was done. He tried a bit to convince me to stay. He related that he has led many retreats and that often people struggle with the things coming up inside their heads in the first few days. That it pushes people away. At that point, my survival mentality flared, and I just stubbornly said I had to go. This was not a matter of being afraid of the dark thoughts of my inner soul, no, this was something else. He understood. And he graciously left me with this, “It’s ok to leave. I left on day 3 of my first retreat.”

So, as the sunset, I loaded my stuff onto my back and trudged down the driveway and onto the main street of Mazunte. My heart was beating fast as I walked down the road, past the turtle center, past the tiendas, not even sure where I was going. I was saying over and over to myself, “Holy shit, I just quit. I really just quit.” There was a mixture of excitement and fear and doubt and happiness overcoming me. I called my friend Ari in the states for a quick bout of emoting. I had made it 48 hours. I did not fail a 10-day retreat, I accomplished a 2-day one. I called Nikki who was on her way toward me. I felt grateful I had a friend to help me know it was ok. 

Together, we walked toward the beach and up a steep hill to a place she knew about that overlooked the water. She had tried to come earlier, but the owner was not there. Just as we were arriving, Emiliano, the owner, was getting in a car to leave. He jumped out to greet us as if he had been waiting for us to arrive. He was laughing and speaking quickly in Spanish. He said he had seen me in Pochutla a few days ago, and at that time told his friend that I would be coming to his place. As he walked us to our cabana, he glowed with a sense of pride that he was right. I noticed the big sign that said, “Paz y Amor.” We asked him how much it would cost and if I could possibly stay the whole week even though Nikki would only stay a couple of nights, he gave us a low price, but quickly told us not to talk about money at night. To just settle in, relax and enjoy. Money was for the morning. He swung open the doors to our cabaña, filled his face with an endearing smile, and said, “Beinvenidos A Paradisio!”

Part Two: The Retreat

The meditation retreat was in the Hidraya style. That means more than I really know. But, according to the website of the center:

“Hridaya means Spiritual Heart, or more simply understood, the divine nature of our beings. Hridaya Meditation and Yoga starts from the premise that traditional ideas about the Spiritual Heart can and should be applied in a very concrete and practical way. The Heart, seen as an organ of direct knowledge, can and should be trained constantly in order to increase its purity, and its capacity to Love, to Witness, and to Surrender.”

One reason I was compelled to go was that the main technique used in the meditation is that of Sri Ramana Maharshi. One of the most authentic spiritual experiences I have had in my life happened in 2007 when I was studying abroad in India. A few friends and I went to the ashram of Ramana Maharshi per the suggestion of my friend Ari’s dad. None of us were really expecting much. But at some point while circumnavigating mount Arunchala, I felt something that has remained with me to this day. Ramana Maharshi’s picture above the retreat leader became one of the few things that kept me going as the hours passed.

Below is the schedule of the day.

07:00-09:00   Meditation: The revelation of the Spiritual Heart, Atman. This meditation will begin in smaller segments (for example, with short hourly breaks), building to one continuous, deep meditation session.

09:00-09:30   Light breakfast buffet

09:30-10:45   Relevant lecture teaching

10:45-12:00   Hridaya Hatha Yoga

12:00-12:30   Meditation

12:30-15:00   Lunch buffet and rest

15:00-18:00   Meditation: The revelation of the Spiritual Heart. This meditation will begin in smaller segments (for example, with short hourly breaks), building to one continuous, deep meditation session.

18:00-18:30   Time for personal practice.

18:30-20:00   Lecture, Q&A and last evening meditation

20:00-20:30   Dinner buffet and rest

On day 1, I spent a lot of time thinking about where I was going to sleep, whether other people were really meditating or just pretending, how much I missed Coach Taylor from Friday Night Lights, how intricate the tattoos on my neighbors back were, who I am, translating thoughts in Spanish, missing being out in Mexico, pure consciousness, pure bliss, who I am, whether I was going to make it through, my back, who I am, the clouds, the clear blue sky, growing up a Unitarian, questioning God, how to surrender and have vision at the same time, doubt, who I am.

It was the guided meditation where we bared witness to our thoughts as they floated by, noticing that each one had a beginning and an end and none of them alone defined us that I found my calmest mind. I also enjoyed the meditation technique of reviewing the day in your head, always asking who you are as you do it. It reminded me of an amped up version of my childhood nighttime ritual with my dad, favorite things. Though in our version, we named all the things we loved. In this version, I was learning to detach from the day. I took note that maybe some combination of the two could be a good way to make a new ritual for my kid someday.

On day 2, I spent a lot of time thinking about the knife I was sure was sticking out of my back, the tent I was sure would not keep me feeling peaceful for 10 nights, who I am, missing Mexico despite being there, how to write the note that I would give to the monitor telling her I was in too much pain to be there, who I am, the things that gave me peace besides the moment I was in like biking and cooking and eating and love, that it was not working, who I am, the embers of my heart, if I live with an open heart, how the retreat seemed to be closing my heart with every minute, the girl who fell asleep in every meditation, the girl who started writing in the last meditation, how I was not supposed to notice those girls, who I am.

Despite learning a lot about meditation techniques and feeling moved by many of the ideas, something was missing. As the hours went by, I was not connecting. I was spending about 50% of my energy focused on how my back would not be able to withstand the 10 nights in the tent paired with 8 hours of sitting. In the past few months, I have been having a lot of back pain, and I'm sure the suburban ride did not set me up for success. 20% of me was stressed about how 60 people could comfortably remain in the small meditation hall and use the two-eco friendly bathrooms without the whole place crumbling. Another 20% was making deals with myself about when I could start breaking rules and conjuring up plans to leave. So, I really only had 10% left to be present with the content. And in that, I was not convinced I really enjoyed the approach of the guide, which was making it hard for me to listen with an open heart.  That was kind of a problem since the whole retreat was about living with an open heart.

On the first day, I did not leave the hilltop retreat center. I was afraid if I went out into the town, I would not know how to stay silent and centered. But, by the second day it was driving me nuts that I could see the ocean, but I had not yet touched the water. So, during the break time, I put on my bathing suit and ventured out into the world.

The minute I was on the beach of San Agustinillo, I felt a peace that had been lacking for two days. I smiled and even danced a bit. I walked down the beach and a woman said “hola!” I had to turn away to preserve my silence. I got my feet wet and felt the warmth of the Pacific Ocean. It beckoned me in without hesitation. I did not even need to tip toe; the water was warm like a hug from a good friend you had forgotten you missed. I dove into the waves. I ran away from the big ones. I felt companionship. Then I made a little place for myself and laid down. A couple of boys came up to me to ask the time. I held out my wrist for them to read my watch while my brain was screaming, “son las dos!” I desperately wanted to practice my Spanish and tell them the time. Which is strange as prior to that moment, I was usually looking for ways not to embarrass myself speaking Spanish. I told myself I was being silent for a reason and relaxed into the beach.

Just as I was drifting off, contemplating the bliss of the moment, a man came up behind me speaking in Spanish. I had just reached that point when I was completely looking in, feeling that I was the only person in the world. When he spoke, I jerked up and gasped. Seeing that he startled me, he immediately started apologizing, “me desculpa, me desculpa.” He said.

I see that he had simply come over to sell henna tattoos. I looked at him and tried to tell him it’s ok with my eyes. Thinking that I just don’t understand him, he started backing away from me saying in English, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”  a few more steps and he says, “Wow, you are tense. You need to relax.” Then he takes a few more steps and his parting words to me were, “I guess that is why you are here.”

I think to myself, “I thought so too.”

So, it took the tattoo selling beach bum to convince me that if I am meant to do a retreat, this was not the one. I had to leave the retreat. And I had to do it before nightfall.

Part One: The Initiation

I am going to start at this present moment and then go back to the beginning. This is going to be a story in multiple parts.

I am currently sitting outside of my own cabaña at Balanjuyuc Cabañas in Mazunte, Mexico. My cabaña sits atop a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. There is a nearly full moon obscured by a cloud. Waves are crashing into a rocky shore beneath me. A long stretch of beach flows to the left. To the right is Punto Cometa, a long natural point with the best views of the sunset, where I just returned from my choir practice. As of this evening, I am a temporary member of El Coro De La Cometa, a group led by a French man who plays Roma music and has decided to give singing classes every Mon, Wed, and Fri at sunset on the point. When he asked how long I would be staying, I said I did not know. He said I’d be here a month then.

But, how did I get here?

For over a year now, I have been flirting with the idea of going on a 10-day silent meditation retreat. I know it is somewhat of a surprise that I would be interested in such a thing. I love talking. I love eating. I love a good beer. I have barely succeeded at meditating for 10 minutes. I love taking action and planning. I love a lot of things that do not coincide with 10-days in strict silence. Still, I am always interested in finding more ways to stay calm and less stressed in my life. And raised as a Unitarian, I have a questioning spirit. In the past, I have found spirituality in my intensive figure skating practice. Then, I connected with a new level when I biked across the country. I believe committing to practices that push your limits and force new patterns into your normal way of being are incredibly important to grounding and growing one’s self and spirituality. Part of the YOOT is developing practices and self-knowledge that can help me maintain a more balanced life moving forward. So that when I go back to law school and the intensity of the goals I commit to in my professional, scholastic, and personal lives, I will also maintain a rhythm that is more sane and healthy. I know it is a lofty ideal. But, it is worth striving for now.

So, with the time to try a meditation retreat this year, I set the intention. My initial plan was to do a Vipassana Retreat outside of Chicago. I have many friends who have completed Vipassana retreats, hence giving me confidence it would be a positive experience. I signed up for one in January, but then my best friend, Zacahariah, from Colorado College who has spent the last year and a half in the Peace Corps in Moldova had an interview in NYC. I could not pass up the opportunity to see him.

So, I forewent the meditation retreat and decided I would do the one I had researched in Mexico.

Prior to the New Year, I e-mailed the place to inquire about both their meditation retreat and yoga retreat. I heard back and they said to get in touch after the New Year to confirm, but that it would be possible for me to come. So, on January 2, I e-mailed. I heard nothing. Two weeks later, I e-mailed again. Still nothing. Another few days, I sent another e-mail. I scoured the website for a phone number, but found none. Still, I was not deterred. My friend had a friend who spent a month there and assured me it existed and was legitimate. I decided to just show up. The website said it began on February 3^rd, so I decided that I would take a Suburban (a big 12 passenger van) out to the coast on the afternoon of the 2^nd.

Sitting in seat three between Jaime, a fisherman from the coast who spoke some English and loved the Beatles, and another older Mexican man, I braced the roof of the vehicle for the 6 windy, mountainous hours it took to get from Oaxaca to Potchutla. When the discomfort overwhelmed me, I would picture the ride as an extended roller coaster, better than even those at Cedar Point. Or, I would imagine Jaime, my other neighbor, and me playing that game where you squish the person on the end every time you go around a bend, screaming and laughing together. But, that was inside my head. On the outside, I smiled and apologized when I’d accidentally bump into them, which happened nearly every 2 minutes. So eventually, I just smiled.

When I arrived in Pochutla, I got a taxi to Mazunte. My taxi driver quickly became my friend. He was the best Spanish teacher I have had yet. He would listen to me struggle and then speak slowly back to me in Spanish what I meant to say. I wish I could have rode around with him for a week. I think I would be nearly fluent after that. I explained to him that I was not sure if there would be a place for me at the retreat. I asked him to wait for me when we got there so I could talk to the people. He said he had a place to take me if it did not work out. He offered to take me there first. Maybe I should have said yes.

Instead, I arrived to the retreat center just as dinner was starting. I met Ana, the organizer, who looked shocked and a little rattled to see me. She wasn't exactly emitting the zen-like energy one would expect from a retreat center. But, she was organizing, and I know how that can be, so I decided to not react. They had just finished the mandatory orientation, and she had just given away the last tent. Hmmm… tents are the accommodations? I took note. Still, she was determined not to turn me away. So, I reluctantly bid my cab driver farewell, and decided to surrender to this experience.

As Ana hemmed and hawed about how to accommodate me, a fellow retreater approached us. He offered to let me use his sleeping bivy for the night. That would give her time to get me another tent from her house to sleep in for the rest of the retreat. So, I spent my first night on a terrace outside of the meditation hall, zipped up in a bivy with a mosquito net cover. I slept relatively peacefully as long as I avoided imagining the sack suffocating me which would instantly result in a brief breathing panic.

The next morning, I awoke to a terrace full of meditators and a gong. The silence had begun. I shuffled my stuff down stairs, grabbed my journal and joined the morning worshippers. I wrote my 3 morning pages to prepare my mind for what was to come. Soon, I was sitting on a yoga mat and a pillow at station 26. The room was full of 32 women and 24 men. Together, the nearly 60 of us were to exist in silence for 10-days with the following rules:

• No talking, eye contact, communication of any kind
• No reading
• No electronics
• Abstinence
• No touching
• No caffeine, drugs, alcohol
• Vegan, healthy food

Here is the first reflection I wrote after the first two hours of meditation:

“I am feeling stressed about my sleeping conditions. All this time to meditate, and be still. I am reminded of whoever that was—the hierarchy of needs. It is hard to reach a higher state of peace without food and shelter taken care of. I arrived late—after the orientation, and the orientation was supposed to be mandatory. So I wonder, maybe I should not have been let in. Maybe they should have said no. But, they didn’t and there is a reason I am here.”

So, I ate my puffed grain, fruit and coconut-almond milk. And I tried to have trust that everything would be just fine. I took notes. I listened intensely. I looked in and asked “Who am I?” I bared witness to my thoughts without reacting. I gave everything to that day, and settled into my first night sleeping in a tent on a hilltop.