The Meditation - Retreat in the woods | 23.11.2017
Woah! This is a chronological set of short-stories, so if you haven't read the story before this then click right here, and give it a read before reading this!
The following short story is inspired by a retreat course that I have taken part in 3 times (once as a student, once to train to 'become a supervisor', and once co-supervising). This is a great Retreat in The Woods, called the Foundations of Natural Intelligence. It's held in the Chisholme Insitute, located in the Scottish Borders.
To find out more about the course click here
MEDITATION | RETREAT
Short-Story | 23.11.2017
(Photo by Johnny Dupré)
The heat of the fire is making its way through my thick coat, I can feel the heat penetrating my skin and heating my whole body. Taking a step away from the fire pit, I immediately notice a drop in temperature. Enjoying the residual heat, I can hear the leaves crunching underneath the feet of the chaffinches that are happily jumping about, looking for insects, luckily there’s no shortage…
I spot a chaffinch that has taken residence on one of the branches in front of me. It seems to be contently observing the other birds, occasionally joining in with the fruitful conversational chatter. I pause my thoughts and think about the life that bird must have lead to get to that point, it didn’t look that young, an elder in the group of chaffinches perhaps.
Looking around, I check that no-one can see me. There are some movements of my fellow students, sleepily going about their ways to prepare for meditation. Nobody seems motivated to climb up to the kitchen area. Good…
The gun, still resting in my hand, feels warm against my cold skin. I close one eye, I’ve seen people do that in movies and I presume that helps with accuracy. Aiming for the little bird's chest, that should be the best spot. The bird is so small, that it seems that I’ll miss no matter what, but I can try.
The chaffinch is innocently chirping away, greeting the fellow birds, telling stories of his bird adventures that he’d had in the past, mentoring the young ones. I could only imagine that he must be the ‘big’ grandfather, that all the little young chaffinches look up to for comfort or wisdom.
I clear my mind from such little stories and readjust my aim. I can feel my blood pumping through the finger that lays on the trigger. Everything seems to go quiet. Starting at three, I countdown quietly.
Three, two…I breath in and on the out breath, one. I pull the trigger.
Quick as a sparrow, a red dot shoots across landing on the chaffinch. I can see my hands trembling as the laser wobbles all over the chaffinches chest. And then. A faint beeping sound.
I relax my arm and look at the digital display. 12 degrees, not as warm as I’d imagined.
Swivelling towards the kettles on the still roaring fire I lazily aim the temperature gun at the kettles, 82 degrees, good enough, they’ll boil during meditation, and be quick to reheat for breakfast.
I indulge in doing some more shooting around with the laser gun, taking the temperatures the trees, feeling a bit like Jame Bond.
4 minutes till meditation, I put the gun back down. Looking back a the chaffinch that is still perched on the branch, happy as ever, I toddle down to the meditation yurt.
Walking up to the door of the yurt I grab the handle, it’s stiff and makes a small but loud squealing sounds as you turn it to open the doors. I turn my back to the entrance, using the ledge in the doorway to wiggle off my wellies. I try to be as quiet as possible, but end up making more of a clumsy fuss than I’d care to discuss.
The warmth of the fire is delightful, a few students are already perched on meditation stools, all surrounding the fire. Some closer than others, but all already beginning to enter a state of meditation. I grab a stool and a blanket. Trying to find the Goldilocks zone of; not too hot, and not too cold. I settle for, what I can only imagine is ‘the perfect spot’ (I was wrong, it was very very hot). With a blanket protecting my knees from the hard floor, I settle into a comfortable upright position. I soften my gaze and indulge my brain in the hectic thoughts for just a few more moments.
The last students trickle in, finding their own Goldilocks places. Everything becomes blissfully still, with only the sounds of the gently wind making its way through the tree branches, and the birds singing as they hunt for there food.
I hardly hear the gong, my gaze transfixed on the chimney pipe from the fireplace. My mind still buzzing and blubbering. My eyes play tricks on me, trying to distract me. I let it happen, I relax into the 30 minutes of stillness, broken only by an occasional readjustment. My mind is like a little kid throwing a massive tantrum, begging for something fun or distracting, I give it nothing but acceptance and my breath. It’s not happy, but with a bit of inner negotiation I get to a happy medium; I get to imagine a flower opening and closing at the rhythm of my breath, or a wave coming into the shore and leaving again. And so I tame my mind, keeping it occupied with some visuals, whilst still doing what I suspect is meditating.
