The Prison Break Series, Part 2: What Happened To You?

On December 30th, 2016, my travel-mate, Marthe, and I arrived for a gratis night’s stay at Suan Mokkh’s main monastery. Registration for the retreat would be at 7 am the next day, so we took the monks' offer to get the lay of the land first. This included having an extra day to acclimate to sleeping on a wood-slab bed, the only sleeping option. Or at least try to.

That first night -- without mosquito net -- taught me my first lesson at the monastery: sleeping on the ground is as miserable as it sounds and a thin straw mat makes little difference.

On the 31st, I woke to the first of what would be many alarms: a huge, resonating bell that a monk began gonging at 4 am. The bell's slow but relentless staccato seemed to chime interminably. It was more like 15 minutes. When it finally ceased, I managed to doze for a few more hours before my phone’s alarm woke me at 6:15. I grabbed my things and met the larger-than-expected crowd for a short ride over to the retreat grounds one kilometer away.

Anxious, excited and curious on the ride over, I fought a “me first” urge on the walk up to dining hall for registration. In spite of better sense, I wanted to ensure my spot at the retreat. Coming into this, I wanted to focus on selfishness, so I tried not to rush through the questionnaire and get to the interview. I read the materials detailing rules to follow and expectations to set (or not set) during the retreat.

Intake form complete, I waited patiently for my interview.

Supon called me to take a seat. “Why are you here?”

A simple enough question, one for which I had plenty of answers swirling in my mind ahead of my arrival. Thinking like eager job applicant, I reeled in my thoughts and kept my response brief and on message.

My answer appeared to satisfy Supon. He began speaking those aforementioned aphorisms with an ethereal tone. I noticed and appreciated at once a certain quality of his delivery and general state of being — it was soothing and reassuring.

The interview ended as quickly as it began. I thanked Supon and went to the window where I would deposit my passport and receive the key to my dorm room. I postponed for a few hours depositing my valuables and other distracting belongings: iPhone, camera, laptop, and journal.

I would later observe that others didn’t follow this clear instruction. But I knew if I was to take this challenge seriously for myself, I had to follow the rules set out by the coordinators. In another situation, I might be frustrated by the apparent hypocrisy or futility in the forbidding or commanding of this or that. Yet I understood for this endeavor that the rules were strictly for my benefit.

After some confusion orienting around the ground’s layout, I found my dorm at the furthest corner of the compound and apprehensively opened the door to my room. Its dimensions, layout, and construction were not much different from a prison cell. All that differentiated it, as far as I could tell, was the large window that opened freely and the brick wall with purposely placed openings to bring us closer to nature outside.

With my belongings and bed net in place, I rejoined Marthe. We took our last few hours before the retreat to walk into the nearest town's Wal-Mart-equivalent, Tesco. We gratuitously indulged in all that we'd be cut off from for the next ten days. We stuffed our faces with Dairy Queen and KFC (two places I hadn’t visited in years), laughed like kids playing with weird Snapchat filters, and did some last minute supply shopping. I forget to buy toilet paper and panicked later at the prospect of cleaning my butt "the Thai way."

Back at the retreat grounds, I caught up my journal from the previous days as that too would be verboten later.

Having a partner there before the start provided comfort, wishing each other luck and embracing before this test, knowing the other was waiting at the finish line. But it would also become a source of anxiety. I was fully committed to staying the entire duration regardless of what happened. I wanted her to remain with me through the end and tried imparting naïve wisdom to aid her through this. Considering the possibility of her leaving during the next few days would add another layer to my test, but it proved to be one for which I was ultimately grateful.

A layman from Austria took us on a tour of the grounds at twilight, orientating the location of daily events and answering questions on expectations of our daily routine. He also primed us on what critters to expect and the protocol to follow if and when we encountered or even got some love from them.

We’d likely find spiders, scorpions, centipedes, monitor lizards and snakes both outside and even in our rooms. After all, there were no screens and the rooms were purposely open to jungle outside. He assured us they were more afraid of us than them and the worst case scenario was always manageable and never that bad. Very reassuring.

Finally, he mentioned that keeping food of any kind in our room was a bad idea as the ants would be on it in no time. What he didn't mention was how friendly and prolific they'd be while walking around.

During the entire retreat, I took the recommendation to walk barefoot. The result was making countless ant and mosquito friends who were more than happy to give some love. This provided me continual opportunity to practice "loving kindness" (more on that later).

As the sun fell, Marthe and I met for an extended hug session. To make my message and intentions clear, I reminded her about my commitment to staying to the end and following the rules as set out by the staff. That meant no side chats and even eye contact was something I wanted to avoid. Easier said than done.

We wished each other luck and walked up to Meditation Hall 5 to begin our journey into the retreat.

———

Ajahn Poh addressed us for the first time that evening. The senior ranking monk at the monastery and well into his 80s, he spoke with a calm, deliberate cadence. Ajahn welcomed and thanked us for deciding to spend our New Year's Eve at the monastery, beginning our year by learning and practicing Anapanasati.

Anapanasati translates roughly to, “mindfulness while breathing,” an ancient practice we learned the Buddha himself used to reach enlightenment. I listened with enthusiastic curiosity to his opening message.

However, whether due to his age, accent, or combination thereof, I had trouble following his words. I understood his discussion of how hundreds of people would die tonight in drunken revelry and more would die tomorrow on Thailand's dangerous roads -- certainly a morbid message but with a specific intent I would discern later.

My trouble came when the Ajahn focused his lesson on how Anapanasati and meditation were about the "middun way." I didn't grasp his meaning but as he reiterated the phrase, I determined it was important and we'd likely find out about it in due time.

My thoughts drifted to Marthe, who was still refining English as a second language, and wondered what she understood. It was hard enough for me to follow what he was saying. I hoped this wouldn’t discourage her. I was thankful for myself and her upon hearing later speakers address us with greater clarity.

Someone followed Ajahn Poh, I believe Supon, who led us into our first meditation. This meant try to meditate without further instruction.

And so, I began my practice at Suan Mokkh, relying on past experience while partly hoping and trusting that we'd receive more color on technique in time.

After thirty minutes, we received our schedule for the next day, which would repeat for the following seven as well. A mysterious day awaited us on the ninth.

After a brief question and answer session, our silence commenced and I walked among the group of 150 men and women back to the dorm.

I brushed my teeth at a common water trough, which would serve as our all-service washing station for the stay, then made my way to my room to lay on the straw mat. I thankfully fell asleep soon after my head hit my improvised pillow, a packing cube filled with clothing. I’d save the wooden “Buddha pillow” for another day.

———

I woke on my own the next morning, realizing I missed the 4 am wake-up bell. Pouring rain masked the sound that should have arrived in my room at the far corner of the retreat grounds. I hurriedly brushed my teeth, grabbed my flashlight and water bottle and rushed as quietly as I could to the main meditation hall, #5. The other participants were aIl sitting in silence as I tiptoed over to my mat.

Just as I closed my eyes to join them in meditation, three bells chimed, marking the end of the day’s first meditation session. The next day I learned that a morning reading preceded each day’s first meditation. Berating myself internally, and not for the last time, I resolved then to myself that I would wake on time and not miss another activity. When I consulted Supon about the missed alarm, he advised me to go easy on myself, also not for the last time.

I would follow the same routine with my fellow meditators for eight days; the final two days were altered for reasons I'll try to explain later. For expediency and accuracy, I will devote the remainder to describing that routine. In doing, I can relate the rest of my retreat story through photos of the grounds as a way of describing pivotal moments of my experience and the lessons I learned from them.

———

An hour after the 4:30 am morning talk and meditation, the men and women would walk to separate meditation halls for nearly two hours of yoga. Luckily for the men, Supon was our yoga instructor. Also a tai chi expert, he gave us 15-minute lessons in that practice at the end of yoga.

A short bell would sound, indicating we were to return to the main meditation hall — all bells meant return to there — for a Dhamma lesson, teaching principles of meditation and Buddhism, followed by a sitting meditation session.

An hour later, we would walk up to the dining hall for the first of two meals. After all lined up, took a portion and found a seat, a lay person would give a brief mini-lesson about what we had learned or a thought to contemplate for the day. We would then read aloud the first of two food reflections before we could begin eating, mindfully of course.

Following breakfast, everyone would disperse to complete their morning chores for which they had previously signed up. For the first four days, I was to sweep and rake the sand of the main meditation hall to remove leaves and smooth out the sand where everyone sat. For reasons I’ll explain later, I had to sign up for a new chore for the second half of the stay.

After, we had free time to either go to our dorms — going into your room was discouraged but inevitable — or relax in the gender-separated hot springs. I typically washed up during this time, only to use the hot springs in the second half of my stay; big mistake — those springs were heaven-sent and I took refuge in their near-boiling healing power for the remainder of my time there.

Around 10:30, a long bell would call us back to the main hall for the first of two “Dhamma talk” recordings given by Ajahn Buddhadasa, the founder of Suan Mokkh. Over time, we would accumulate the venerable Ajahn’s wisdom through the carefully planned “curriculum” of the 20 or so talks we listened to, contemplating his teachings along the way.

A sitting meditation followed, then we were off to 45 minutes of walking or standing meditation at a location of our choice. Another short bell, then the final 45-minute sitting meditation of the morning, with our second and final meal coming around 12:30. The meal process described above would repeat as we read aloud the “alms food reflection” and dined together in silent reflection.

Those with post-lunch chores would complete them while everyone else was left to their own devices. At 2:30, the long bell would call us to hall 5 for a second talk by Buddhadasa, followed by sitting meditation to reflect on his words.

Walking or standing meditation followed, with another sitting meditation after that. At 5:00, we had the option to join the second monk facilitating our Anapanasati education for a session of Buddhist chants. The session would conclude with a reading of the “loving kindness” meditation. Then the participants would walk back to the dining hall for evening tea and hot chocolate.

Next was more time for hot springs and personal wandering. The evening's activities would commence with a long bell denoting three separate 30-minute meditation sessions. First sitting, then walking, then sitting.

By now it would be 9 pm, time to head back to the dorm to get ready for 9:30 pm lights out and sleep to do it all over again. In silence.

———

Over the 10 days, I had multiple profound experiences. Just as important, though, were the many small moments that filled most of my time at Suan Mokkh. Without anything to do but think and “be mindful,” the setting provided the backdrop for endless contemplation. The following are select photos of various parts of the retreat grounds to provide a visual reference to some of these moments, large and small.

In describing these moments, if something sounds unfamiliar or like Eastern Philosophy gobbledygook, bear with me. I’ll try my best to clarify in the final part of this essay. Or it could remain gook.

The view from the road down into the grounds; the main dining hall directly left off camera — The view from the road down into the grounds; the main dining hall directly left off camera

One of two monk’s huts is on the left. Here I met with Supon and one of the monks during two of three assigned periods when we were allowed to ask one question on our practice. During one of these sessions, I finally learned what the "middun way" was. When speaking with Supon, I was anxious about my practice and feeling down on myself after a few days. He told me to go easy with myself, to not take myself so seriously. He told me this practice is about finding the MIDDLE way. Ohhhhhhh, so that's what that was.

The bell tower and meditation hall 3 are on the right. It was from here that I descended into the retreat for the first time to find my dorm. The dorm, by the way, was around 450 steps each way — I counted, more than once — diagonally right as the crow flies.

For nearly the entirety of my stay, I walked the grounds barefoot, which was both grounding and liberating and my recommendation to any future participants. Most of that time I would walk on the grassy parts to avoid the sharp gravel on the climbs up to the dining hall. For the last few days, though, I tried walking on the gravel in spite of the pain as one of several tests for myself.

Per one of many useful quotes by Ajahn Chah that we were dispensed throughout: “Peace is within oneself to be found in the same place as agitation and suffering. It is not found in a forest or on a hill-top, nor is it given by a teacher. Where you experience suffering, you can also find freedom from suffering. Trying to run away from suffering is actually to run towards it.”

At that moment, the rocks in my feet caused me pain. Pain is simply one of many sensations that can cause suffering if we allow it. But pain is also temporary. And only by attaching negative feelings to it and running from it do you cause suffering. We all are able to bear pain. Your reaction (or lack thereof) to that sensation will determine your level of suffering.

Looking back towards the bell tower, Hall 3 and the road up to the dining hall up to the right.

This is the main crossroad of the retreat grounds: many paths to get to your destination. But there’s really only one way to go: within.

This area was flooded for the middle of the week, only receding towards the very end. Did I forget to mention that? Oh yes, let’s get to that part of the experience, definitely not part of the typical retreat routine.

A view from the back of Meditation Hall 5.

This was the main hall for us to gather for at least the first few days. Any time a bell tolled, this was where we convened: men on the left, women on the right. The setting was gorgeous. I spent a fair amount of time staring out over the open grasslands to the left with flocks of storks and other birds passing through.

It was here on my mat at the front left of the hall that I had the most visceral meditation experience of my stay. During the final sitting meditation of only the second evening, I sat contemplating one of the teachings of that day. I was repeating something in my head about time only being a perception of our mind when I recalled a wholly separate lesson I learned previous to coming here about the sacred geometry and the creation of the universe.

Out of nowhere, I was hit by a full-body, psychedelic experience. A split-second flash of that sacred geometry came before my eyes and my body was wracked with what I can only describe as ecstatic joy. Just then, three bells chimed, marking the end of our session. Roused from this split-second hallucination, I was thoroughly unprepared for this moment. I wanted to shake someone next to me and ask if they had seen what I just had. Both euphoric and slightly alarmed, I had to instead walk back to my dorm in silence. I’d learn later in one of the books we were given that I had stumbled upon the 5th of 16 steps along the way of practicing Anapanasati. What a ride!

As I mentioned, we met here on the first few days for our meditations and Dhamma talks. However, rain that fell occasionally for the first few days grew steadily persistent over time. Throughout days four and five, the rain came in prolonged deluges. At the end of day five, this hall and the back half of the retreat, along with one of the women’s dorms, were completely flooded in knee-deep water. Rains from the mountains had come down to our area and caused a once in 30-year flood, according to the news.

By the seventh day, the rains slowed enough for the waters to recede. However, we would not set foot as a group in the hall after the fourth day. We would learn the importance of impermanence in Buddhist philosophy throughout the Dhamma talks, and this was certainly one of the most powerful demonstrations of it.

A flowering tree on one of the paths to Meditation Hall 5

I posted this on my Instagram as my first return to Social Media World. A few of these flowers remained throughout the stay. Gazing idly at their beauty, they provided "entertainment" during our ample free time. Most of the others fell and washed away during the incredible rains. Another beautiful lesson in impermanence.

The tree and hall, as well as the reflecting ponds behind, were completely flooded for days as well. Before the floods, I learned my favorite meditation and practice, Loving Kindness, here in hall four.

The Big Tree, as it was aptly named, provided me with another favorite activity to pass the time over the retreat: watching the incredible amount of ants march through their deep trenches to carry-on their 24/7 activities.

We would meet here every afternoon for the second monk in command (his name escapes me) to give his own lessons, often interspersed with Thai humor that only a monk could deliver. Then we chanted Buddhist prayers, one of the few times we could use our voices. It was during one of these session that the monk saved me from my lowest moment of the retreat.

On the fourth day, a once-favorite song, “Crave You,” was playing in my head on repeat as a result of a lesson on desire, attachment and craving. By the afternoon, the song blared at volume level 11 (see: Spinal Tap). I thought I was going to scream out of madness as the song failed to cease. While staring off into the pond behind the hall and considering if I was indeed going crazy, the monk told a joke at just the right moment to break my spell and lift my spirits. The chanting that followed, plus the guided “loving kindness” meditation led by a nun with an ethereally soothing voice, was the salve I needed at such a critical time.

Before the flood and after the waters receded, copious ants made their trails to and from the tree. You can see the trails in the picture if you look hard enough. They were fascinating to observe but frustratingly persistent with their bites whenever my bare feet crossed their paths. I quickly learned where to jump or run in order to avoid their wrath but this only mitigated the amount of bites I’d get on any given day.

Yes, the similarities to a prison cell were not lost on me. The final Dhamma talk, the Prison of Life, brought this full circle for me. Explanation will come in the final part but for now, just as I submitted to living in this prison cell for 10 days, we voluntarily put ourselves in prisons of our own making every day.

This was as bare bones as it gets. The wood slab and straw “mattress” was a perpetual challenge. Sleeping in fits and starts somehow makes it much easier to wake at 4 am, which is kind of the point. And if you give that wooden “Buddha pillow” a try, you may find you actually like it … kind of. The openness to the outside allowed in several large spiders at various times, but we cohabited quite peacefully, particularly with my bed net firmly in place.

Here my dorm mates and I brushed teeth and washed ourselves and clothes, again in silence. Scooping cold water to wash yourself every morning was humbling, but like most things in life, we adapted quickly. It was no big deal after a while. The starkness of this place and our rooms taught us how little we need to get by and still be relatively comfortable.

The view from the second floor of my dorm

This was from a bench upstairs in my dorm. I swear, this place saved me in many ways. It was one of the only spots in the retreat where you could sit on a chair-like object. During our breaks and walking meditation sessions, I found myself sitting here watching the clouds and mist brush past the hills in the distance and actually observing the plants grow.

I took refuge here more than once during the ninth day, our "test day." On this day, our routine was modified to more closely resemble that of a monk's life. No Dhamma talks or lessons, so very little audio input, and only one solid meal with a tea time replacing our second meal. All we could do was meditate, walk and contemplate.

So it was from here I was able to observe the banana tree in the middle grow over the last couple of days. I watched and stared as one of its leaves unfurled ever so slowly before my eyes. When so much sensory stimulation is removed, these moments become riveting. Again, the nature of nature’s impermanence was ever-present.

The first hall built for the international retreat, this was where we learned to practice walking meditation. To those unfamiliar with meditation practice, walking meditation may seem counterintuitive to the idea of a yogi or meditator sitting still in silence. However, meditation, and the larger practice of mindfulness, can — and should — take place in all aspects of our lives. Along with our yoga practice, walking meditation provided a necessary respite from the rigors of sitting for many collective hours throughout the day. We learned the walking meditation technique here but could practice it outside in the grounds as well.

It was also here that we received some Dhamma talks after hall 5 flooded. During one of those talks on day 6, I was trying to listen mindfully until I drifted into a meditative trance. I closed my eyes and before I knew what was happening, an apparition appeared in my vision. We had learned that creating mental images are a natural part of the Anapanasati practice. By focusing on, controlling, and manipulating these images, we can gain greater sati, or concentration, within the mind. We were taught to create simple images, with shapes like marbles or white lights as "good" objects of focus.

However, out of my control, an image began to form in my mind in a manner I thought of as akin to an architectural computer program. Horizontal slabs of this structure began to slide in from the left, layering one top of another and forming a more complex image. Illuminated in fluorescent green, this structure came into clearer focus until I realized what it was; my mind had created a temple. Although I had visited many throughout my travels in Southeast Asia, this was not a temple I had seen before. As soon as it became complete, it expanded into a greater temple complex until it arrived in its final shape. Sitting in amazement with my eyes still closed, I beheld the image of the Buddha clearly laid before me.

As I mentioned, we were taught to form simple shapes and avoid complex ones since these could cause undue excitement -- yea, tell me about it. The Buddha was one we were specifically taught to avoid. And yet here it was. I was slightly alarmed and overwhelmed once again and so I decided to open my eyes. To my amazement, even with eyes open, the image remained. Slowly, the form dissipated until only a writhing mass of fluorescent green blobs moved across my field of vision.

I was so excited that I had to break my silence and ask Supon what was going on after the talk concluded. He simply told me to relax, that everything would be fine. I took his advice to walk in nature. The next thirty minutes that followed were some of my most peaceful times in nature. Everything amazed. I marveled at the pond and the water bugs within. The grass was assuredly greener. I was in heaven.

View of Meditation Hall 3 through the jungle foliage

Meditation Hall 3 became our central refuge during and after the flooded days. We gathered here instead of Hall 5 whenever we were summoned by the bell for our sitting meditation sessions and Dhamma talks. This was also the site of the men's daily yoga sessions, which were godsends. With Supon leading the way with his soothing aphorisms, we were able to move, flex and stretch our bodies for the only time we were “allowed” to exercise; physical activity was otherwise discouraged. It was also here I shared my experiences with the group on our final day during our concluding ceremony.

———

As you can probably tell by now, this collective experience was extraordinarily profound for me.

On the last day, I broke the rule to not write, forgiving myself for doing this as many others had done the same before me. I needed to remember the lessons I learned along my journey, both from the monks’ and laymen’s teachings, and also the Truths I had discovered and internalized by walking the path myself.

I’m so grateful I transcribed these thoughts for my later reference. In the last part of this series, I will share with you those thoughts and how I’ve tried to incorporate them into my daily practice and life after the retreat.

The Prison Break Series, Part 2: What Happened To You?

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