The Prison Break Series, Part I: Why Are You Here?

This post is about me, but I promise it’s not selfish. At least that’s not my intention. And really, it’s not even about “me,” or “my.” Before “I” lose you in esoterica, let me try to explain.

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Sapiens pronounced itself from the open as the perfect travel read as I began my trip last March. Yuval Noah Hariri’s book examines the biological and social evolution of our species, Homo Sapiens Sapiens. He describes how that progression led ‘Sapiens’ — and not any other species of Homo — to organize and then dominate the earth and its other inhabitants. Hariri saturated my mind with novel angles taken and connections drawn between topics germane to lessons from schooling as well as daily experience. Revisiting what I thought I “knew” about various general principles of science, sociology or ‘Life,’ Hariri continually forced a reexamination of my accumulated knowledge through new lenses. 

Excavation site at Oldupai Gorge

The first stop on my Tanzanian safari was Oldupai Gorge, the archeological site where the Leakys found remains of (probably) the original human species, Homo Habilis. The awesome serendipity of reading this book while walking in the same area that the first humans (likely) took their first steps did not go over my erect head. 

Digesting Hariri’s insights while traveling the world solo for the first time and meeting people from distant parts of the earth was eerily perfect. This newly acquired wisdom helped me better appreciate subsequent encounters with my fellow Sapiens. Certainly, it gave me more bandwidth to process the political and social tumult I observed in and around the countries I visited as well as back home.

One question and theme stands out notably in the book among the countless fascinating facts and findings Hariri puts forth. The emphasis placed on it becomes apparent with the relative time and attention he devotes to it. 

Hariri hints at the question of our happiness throughout the book. He asks towards the end, have all our sociological and technological advances that make our lives undoubtedly easier also make us truly “happier“ than our ancestors? 

My end-of-2016 post explored an ongoing disparity I observed that year, and seemingly throughout my life. On a local and global basis, we continue making gains across multiple aspects/metrics of Life that ostensibly make our lives better: reduction in violent crime, rise in life expectancy, ever-easier access to meet daily needs and wants, etc. Yet the tendency of our cultural psyche is towards pessimism about the present and the future and idealization of the past. Simultaneously, there is an alarmingly high level of mental illness on the rise, notably in the West, as well as what I perceive as a general dysthymia among the general population. What explains this and what can we do?

Scanning across the span of human progress, Hariri highlights one approach he suggests is able to mitigate the perpetual ill of “suffering“ seemingly inherent to the human experience: Buddhism.

The Buddha reached his goal of enlightenment when he completely quenched the fire of craving and desire that was the source of his human suffering. Thereafter, the path to alleviating and eliminating suffering formed the essence of Buddhist practice. 

Considering Hariri’s noted expertise on a vast range of subjects relevant to human existence, his emphasis on Buddhism among other religious or secular approaches struck me and stuck with me. I knew after reading his passages devoted to it that I would eventually need to learn more about why he made this emphasis subtly explicit. I just didn’t know how or when that might be.

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“Why are you here?”

“I’ve been traveling for some time now. On my trip, among other things, I’ve been looking to learn more about myself. I think coming here is the next logical step for me to learn more.”

“You are correct. The breath is the key to life. You must find this out and know that you have it within you, we all have the key within ourselves.“

This is how I recall my intake interview began upon entering Suan Mokkh International Meditation Retreat in Chaiya, Thailand. Supon was the interviewer, a layman and second coordinator in charge of the retreat under Ajahn Poh, the abbot of the Suan Mokkh monastery. Through nervous excitement from undertaking ten silent days of reflection, I tried to parse Supon’s words. They made a certain kind of sense while sounding like cliched, Eastern philosophizing. I challenged myself to dismiss the latter impression and to focus on understanding his meaning. After all, I was here because of long-mounting motivation to undertake a silent meditation retreat. 

Why, you might ask? Per my previous cliche, to see what I might find out about myself, maybe even life. (Or are they the same thing?)

But really: Why? Why was I about to submit to a trying ordeal most people would instinctually and instantly run from? Having now been through and learned from this exercise, I know more clearly what led me here. But let’s not jump ahead. 

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I was familiar with meditation retreats early in life. As my mom often says, I grew up “in meditation.” Mom was an avid meditator before I was born, and she brought my dad and me into the practice as we came into her life. I was already a “yogi” by age three having visited the ashram of my mother’s guru in India. Some of my earliest memories are from this time. 

Thereafter, my parents purchased a house in upstate New York to be closer to the main US ashram of that guru. I recall many sweet memories of visiting the house and ashram with my family on weekends throughout the year and on extended stays in summer. Exploring the sticks and fallen trees, dirtying my hands collecting hundreds of neon orange salamanders after a heavy rain, fishing and canoeing, jumping off the back porch after a heavy blizzard into feet of fresh powder, and much more.

Nice recollections also come from my time spent at the ashram. I mostly kept to myself while exploring the massive grounds but also made friends participating in the chants and meditations and other rituals at the ashram.

The ashram offered its own version of meditation retreats called, ‘intensives.’ These programs were separate from the more routine, weekly activities. They had a similar format to other retreats I know: a period of three or more days of “intense” meditation and chanting; adhering to a dress code (usually all white, modest clothing); specific dietary restrictions; and other proscriptions. 

A quick aside, I vividly remember an incident one summer day when I accidentally spilled some food on a friend of my parents. Dressed in white for his participation in a silent intensive, he was unable to speak in retribution or otherwise. His face was an interesting mix of perturbed annoyance and also mediated reflection. I didn’t think of it at the time but this was almost certainly a good test of his patience and meditative practice. Everything happens for a reason, right? 

I’d be lying if I said I ever fully understood the purpose and practice of meditation throughout this time, however. Even with the privilege of early and prolonged exposure to the practice through my teen years, I didn’t fully grasp the essence of what to expect while meditating or what the potential benefits might be. If asked how to meditate, I’d probably just say to sit there and wait till the bell rings. 

I have some theories as to why but those are probably best saved for another day. What is important is that I understood in principle the power that meditation could have for those who engaged in it with purpose, clarity, and consistency. As I grew older, I heard people in my life and in the media I consumed extolling the virtues of meditation, imploring me to begin a practice again. 

Through this, a wellspring of motivation began to fill for me to enter a meditation retreat, and soon. My expectations were numerous and goals were ambitious. I wanted to gain better focus and self-control, to gain insight into my life and build a productive routine within it, all in the hopes of being Happier. In the end, however we approach it, isn’t that what we’re all after? 

On my travels, the question remained; where? Given the experience and preconceptions from my past, I looked outside the organization I grew up with. One practice that kept surfacing in my consciousness was Vipassana. A few of my own “gurus,” Sam Harris, Tim Ferriss, and Joe Rogan, among others, either mentioned or plainly recommended Vipassana in their writings and podcasts. It seemed to be an effective and secular approach to begin again "in meditation." 

I considered scouting retreats while touring through Europe from spring through fall. But a vague feeling grew stronger to wait until I arrived in Asia. With the encouragement of a kindred spirit I met in Barcelona, I found a 7-day retreat that looked perfect in Koh Samui, Thailand, to begin in late December. 

I thought I was set to go until I heard that Koh Samui was seeing some of the heaviest rainfall and flooding in recent history. Weather patterns converged with a chance meeting with a girl I immediately fancied. Almost as quickly as we met, we decided to travel together and so a change of plans was inevitable. I reopened my investigation into finding another retreat. 

I found what I needed on Rolf Pott’s blog, based off his essential book for the would-be world-tripper/vagabonder. Rolf recommends finding a retreat on your own for various reasons. But I was in need of a quick replacement and he provided three recommendations, so I chose the middle one: Suan Mokkh. With the next retreat starting on 12/31, I solved two “problems” at once: finding where I would spend my first silent meditation retreat as well as my New Year’s Eve “celebration.”

Now the anticipation and nerves truly set in…