A Winter Soup Recipe
I don’ t remember the womb. But I do have a feeling that it was a place full of warm bubblings- a primordial soup with zillions of ingredients: bitter, sweet, salty and sour. I don’t recall my time in utero. But I do have a sense that it was a time full of oozings- pulsing cycles of chemical juices: blissful, stressful, contented and fearful.
I don’t know a better comparison for a meditative retreat- for this is how it feels to me. To really push the analogy, the womb is the environment which gives continuous nutriment by way of food, water, sunshine, air and the umbilical cord (or is that Unbiblical Lord?) of the questioning mind. And in a sense, we are like helpless babies, our mouths open to what the Universe spoon feeds in. Not completely helpless though.
I spent the Winter in retreat. That was 3 months. A short gestation period when compared with a baby. But a good chunk of time to focus on cultivating friendly, curious ways of being; to allow the old icky bits to wither and die, and the fresh new shoots to come to life.
Nurtured by the lush native bush, warmed by the burning of fallen deadwood, I hibernated from the busyness of the city and relaxed profoundly. I was blessed with the opportunity to practise meditation and study the mystery of experience, to search for the force that through the green fuse drives the Puahou flower.
Poetry aside, what does one actually do all day long, when one is apparently doing nothing all day long? Well, it’s actually a bit ordinary. One finds routines that fit with the energy cycles of the body and the environment (with plenty of trial and plenty of error) and crafts the day accordingly. For me, rising shortly before dawn, splashing my face with water and taking a quick jog (careful not to trip over tree roots in the dark) is an invigorating start to the day. Hatha yoga, prayer and meditation, porridge and coffee and all engines are go. From there, a day is wide open to meditate in all postures with breaks (which are not breaks) to eat, drink, pee, poo, and bird-watch.
A particularly fascinating study is the cycling of energy levels; the tides of the body/mind, awaxing and awaning. ‘Why do I nod off at 9am each morning?’. ‘Oh gosh it’s 3pm, I’m getting brighter and brighter, here we go!’ These mysterious flows, which toss us around like flotsam on waves, can feel beyond our control, but we can ask: ‘Can I ride the swells and rogues?’, ‘Can I calm the vast, rolling soup?’, ‘What is this water?’.
Ah, and then the cooking begins- the alchemy of mental flavours: ‘Can I sweeten the sour broth or spice up the bland?’, ‘Can I juice up the dry mind or humble the grand?’. ‘How open and all encompassing can my cooking-pot-mind be? – can I bubble up joy to all living beings, ‘til my cauldron runneth over?’
To me a meditative retreat is a chance to get back to basics, to strip the frills and to see what really matters. It is a chance to enjoy simplicity and simplicity is very enjoyable. The simplicity of watching the sunrise and the enjoyment of forest smells. The simplicity of eating vegetables and the enjoyment of listening to birdsong. The simplicity of feeling the earth and the enjoyment of breathing fresh air. The bliss of being alive!
I found it rather extraordinary to remain in one place for such a period and in doing so, see the changing of season, day by day, leaf by leaf. As Winter begat Spring, the Manuka flowered and the Tuis rejoiced vocally in the young Kowhai flowers. The pair of Welcome Swallows nesting outside the cabin chirped louder and sunbathed longer following their insect-hunting flights, and the bright Coprosma berries shone in the sunshine and dew, displaying their sweetness to hungry birds and humans. And every morning the Sun rose out of the sea a little earlier and set over the hills a little later…
…Until the morning of the Spring Equinox, when I rose with the Sun and set out to the Big City. While it did take me a few days to regain comfortability with socialising and city living, what really struck me and has stuck with me, is the sheer richness of culture we live in. I felt like a child in an immense playground with endless toys and playmates, with one little twist- while feeling so much zest for doing this and seeing that I really felt no need to do anything in particular. After all, I had found I could be quite happy just sitting on my bum.
Lama Shabkar’s Sharing of the Merit
By the merit accumulated by myself and others throughout the three times, may those who have no spiritual guide find one, may those without Dharma find it, may those without a spiritual friend meet one, may those without a place of retreat find one, and may those without the means of subsistence find some, so that they may all become able to follow the Dharma and achieve enlightenment.