Retreat diary

Here is another thing I wanted to share from my self-retreat earlier this month: I reached a level of stillness I had never experienced in over 30 years of practicing yoga.

You might say, "Well, after 30 years, it’s about time!" But it wasn’t just the culmination of decades of chipping away at roaming thoughts. A large part of this stillness came from the retreat’s environment. It wasn’t a glamorous, tropical setting with mangoes fresh off the trees, daily oil massages, and 10 hours of asana practice. Quite the opposite, actually. Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of traveling to turquoise waters and doing yoga all day, but let’s call those what they are: vacations with a yoga emphasis. They’re lovely, but they’re not retreats in the traditional sense.

For my retreat, I stayed in a high-rise apartment building at the shore, completely alone. My meals were simple and repetitive: kitchari, dal, and sautéed spinach. Each day, I walked by the ocean, battling 40 mph winds and temperatures in the 20s. I spent about five hours a day on the couch in meditation practice, with the remaining time divided between watching pre-recorded videos from my teacher, cooking, and resting. My asana practice was minimal. I wore the same clothes every day, disengaged from all media (except for the Weather Channel), and read only Yoga Vashistha. My one indulgence? A daily hot bath—a rare luxury for me.
The setup was stark, yet intentional. The external quiet allowed for internal quiet. Finding the mind’s on/off switch is daunting in the midst of family, friends, work—basically, life. That switch is buried beneath to-do lists, distractions, and desires. Attempting to still the mind amidst life’s chaos is like stepping into a highway’s fast lane, waving your arms at a speeding truck, and shouting, “STOP!” No matter how much the truck driver wants to stop, the laws of physics prevail. You will be flattened. Similarly, the physics of the mind’s momentum often win out in our busy lives. Finding stillness in the fast lane is mostly impossible.

Now, a few weeks post-retreat, I’m already wondering when I can retreat again. Until then, I’m seeking to weave stillness into my everyday life—with family, friends, and work. The stillness I touched during the retreat has left a lasting imprint. Even when I’m not still, I remember that I can be. I remember what it felt like, what it tasted like. That memory alone—that it’s possible—is powerful. I doubt I will ever forget it, even in moments when stillness feels out of reach.

If you are interested in stepping out of the fast lane for a bit, take a look at the retreat opportunity in the Berkshires the end of February. If you can’t carve out that much time, the Monday evening class, Mantra, Mudras and Chakras is a good option, as is the Restore and Renew coming up at the end of the month. Get those moments of stillness when you can, even if they are not complete, it is a start.