Maybe it was a mistake to watch Mad Men the night before I left for the retreat. In the final episode of the series, Don Draper, seeking meaning, purpose and inner peace, attends a meditation retreat at Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California. Featuring spectacular ocean views, hot springs, a pool, and a restaurant, accomodation options include a Premium Plus King room for $US3180 for four nights, or for the full Don Draper experience, there’s the Fritz Point House, a sublime private suite for two. I’d like to go to that. But for now I will make the best of my single bunk bed in the windowless room at the end of the hallway.
Wandering up the path to the meditation hall, the final scene from Mad Men plays inside my head. Don Draper, joins a group meditation on the clifftop overlooking Big Sur, and as he Om’s quietly, he has an epiphany; an idea for a soft drink commercial.
Cut to: A flower-power clad choir, singing on a hilltop, sharing soda laced with high-fructose corn syrup. An ear-worm warbles inside my head, “I’d like the teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony. . .
Finding a cushion and taking a seat in the meditation hall, I don’t realise I’m humming along with the worm until a voice from behind shushes me.
On a small raised platform at the front of the hall, two teachers, emanating calm and serenity, sit cross-legged, their backs straight as rods. The teacher on the right, bright eyed, mid-50’s, is a dead ringer for Frances McDormand. On her left, a fine featured older gentleman in Buddhist robes, reminds me of Clint Eastwood.
June, the statuesque retreat co-ordinator, rings the bell, welcomes us to the retreat and makes a few housekeeping announcements. Number one, no food allowed in the hall. Two, no hot drinks. I’m nursing a cup of peppermint tea. I try to conceal it under my shawl and manage to simultaneously scald my hand and spill it all over my lap, so it now looks like I have lost control of my bladder.
Buddhist Clint Eastwood outlines the five precepts/rules for the retreat.
1. To refrain from destroying living creatures. (easy-peasy)
2. To refrain from taking that which is not given. (I feel much better about the fact that my room doesn’t have a door that locks.)
3. To refrain from sexual activity. (that one’s for you Old Money Steve Martin)
4. To refrain from false speech or gossip. (should be easy considering the no talking thing)
5. To refrain from intoxicating drinks and drugs.
There will be small group sessions during the retreat where you meet with one of the teachers to check in and ask questions that may arise. You can also request a one-to-one interview if you’re struggling.
INNER CRITIC
You should probably book one right away.
ME
I’m not struggling.
INNER CRITIC
You’re kidding, right. You want to quit and go home. And you probably should. You really don’t belong here.
Frances McDormand tells us that tomorrow, our first full day, is a settling in period and to be kind and gentle with ourselves and in our practice. If sitting for each meditation is too much then we are free to lie down, and if we doze off during the meditation that’s okay too.
Before turning in for the night we will sit for forty-five minutes and use whatever meditation technique we’re comfortable with – watching the breath, listening to sounds in the room, or any other method that helps quiet our monkey minds.
Frances rings a bell, from this moment on we are to keep noble silence. Seven days. No speaking. And no humming apparently. Yoiks. Here goes.
I drop in to my body and observe my breath. I can feel the air at the top of my lip, the rise and fall of my chest. In breath, out breath. . .
INNER CRITIC
Tell me, what is the point of this?
ME
Please, not now. I’m focusing on my breath. In breath, out breath. . .
INNER CRITIC
Shouldn’t you be doing something more productive?
ME
In breath. Out breath.
INNER CRITIC
Those job applications aren’t going to write themselves.
ME
I know. I’m planning to do them as soon as I get home.
INNER CRITIC
I hope you haven’t missed any important deadlines.
ME
In breath. Out breath.
Within ten minutes there are at least half a dozen people snoring their heads off around the room. Some are quiet little buzz saws, a few growling grizzly bears, and one that sounds like a click beetle.
After the meditation session, I hurry down the long hall past the shared bathroom where there’s already three people in line. I charge back to my room to grab my toiletries bag and a towel. Toiletries is a weird word, isn’t it? Toilet trees. I’m picturing trees that look like toilets and toilets that look like trees. The good thing about noble silence is I won’t feel compelled to share all these random observations that run through my mind.
Opening the door, I crash into a wiry woman in her late twenties. I’m guessing it’s my roommate but as we’re in silence I can’t introduce myself or ask if she’s a burglar. I decide I’ll call her Moaning Myrtle. I figure a character from Harry Potter is apt given we were sharing the cupboard under the stairs. I don’t think she’s a Hermione Granger and I can’t think of any other names on the spot so Myrtle it is.
Myrtle and I awkwardly navigate our way around each other in the tiny space and I quickly head off for the shower. By the time I return she is fast asleep in her bunk. Not snoring or moaning. I count my blessings and as I drift off to sleep. . .
EAR WORM
I’d like to buy the world a coke, and furnish it with love. . .
INNER CRITIC
That’s not how it goes.
EAR WORM
It’s the real thing… that’s the way it should be. I’d like to buy the world a coke and keep it company.
Sweet dreams. See you in the morning.