Day 54
It would be nice to say that I have emerged from my week of intensive introspection as a delicate young butterfly light and free from my cares and desires. While this is not entirely true, I will say that this experience was good in many ways. But before I get into the details of my spiritual awakening I must first detail the horror of my arrival at the Young Buddhist Association of Thailand's Vipassana Meditation center outside of Bangkok. No, I was not to a nunnery after all, instead I was to be interned at a building reminiscent of PS1 with linoleum flooring, hard metal stairways, and a cafeteria with rows of white tables and those uncomfortable yellow plastic scoop chairs that I imagine must have been the cheapest at the wholesale school furnishings depot. As I waited in line to check in (which was actually done by my uncle since I couldn't find my own name on the roster given my lack of prowess in Thai reading skills), and I watched the arrival of others toting suitcases and chatting, moving along knowingly it began to feel like that first day of camp and I was immediately thankful that at least this retreat would be a silent one and I wouldn't have to try and make friends with my atrocious thai on top of everything else - a feat that, to me, is inimitably more frightening than a week of silence or meditation. I was allotted my name badge and what I will now begin referring to as my inmate number: C301-3. C301 was my room number on the third floor and 3 was my bed number. Bed #3 out of 165. YES. I walked into my new "bedroom" to find that my bed was little more than a padded mat on the floor with a stiff brown plastic covered pillow that was about 5 inches thick and a thin blue/green tartan plaid (wool!) blanket. The room was literally just mats on the floor stacked in long rows head to head with about 2 inches of space between each pair. I was overcome with an urge to grab hold of my uncle’s sleeve and beg him to take me home with him; I've changed my mind.
I did not know that I had unwittingly signed up for internment camp. The bathroom was basically a locker-room. Pale tile floors, rows of sinks in front of a brushed metal "mirror" and basic shower and toilet stalls in the traditional mucous yellow shade.
At 9:30 am, having changed into my all white garb (note to siblings: remember grandma's funeral, this is what I had to wear minus the headgear), I filed into the meditation room, which is pictured above. Yes, we sat in organized rows just like that everyday while the various instructors led either meditation or lectures. After all 325 participants were arranged correctly, thus began the video orientation and my weeklong dis-orientation. After the first 10 minutes I realized that, although I legitimately thought that I am fluent in thai, I was very very wrong. I could understand maybe every three words and from those few things I was able to grasp these basic concepts: silence was to be observed at all times unless consulting with the instructors (cell phones are strictly forbidden), no leaving of the grounds, and no other entertainment activities including reading. Attire must be all white with not adorned with any literature or other distracting images. Shoes are forbidden in the meditation room but flip flops are allowed in other areas as long as they are clean and not soiled from outside wear.
The store would be open during meal times and immediately following the orientation for people to purchase things that they had forgotten or the correct attire if it was not brought. Of course my cousin gave me some that they already had in the house - XXXL pants that would made MC Hammer envious and huge billowing white cotton henley's that were so sheer you could see right through them and thus necessitated an undershirt. This may sound fine but layering in a place that doesn't subscribe to air-conditioning is a death wish. So, not knowing what I had signed up for, this is really all I brought with me along with basic necessities and the most skeletal parts of my recently acquired Sonya Dakar facial regimen. I was seized with panic. I did not bring any of the following: soap, shampoo, deodorant, clean flip-flops and most importantly a towel. I had also sent my passport and all but 200 baht (about $5.00) home with my uncle.
The store was more of a canteen of the sort you'd find at summer camp. Summer religious camp mind you. There were rows of bookshelves lined with Buddhist texts and other religious/philosophical literature and at the very front of the store was a small fridge with stocked with drinks: juice cartons, milk cartons, soymilk cartons and a few different kinds of soda. Next to this was a very small selection of travel size personal hygiene products - shampoo, soap, hair ties, hairnets, toothpaste, etc. At the back of the store you could find the correct clothing and the shoes. Now in the States my five bucks would probably have gotten me a travel size shampoo and some soap but I was able to get almost everything - including the flips for about 80 baht ($2). Since a lot of people forgot to bring shoes we had to mark them with our inmate numbers to differentiate them from each other. The biggest problem here was the lack of towel. I was informed that they were out of towels and were not expecting any but I could try to go to the front office and give them money to see if they could go buy me a towel from the outside since I was not allowed to leave the grounds. Unfortunately after the front office finally figured out what I was asking them in my broken Thai, they informed me that they could not accommodate my request.
Upstairs in the "room" I stood over my mat and contemplated. All around me, women were unpacking - their suitcases filled with everything they needed including towels. Some had even brought blankets and pillows - another smart move - snacks, hangers for towel drying etc. In my bag I had: 5 pairs of white pants, 5 white shirts, 6 white undershirts, underwear, and a book about Buddhism in english that I snuck in with me just in case. I didn't even bring pajamas because I thought were to constantly be in gear. As I stood there these two thoughts occurred:
1. Maybe I can go a week without taking a shower. I've done it before. I've gone six weeks in the British Columbian outback without toilet paper let alone a shower.
2. I could sacrifice one shirt for use as a towel
As you can see, neither of these thoughts seems in any way feasible or appealing. So within the first hour of internment I broke a cardinal rule. I turned my cell phone back on and phoned home.
This was then followed by lunch. All meals were to be eaten together in the cafeteria and everyone needed to be seated before eating could begin. Men and women at separate tables in separate areas. There was also the small necessity of giving thanks for the food. We once again lined up and filed into the dining hall where we picked up round metal trays that were already pre-laden with food. I say tray but I really don’t mean that. I have no better word for what really was a large round metal bowl about the diameter of a steering wheel that was compartmentalized into two small circular divets for sides, one larger squareish compartment for an entrée and one large round compartment for rice. If you are having images of prison you are not too far off. Don’t get me wrong, the food was actually pretty good and it wasn’t like we were being flogged while standing in line if we stepped out of place or accidentally spilled a grain of rice on the floor, it just seemed so regimented and sterile.
And this was my introduction to my week of insight. I will have to take leave now and go into the nitty gritty tomorrow simply because this is just too long now and if any of you have read everything down to this last line then I congratulate you because you must have incredible concentration which means that you do not need to intern yourself for a week at mind camp.
