Retreats, long or short, are a way to cut attachment to the world and to pursue the inner path with focus and concentration. Here, Michelle Levey describes a year long retreat.

Michelle Levey and her husband Joel teach meditation and conduct workshops on the sacred dimensions of the helping professions, enhancing creativity, and affecting the heart of business. She is co-founder of InnerWork Technologies, Inc., a Seattle based training and consulting firm that specializes in enhancing the synergy of individual, team and organizational effectiveness. She has worked with such diverse groups as NASA and the US Army Green Berets.

Twelve Moons of Meditation

"Always keep the Buddha with you, like an umbrella."
Gen Lamrimpa

When I turned forty I had the rare and precious opportunity to devote an entire year of my life to polishing the mirrors of my heart and mind in silent meditation. I was part of a team of inner explorers, which included my husband and a group of friends.

Our retreat, led by the Venerable Gen Lamrimpa, took place at Cloud Mountain in the Pacific Northwest under the auspices and with the many blessings of His Holiness the Dalai Lama. It was truly a unique experiment for our time and culture, both as to its nature and length of duration.

Designed specifically for the purpose of cultivating the development of a state of mind characterized by profound and single-pointed concentration, our practice led us along the various stages of a path toward what is known technically as "access concentration," or "shamatha" in Sanskrit and "shine" in Tibetan. This rarefied state of absorbed focus, termed "calm abiding" in English, refers to a sustained unwavering concentration in which all mental and emotional turbulence is completely subdued. It produces a quality of mind that leads to a non-dual state of intuitive insight in which the meditator and the object of meditation merge and become one.

Another unique aspect of our retreat was that although it took place within the context of a group, in actuality it was very much a solo experience. Each meditator practiced in his or her own "retreat hut," a little room about 8' by 9', furnished only with a simple bed, our own handmade meditation platform, makeshift altar, propane light and heater. And though we were all engaged in the practice of shamatha meditation, the actual specific focus of concentration was chosen by each meditator and varied from individual to individual. While some people chose to concentrate on their breath, others selected a visualized image, and some contemplated the nature of mind itself. Ultimately, I chose to work with a traditional Tibetan shamatha object: the visualized mental image of the Buddha Shakyamuni. Our teacher explained that there were special purposes and benefits in focusing on the image of the Buddha. Even if one didn't attain shamatha, it would leave very good and wholesome imprints that would be especially helpful at the moment of death.

Our expedition party was composed of five women and three men, with my husband Joel and I the only married couple making the journey of the whole year together. Though we lived in separate rooms, were celibate, and had very little contact, we both felt that in many ways it was the most intimate year of our lives. Not busy distracting ourselves with the superficial details, demands, and conflicting desires of ordinary daily experience, we were able to stay connected with an intimate sense of attunement at the very depths of our being.

Even the physical wall that we shared between our two rooms seemed transparent and nonexistent to our psyches, and often I would awake from my dreams surprised to find it there, so absent was it in psychological reality. Joel and I had agreed before the retreat started that we would set aside a special time each day to "sit" with each other Each in our own rooms, on our own meditation cushions, we had a date every day at 5:30 pm that we kept faithfully.

What a pleasing punctuation it gave to the day to shift from wherever we were and focus in on each other. For this stop in time, we would bring the power of the concentrated mind we had been building all day and beam it in with love to interpenetrate each other's being in our hearts. Often it was the sweetest part of the whole day, and one that we really looked forward to. We both still feel that sitting together in this way throughout the year helped to nurture and nourish the bond between us. There is a level of touching and connection that can be tasted and known in silence that speaking can never compete with, for it far transcends and is more powerful than any words can ever be.

Not only was this the most intimate year of my life, it was also, subjectively, the shortest! In fact, if I hadn't actually witnessed the marvelous changing of the four seasons, I wouldn't have believed that twelve months had already flown by so quickly. We all perceived this accelerated warp of time perception.

Early morning turned out to produce my best meditations, and be my "power time" in general, so I usually rose well before dawn. When the weather permitted, I would often be perched on a little outdoor meditation platform, looking out across the forest toward Mt. Saint Helens, ready to greet the sunrise in meditation until about 7:30 a.m.

By the second month most of us had turned off our propane heaters because we found the noise they made too disturbing, so the walk to the bath house in the brisk Northwest morning air to warm up with a hot shower was another of our life's simple joys! Then there was breakfast, available from about 8 -9 am. As the retreat progressed, many of us simply picked up our meals and carried them back to our rooms in order to minimize distraction. By eating privately, we were able to stay more focused and less likely to become involved in the extraneous activities around us. For the same reason we were encouraged not to receive mail or make phone calls, but the choice was left up to us. This was an accelerated course in fostering individual responsibility.

Being in charge of our own individual meditation schedules required a certain level of spiritual maturity and disciplined self-direction. Not sitting in the same physical space and predetermined time schedule of a group gave us both a greater degree of freedom and an equally greater challenge of responsibility. Sometimes I missed the supportive energy I was accustomed to sharing in a group sitting context, but I appreciated the impetus I gained getting to discipline myself in a new way. Since no one but I (and the Buddha!) would know whether I was really meditating in my own room or not, this really turned up the heat on my own motivation and commitment to the practice.
Our meditation teacher had advised us, in keeping with Tibetan tradition, to begin with short sessions of high quality, and only very slowly and gradually to increase the time periods of our sittings. Accordingly, we all started with ten minute sessions, followed by a very short break to rest and refresh the mind. When we found that we could concentrate for ten minutes with very little mind wandering, we could then add another five minutes, and so on. The rest of the day went by as a series of concentrated sitting sessions, gradually increasing in length, with periods of relaxation, walking meditation, and inspirational reading. Lunch was available over a two hour period, from about 12:30 to 2:30 pm, to allow for the varying and unique schedules of each retreatant. The afternoons followed the same essential pattern as the mornings: sitting--break--sitting--break. At 5:30 pm I'd "sit" with Joel, and then go off to get some tea and supper and settle back in for the night until about 10 pm, when I'd dedicate the merits of the day's practice with prayers that the positive energy generated would bring benefit to all beings. Having dedicated and radiated all the good energy of myself and others, I was ready for sleeping meditation and dream yoga.

Our teacher, Gen Lamrimpa, was generally available to us as much as we needed. There were no scheduled interviews, and it was totally up to us to request time with him to ask questions and check our navigational course correction. Sometimes I'd go to see him very often, other times weeks would pass with very little interaction other than a warm smile and a wave on the way to lunch. Gen-la, as we called him respectfully, is an extraordinary yogi and remarkable lama who has spent more than seventeen years of his life in retreat in the mountains above Dharmasala, India, after escaping from Tibet in the mass exodus that followed the Chinese invasion and take-over in 1959. It is to this kind, compassionate and very wise being that I give my heartfelt gratitude, for without him, the year that changed my life could never have happened.
Everything was set up to create the most conducive circumstances possible to support the success of our practice. Our sole job was simply to practice single-pointed concentration on our chosen object, and we were not required to do any chores. We lived in a sheltered and generally pampered universe, shielded from the harsh realities of the mundane world. The Presidential election came and went. Barely noticed. Breathing in and Breathing out. Living with the Buddha. These were our main concerns.

Then in the eleventh month of the retreat, I received word that my father was in critical condition in the intensive care unit, having suffered a serious heart attack, and that my mother was desperately distressed. The question of whether to leave the retreat--which had reached a critical stage--to be with them tugged on my mind with painful and vivid intensity. It was time to see the Lama and seek his advice. After much discussion and deep inquiry, it became clear that if I could get there in time to guide my father through the dying process and be of benefit to my parents, there would be much greater positive energy generated by that than by staying in retreat and not helping directly. After all, why did I go into retreat anyway, if not to be able to be of greater service when I came out?

Now can you imagine what it must have been like to emerge from the purity of those eleven months of silent meditation and into the bustling frenetic energy and noise of New York City, one of the craziest cities on this planet? But what you might not have been able to imagine was the incredible grace and mantle of protection that continued to surround and bless me throughout that whole amazing journey. The Buddha was my constant companion and kept me company through it all, and everyone I met was the recipient of his gracious kindness, compassion and blessing.

I was able to stay with my father for seven days and to be with him at the actual time of his death--our final gift to each other. During those seven days much miraculous healing and opening of levels of love and communication took place that had not happened during the course of a lifetime. And I know that much of what I was able to give my parents at that pivotal time came as a direct fruit of my year of meditation. My father's last words to my mother and myself, waved with a gesture of his hands in our direction was, "Be peaceful." Being peaceful--the essential meaning of "shamatha." My mother surprised me by asking me to conduct the funeral services, and I was able to share the Dharma in this spirit of peace and joy with the rest of our family. What a blessing! Somehow, through this whole process, my mother and I entered into a transformed relationship of heightened respect, compassion and mutual acceptance.

Looking back, I cannot say that I attained any great state of Realization or concentrative absorption, but the benefits of those twelve moons of meditation changed me in many important ways. A deeper faith, a little more patience, compassion and mindful awareness, a clearer sense of priorities, and a much closer relationship with the Buddha within me, are among the jewelled treasures that I carry from this year. And as Gen-la said, "If you don't get shamatha, but you do get more patience and more compassion, that is the real Dharma fruit."

May all beings enjoy its sweet taste!

Michelle Levey
Living with the Buddha:
A Journey of Twelve Moons