Returning to Portland has been strange. I feel like I should’ve played up a better yoga persona, told people that I’d wandered into the wilderness to spend time alone. Contemplative and silent.
“Now that I’m back, you’re welcome to bask in the glow of My Further Enlightenment. Namaste.”
I know a few people who’ve done those silent meditation retreats. The silent part is fine, I could do that, but the ones where you’re just supposed to SIT...?
…and just “be”…?
Eh.
I’ve always been conflicted about the sort of ethos that surrounds yoga, never talking much about the spirituality. I’ve always kept that mix of Hinduism and Buddhism at arm’s length. My understanding is superficial, but I get stuck on two ideas:
1 — That the world around you is just “maya” or illusion.
2 — That desire and attachment are the root of suffering and need to be let go.
I don’t necessarily disagree. But it seems to lead people in a direction where disengagement from the world is somehow a “higher” level of being. “The physical” is base and maybe vulgar. You sit and peel back the illusion of what’s around you to see… what, exactly? Who’s going to confirm that I haven’t just changed the channel for another immersive illusion?
The Wise Guru still has to sleep, still gets hungry, still uses the bathroom just like I do.
Desire and attachment can be a burden, can be poorly directed or destructive. But if I let them go, why do anything at all?
Is the point of “living” to transcend the world around you, or to be a part of it? I don’t have good answers, but I have my biases.
So yeah, didn’t spend my time meditating. I did a lot of laundry.
I loaded and emptied machines. Folded clothes over and over and over. Stuffed things into plastic bags and taped numbers on, to track them. Got up early to turn on the generator and the pump. Closed the door to the van after dark and fell asleep exhausted.
I’d wake up in the middle of night, put my shoes on, walk out to the port-a-john and look up at the stars. They were so bright.
My brain was marinated in podcasts, much of the time. The selection was pretty random, the more eccentric and unedited the better, like a stream of narrated cartoons that seem a lot more ridiculous when I'm spending my time in the woods.
Some days I’d just load up on more caffeine and skip the nap midday. I’d drive on the dirt switchbacks and hope no one shot around the corner, oncoming. There were old forests, stands of trees burnt halfway up their trunks, slopes almost entirely cleared except for stumps.
There were drifters parked in rickety campers and vans. There were random hikers. There was smoke everywhere until the wind whipped up and brought a couple days of rain.
There was beautiful bleached dead wood over the mountains. Clear lakes. Rough rivers and streams with threatening currents. I’d park and hike and return with found bones. The heat spiked up again, the last week I was there. I followed a river to stay cool. Found an abandoned campground next to a waterfall, walked down to the bottom. There was a sheltered pool, so I stripped down and swam. The water was freezing. I sat on a rock and dried out in the sun.
Since I got back, I’ve done a lot of cleaning and purging of junk I’d stuffed all over my place. There’s still a lot left, but I’ve made a big dent, cleared a lot of space.
I looked up the opposite of “retreat” and came up with “advance.” Not quite the same context, but that’s OK: “to move forward in a purposeful way.”
I’m always still working that one out.
Be well,
Chris