Getting Ready for a Silent Retreat

Sometimes, a stirring inside can call us toward a silent meditation retreat that we feel compelled to honor. It comes as a vague notion or hunch, and other times as certainty. Either way, if you are drawn toward a retreat, you have a chance to step away from the whirling world and into a deeper discovery within yourself.

When answering that inner call, you may find a retreat, enroll, and receive some brief guidance on what to expect—usually things like how to get there, how silence is managed, the schedule, what to bring, what you’ll eat, what to wear, and what not to wear, like fragrances.

Less often, there’s guidance on what you’ll encounter: your mind and body, which is what’s offered below.

Before starting your first retreat, it’s normal for your mind—forever the problem-solver—to try to figure everything out, including whether you can even do it. You can. But it’s normal to wonder, doubt, worry, or question this unfamiliar experience.

Your retreat leaders will likely give you pointers on a posture to adopt. Sitting still for long periods isn’t something we typically do, so your posture may feel awkward at first. You’ll grow into it. Unless it’s a Zen retreat at a formal Zen school (where they’re quite particular about posture), it’s not a do-or-die part of the practice. Let your body rest on its sturdy frame, like a tablecloth draped over a table, and see how it goes.

You may also be tired for the first day or two. As you settle into this deliberately slower way of operating, you may discover that you’ve actually been pushing yourself harder than you realized. Your body may say, “So, yeah, I’m going to chill now,” and what that looks like is a desire for sleep. It’s okay to honor the body’s need for rest. Take the nap. You don’t need to be in ultra mode on retreat.

It’s also wise to acknowledge your status as a beginner. Most of us have unfounded ideas and expectations of what meditation and retreats should be—like “My mind should be silent” or “I will find ultimate peace.” Those ideas aren’t helpful. What is helpful is recognizing your newness, because it fosters an open mindset and reduces perfectionism.

Perfectionism masquerades as a helpful force, but it just adds unnecessary pressure. If you try too hard, you miss the point: noticing what’s here now. The core practice is to bring a gentle, curious noticing to whatever is showing up in your experience.

Generally, what arises are thoughts, feelings, and sensations. When you become aware of them, you may find the gifts of meditation—insight, release, compassion—are more likely to arise. But before that, the most common thing you’ll encounter is the restlessness of the mind: it may look like 12-year-olds at a trampoline park in there.

This kind of mental activity is always happening—but in meditation, you may unhook from it enough to finally see it clearly. Your thoughts will drift to many places—vacation ideas, what you presume others are thinking, brownies, resentments, loved ones, things to do—anything—and your only job is this: recognize thoughts as thoughts, and let them come and go.

Watch how thoughts arise and fall away. Notice how they happen on their own and don’t last forever. Each time you recognize your thoughts as just thoughts, you’re accomplishing something important: you’re no longer wrapped up in them. That’s the doorway to freedom and discovering your true nature.

Another thing you encounter in meditation is emotion, which typically has a somatic presence in the body. This might include sensations, contractions, or energy. For some of us, meeting emotions may be immediate, and for others, delayed. Sometimes emotions may be big, other times small. Again, there’s nothing to force here.

Many people are used to managing emotions—a habit shaped by a culture that pathologizes feelings. But when you sit, you meet emotions like you might a scared child: with gentle, curious attention. Let them unfold in their own time; it’s not something to rush or judge.

Judgment is one of the biggest challenges in meditation. It can come on quickly and suggest that you aren’t “doing it right” or are somehow falling short. Although it can feel incredibly personal—sometimes judgment actually feels like “you”—it is just another thought, and a dirty liar.

As you learn to meet yourself in this way—shifting from doing to being—it helps to remember that another name for meditation is practice. You’re not at a tournament, and there’s no gold star to earn. It’s perpetual exploration. Remember that, and you really can’t get it wrong. Finding your rhythm may take a moment, but sticking with it can be the gift of a lifetime.

photo credit: Werner Pfennig