There’s an old convent down in Devon that’s been converted to a Buddhist retreat centre. It’s called Gaia House and is large, rambling, and somewhat rickety in places.
For those with a bit of meditation experience, Gaia House offers personal retreats. You get to stay in your own little ex nun’s cell and meditate your head off in silence for a minimum of a week at a time.
My personal retreat was 2 weeks long and came at a time when I was in between lodgings.
Gaia House was the only place I’d encountered prunes at breakfast, stewed in a massive cauldron and dumped, like a nefarious payload into your bowl of porridge.
Emotional uprisings, sometimes called purifications were not uncommon on these retreats. All that quiet, the absence of distraction and the gently undulating Devon hills beat a path to my own sorrowful heart and allowed little pockets of grief, long held at bay, to rise up and be released, often as tears, sometimes as trembling. Occasionally as both.
One such moment occurred on a quiet and bright July morning whilst I was poised over porridge and stewed prunes ladled from a giant vat in the crowded breakfast hall.
A huge upwelling of emotion, sweet and tender and sorrowful and porous swept over me. I knew that if I wanted to release it, I was going to bawl like a baby.
I don’t mind crying at all but there was no way I was going to sob over my stewed prunes in the midst of all these silent and earnest fellow meditators. The thought of their concern, the furrowed brows and whispered reassurances made me uncomfortable so I abandoned my breakfast in situ, gathered up my bits and headed out to the nearby fields.
Within minutes I’d hopped over a decrepit wire fence on the perimeters of the property and was alone, except for a dun-coloured bull grazing on the summit of a sloping field.
Now. In my own little private sphere, I was ready to have a good old cry. Let it all out.
But the moment had passed, the window (and my tear ducts) had closed. And it showed me that we heal, not in isolation but in community, in the midst of one another, above, beside and beneath one another. I wish I’d had the courage just to let it all out then (like Nick did). Been less proud.
It’s a lesson I’m still learning.
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