I decided to test that theory by signing up for a one-day Buddhist retreat during which speaking was not allowed. The theme of the retreat: “Erasing the Ego.” It seemed like fitting subject matter for a lawyer like me, whose personal catchphrase is, “When have I ever been wrong? No, seriously.”
Upon arrival at the meditation center, I was greeted by a group of people standing around the front desk, including a nun with close-cropped hair and maroon-and-mustard-colored robes. She said hi and pointed out the ladies’ restroom, because “that’s the most important information there is to know when you go somewhere new.” She immediately struck me as very wise.
I introduced myself to the group as a meditation neophyte—indeed, I carry my anxiety and unrest around with me like a handbag—and they showed me where to put my shoes. (Shoes are apparently bad for inner peace.) I padded barefoot upstairs to a big room decorated with impressive gold statues. There were offerings in front of the statues, including two 100 Grand candy bars and a bag of barbeque-flavored potato chips, which made my ego hungry.
There were regular chairs but also big pillows to sit on with short tables in front of them. I wanted the full meditation meal-deal, and opted for the last free pillow. People were sitting in the default meditation pose with legs crossed and upturned hands resting on knees, and I tried to do the same.
The nun (the one person allowed to speak) was very good at making newbies feel comfortable. For example, she advised us that we should close our eyes most of the way and try to sit up straight. This taught me that my eyes are apparently a binary feature of my face: They can either be open or closed. There is no partway.
Music was piped in and the nun started reciting a beginning prayer. Within minutes, I started (silently) cursing my right leg, which had fallen asleep. I panicked and commenced squirming. Aptly, the first lesson had to do with overcoming self-preoccupation. The nun talked about how we see ourselves as the center of the universe, and filter all of our observations and experiences through that lens. (A selfie with the big, gold Buddha was out, apparently.)
I tried to concentrate, but my mind kept wandering. I was mostly thinking about the nun: Where did she live? Did she wear robes all the time? Did she travel as part of her work? What did she do for fun? Would she be friends with me? She seemed pretty cool.
After the lesson, we meditated in silence for about three lifetimes. By that point I felt cold and had my knees pulled up to my chest, curled up into a ball while trying to keep my spine straight. Eventually I felt a pressure in my brain like something new was happening (enlightenment?), but I fear that was just a wine headache arriving.
Next we had a one-hour break during which to reflect in silence. They provided books on Buddhism and meditation. I selected Eight Steps to Happiness and helped myself to the gluten-free snacks they provided. (Step One: Obtain cheese and rice crackers.) I read undisturbed outside by a fountain, the silence requirement having dispensed with any courtyard chit-chat.
The book seemed to have been written for harried lawyers: “Until we change our restless, discontented mind, we shall never find true happiness.” I was getting hooked on Buddhist philosophy, which was so elegantly written, but was pulled away from “liberating myself from the mental prison of my deluded mind” by the need to visit the ladies’ room. This sparked an internal debate regarding whether I was allowed retrieve my shoes for restroom-visiting purposes. I didn’t want to break my vow of silence to ask.
During the afternoon session, the nun spoke about turning the focus away from ourselves and onto others to really be happy. It struck me how difficult it is as a lawyer to live a life dedicated to helping everyone who crosses our path: For every win we get for a client, another person almost always has to lose. Indeed, we are often paid for the purpose of being “not nice” to others.
I started struggling to concentrate again, when the nun said, “Stop analyzing and planning,” as if she knew I was scheduling the rest of my weekend in my head. I began getting frustrated with myself, and then started getting frustrated at myself for being frustrated, since frustration seemed like a byproduct of the ego I was trying to suppress. Like knitting, calmly sitting in silence while contemplating life’s meaning is something that I was apparently just not cut out to do. Then the nun, reading my troubled mind again, reminded us that a single day of meditation was only one step in a 100-step journey. Things seemed easier when there were only eight steps to worry about.
The Verdict: I don’t know if I will be back for more silent meditation. I think I am the type of person who feels more at peace by moving around: Running, kayaking, shopping. But I definitely learned from the experience. It was interesting to just think about how much with think about ourselves. Also, working in a profession in which success often hinges on implied threats and manipulated expectations, it was refreshing to spend a day with people whose exclusive goal is just… to be kind.
I had this naive idea that I could just plop down on an ikat-print pillow and be handed a Zen moment. But it turns out that meditating—which, from the outside, looks like a whole lot of doing nothing—takes work. And, since that work is not billable, it looks like I have a lot more time in my mental prison ahead of me.
http://abovethelaw.com/2016/05/test-case-can-a-silent-meditation-retreat-help-me-erase-the-ego/
Allison Peryea is a shareholder attorney at Leahy Fjelstad Peryea, a boutique law firm in downtown Seattle that primarily serves community association clients. Her practice focuses on covenant enforcement and dispute resolution. She is a longtime humor writer with a background in journalism and cat ownership. You can reach her by email atAllison.Peryea@leahyps.com.
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