The Transformative Power of Observation: My Deep Dive into the Mind Through 10 Days of Vipassana Meditation
Change is the only constant in life. We hear this often, and perhaps accept it on an intellectual level, but how much do we really understand it on a physical or metaphysical level?
The technique of Vipassana — meaning, “to see things as they really are” — recognizes impermanence as the law of nature and provides a tool for observing change within the framework of our own bodies, with the goal of equanimity towards everything we experience. It is introduced to new students through an intensive 10-day course consisting of daily 4 am wake-ups and roughly 12 hours of meditation sittings, and adherence to a code of conduct including strict prohibitions on everything from intoxicants to fragrances, to talking, reading, writing, and music. To some, this might quite reasonably sound like self-inflicted torture, but beyond masochism and the thrill of the challenge, there is a reason why I (and thousands of people around the world every year) made the decision to endure such a trial.
Why Vipassana?
I have by no means been a lifelong meditator, and only got into a regular practice around seven months ago. That said, I’ve realized recently that there are certain qualities associated with most types of meditation which I have consciously or unconsciously strived to practice since I was young. For example, as a kid, one of my favorite cartoons was Recess, which followed six scrappy elementary school children and their daily misadventures on the playground. In one episode, it is the hottest day of the year, and the water fountain has stopped working due to excessive usage. The gang decides to seek out a mystical backup water valve that could fix the fountain, but it’s located on the other side of the playground, which is unchartered territory. As the others fall apart in the unbearable heat, only Gus — the meek and spectacled ‘new kid’ of the group — remains unruffled and unthwarted. Later, it is revealed that Gus had been using the power of visualization to imagine the coldest weather he had ever experienced, and this allowed him to maintain his composure even in the face of extreme discomfort. This episode stuck with me for years, often prompting me (and often unsuccessfully) to rely on visualization to endure uncomfortable situations.
My next foray into meditation came much later in life, over the past few years. I started dabbling in various forms of meditation from YouTube videos and apps, but had difficulty sitting for even 10 minutes. Finally, I decided it would be best to learn meditation from a teacher, and in October I signed myself up for an in-person course of yet a different type of meditation. This technique resonated with me in the sense that it felt relatively effortless, and for the first time I was able to develop a regular daily practice. What didn’t resonate with me, however, was the monetized framework around it, or the lack of a strong value or ideological grounding in the way it was taught. I decided to stay open to other techniques that I might find more relatable, and which could give me practical tools that reflected my beliefs and the way I aspired to live.
A few months ago, I came across yung pueblo’s book, ‘Lighter,’ about his journey towards healing after years of drug abuse and other struggles. He captures the mental shift he experienced in a poem:
maturity is when you can finally ride
the ups and downs of life
without getting tossed around by them
you don’t expect everything to be perfect
you know change is a constant
you don’t judge yourself when times get hard
you live in gratitude
you enjoy the good when it is here
In the book, yung pueblo writes about how he found out about the 10-day Vipassana meditation course from a friend who had found it life-changing, and how after sitting for a 10-day course himself, realized that he had found his own path to healing. I had previously heard of Vipassana in passing without really registering it, but now I found it appearing in my life in synchronistic ways, and I made the decision to sign up without quite understanding what I was getting myself into.
What is Vipassana?
Before I dive further into my own journey with Vipassana, it may be useful to provide a brief overview of what Vipassana is — and what it isn’t. Despite the fact that Vipassana is a Buddhist practice and is said to be the path through which Gautama Buddha attained enlightenment, Vipassana is neither religion nor dogma. The technique was passed down through the centuries, and though lost in some practices of Buddhism, was maintained in Burma (now Myanmar). In the 1950s, S.N. Goenka, a Burmese Indian businessman who had grown up in a conservative Hindu household, sought out Vipassana at the recommendation of a friend as a remedy for his debilitating migraines. Finding the technique life-changing, Goenka trained with his teacher for 14 years before moving to India to teach and start the first Vipassana meditation center.
As described earlier, Vipassana is a rational technique for observing change within the framework of the body — specifically, first through observing breath, and then through observing physical sensations. It is grounded in the aspects of morality, mastery of the mind, and wisdom, or purification of the mind, with the goal being relief from the suffering that results from our own cravings and aversions. Vipassana is not ritualistic, but there is a beauty and reverence in the austerity and discipline with which it is taught and practiced.
Although Vipassana is the method within Buddhism for overcoming karmic suffering and achieving liberation from the cycle of reincarnation, it is a technique that is universally accessible and can be practiced by anyone, including individuals from any faith, atheists, and those who don’t believe in karma or reincarnation. Moreover, the framework for teaching and passing on the technique is itself universally accessible: food, lodging, and instruction for the 10-day course are provided free of charge, and Vipassana centers are largely or entirely volunteer-run, only accepting donations from former students based on the notion of sharing whatever good you have acquired with others. Although Goenka passed away in 2013, courses are still taught using his audio and video recordings, in addition to live instruction by assistant teachers.
My Journey
As mentioned, I didn’t necessarily have a full grasp of what I was getting myself into when I signed up for the course, and I intentionally maintained some level of ignorance, wanting to keep an open mind. As the start date drew nearer, my apprehension at what I was undertaking increased significantly. When the day arrived, I cried in anticipation of saying goodbye to my family and friends for 10 days, and I cried again when I arrived at the Northern California Vipassana Center in Kelseyville and it was time to turn in my cellphone.
Day 1 was a complete shock to my system. The complete disconnect from my entire life. The 4 am wakeup bell. The seemingly endless sittings of meditation. The inability to Google the countless questions that arose in my mind, such as, Is there a machine that tracks your brainwaves during meditation and can give you a mild electric shock when it senses that your focus is no longer on observing your breath? The absence of dinner, and of my Apple Watch to tell me how many steps I had taken on what would become my daily lunchtime walks on the serene forested trails of the center grounds, or to tell me what the high temperature would be for the day without me having to actually step outside and use my powers of observation.
Although I never actually contemplated leaving, I did have to contend with moments of what I can only describe as despair at the prospect of a whole nine more days like this. At these times, I took solace in the fact that, although Kelseyville was rural and remote compared to San Francisco, I could still hear the sounds of traffic from the mountain road just outside the gates of the center, and that my car keys were in my possession. All of this reminded me that — even though I had made a commitment to stay the full 10-day course — in actuality I could leave at any time, and the choice to stay was one I was actively making each moment.
Sometime on Day 1, I had a realization that helped change the framing of how I viewed the 10 days: what I was doing was not unlike final exams period during college or law school. It might feel long and grueling, but I could establish milestones and small moments of celebration along the way to help get me through it. And so this is what I did. I acknowledged these milestones — including everything from getting to Day 4, which fell on a Sunday and was officially the start of a new week, to the periodic changing of my bath towel, to the diminishing number of Vuori joggers in my suitcase — with quiet ceremony. I looked forward to my daily ‘treats:’ my 7:20 am shower — the only few minutes of olfactory indulgence I had allowed myself with my lightly scented shower gel — and the daily 7 p.m. recorded video lecture by Goenka. This was the only time during the first nine days of the course[1] that silence was routinely and spontaneously broken: Goenka was not only filled with wisdom, humility, and kindness, he was also hilarious, and the roughly one-hour lecture felt not unlike being part of the audience of an enlightened stand-up comedian. With these mental gymnastics, I swung my way forward, one day at a time.
We are all extremely diverse beings, and each of us may have very different struggles from the next person while going through an intense experience like a 10-day Vipassana course. For me, what I didn’t struggle with were the prohibition on talking, the regimented daily schedule, or boredom. I’m not a naturally loquacious person, and while I missed talking to my family and friends, I did not miss talking for the sake of talking (or listening for the sake of other people talking); I loved the peace and quiet. Nor did I struggle with the daily prescribed schedule — for me, I would count having a schedule and executing it precisely among life’s greatest pleasures. Needless to say, I’m a planner by nature, and as a result, there was also no chance for boredom to take hold over the course of the 10 days. For anyone who enjoys being in their head, the ability to do so for an uninterrupted stretch of time is a gift. I relished the time to analyze relationships, contemplate life goals, and generally reflect. In the rare moments my mind was not on its own natural course, I kept myself entertained with activities as diverse as listening to songs and curating cute outfits in my head, and mentally listing in chronological order the delicious vegetarian lunches that had been served on each day of the course. Clearly it doesn’t take much.
Ironically though, it was my very quality of being someone who enjoys being in their head that also manifested in my greatest struggles. Over the first few days of the course, my mind was so actively stimulated by having unfettered time for reflecting and planning that it ran completely wild with thoughts, unwilling to be tamed. Subsequently, these thoughts formed into various pieces of writing — text messages, letters, goal planning documents, and even the beginnings of this essay — struggling to get out. Without the ability to put pen to paper and externalize them, they ran on loop in my head, seemingly my brain’s attempt to prevent me from forgetting before they were captured. By Day 3, I had reached such a point of desperation that I devised what I was convinced was a Shawshank Redemption-esque plan: I would skip our daily 5 pm tea break, use the Sharpie that was hanging on the cleaning sign-up sheet in our cabin, and repurpose the coarse recycled paper towels to write to my heart’s content when my roommates were out and no one would be able to hear the desperate scrawling of a madwoman. Ultimately, it was the commitment I had made to adhering to the code of conduct and trusting the process that brought me back from the brink. As I’ll talk about below, a few days later, this experience would strike me as one of my major learnings from the course.
Besides Day 1, Day 4 was the hardest day for me. This is when, after the first three days of simply observing our breath, we moved on to the actual technique of Vipassana, observing physical sensations in the body. Doing so requires what is known as a ‘sitting of strong determination,’ meaning one where you don’t change positions. I quickly realized that my determination was not particularly strong, and our first hour-long sitting felt akin to torture, but I knew there was a sound rationale behind it. In Vipassana, the whole idea of working within the framework of the body — as opposed to other types of meditation like Gus’s visualization meditation, or meditation that involves repeating a mantra — is to learn to observe current reality, in contrast to apparent reality. We do this through being still in order to cultivate awareness of our physical sensations and equanimity — mental calmness and composure — in response to any of these sensations.
By Day 5, I started to feel a shift, and from here the days felt easier and went by faster. The thoughts still came, but as my teacher suggested, I treated them like a radio playing in the background while I worked. On Day 6, I realized I was actually enjoying myself. As is often the case with a student new to any disciplined practice — like learning a language or how to play the piano — I started out impatient to get to a point of proficiency. This quickly turned into dejection and skepticism over whether I was learning anything at all, and of how I could possibly reach a point of even basic competency. And then, slowly but surely, what we did each day started to build on itself, and I began to see tangible progress towards taming my seemingly untamable mind.
This is not to say I didn’t still have struggles — I did. Working to stay focused was a never-ending endeavor. I would lose track and then bring myself back, sometimes drawing on the kind encouragement of Goenka’s honey-like baritone to, “Start again,” and sometimes on the words of my other spiritual teacher, Yoda: “Do or do not. There is no try.”
Through all of it, I took comfort in the fact that, although I and everyone around me had to confront them on our own, I knew that each and every one of us were going through our own struggles. And even as we fought our battles individually, we were together in our solitude.
Cravings and Aversions
Within the framework of observing bodily sensations, we start to understand the concepts of cravings and aversions — when you feel an unpleasant sensation like pain or your leg falling asleep, the tendency is to feel aversion towards it and want to move, and when you feel a pleasant sensation, the tendency is to start favoring it, and soon to crave it. And while the actual practice of Vipassana is about observing internal bodily sensations, this quickly translates to our interactions with the external world.
When we look at our response to any given situation we encounter in life, we can understand our reactions in terms of cravings and aversions. For example, eating desserts or drinking alcohol might make us feel good and result in pleasant physical sensations in the body which we are not even attuned to, and so we start to crave them and rely on them to keep generating these pleasant sensations. Subsequently, when these cravings don’t get fulfilled, we become unhappy. As humans, we consistently develop and respond to situations with attachments. This can be in the form of things traditionally considered vices, like drugs or alcohol, but can also include anything from retail therapy, to exercise, to seeking external validation through praise, to cultivating an identity around monetary wealth, to even something as seemingly innocuous as writing. Reflecting back on my moment of desperation on Day 3, I had developed a craving for something that was not part of my current reality — the ability to write — and became miserable. In this way, anytime we attach ourselves to something that is not part of current reality, we create suffering for ourselves. This is why Vipassana is grounded in awareness and equanimity — the idea of simply observing what is without developing cravings or aversions, recognizing the impermanence of every sensation.
And speaking of aversions, I’ve always had a major one to the expression ‘It is what it is.’ (What does that even mean?!) But at some point during the course, I realized that this phrase is perfectly apt to capture the ideology of Vipassana — things simply are what they are, not positive and not negative.
Vipassana as a Tool for Spreading Love and Harmony
Another core component of the Vipassana ideology is the notion that when we form attachments and create suffering within ourselves, this suffering by nature will extend to those around us, and into the world at large. How many times have we reacted negatively to a circumstance that was outside of what we had hoped for, only to in turn bring that negativity home to our partner, or out to dinner with our friends? On the flip side, we also have the ability to generate positivity, which in Vipassana is done through focusing, typically at the end of a meditation sitting, on subtle sensations in the body and generating thoughts and feelings of love, peace, and goodwill for all.
In ‘Lighter,’ yung pueblo reflects on the ripple effects of individual healing, and the ability to thus create harmony in the world. As he writes, “Our intrinsic connection with other human beings becomes apparent when we are able to tap into our human nature with more ease…A human being who takes their healing seriously becomes an agent of compassion.”
Measuring Progress
As you may have noticed, I have refrained from writing much here about my actual experience in meditation, what sensations I observed within my own body, and how I reacted. This was intentional, as Vipassana is a practice of self-examination and inquiry. Progress on the path is measured only by our own equanimity — our ability to not react — and comparing our experiences with others is usually counterproductive in such a framework.
We can test our own progress by observing our physical sensations in response to different stimuli, but we can also observe this in our external reactions, which will inevitably begin to be impacted. For example, after some time of regular practice, we might still react with anger when another driver cuts us off on the road, but perhaps our anger lasts only 15 minutes, instead of ruining half our day. We might also measure progress by evaluating the extent to which our reactions have turned from the external to the internal: when we have had a fight with our partner or a stressful day at work, whether we pause to simply observe what we experience rather than immediately resort to the intense exercise session or greasy meal for which we might normally have opted.
The Path Forward
Change is constant, and by the end of my 10 days learning Vipassana, I was attuned to the changes both in and around me. After my initial struggle, I could sit in an hour of strong determination with ease, and I had learned how to tame my mind and simply observe, even if this did not always come easily.
In the external world, the weather had turned warmer, flowers had bloomed, and insects were out in full force. I tested the limits of my own equanimity using my deep-seated fear of bees, attempting not to reflexively flinch at the sound of buzzing. I failed. And the failures continued in my first 48 hours back in the world; I left the course like a floating balloon filled with love and peace and was almost immediately deflated by the pin pricks of the non-conformity of my expectations of circumstances, others, and myself with current realities. I know I will keep failing, but I will not be deterred from my path because I know that I am just beginning my journey with Vipassana, and that the goal is progress, not perfection.
Whether you are someone seeking liberation from the karmic cycle of suffering and rebirth, or simply looking to enhance your ability to stay grounded through life’s ups and downs, Vipassana is a technique that offers tremendous and quickly cognizable benefits. But as was emphasized in our daily video lectures, Vipassana is an experiential practice, and only trying it yourself can provide a real understanding. As Goenka helpfully framed it, you can go to a restaurant and read the descriptions of the food and believe it is delicious; you can observe others around you eating the food and believe it is delicious; but until you eat the food yourself, you can’t truly assess whether or not it is delicious to you.
What I can say though, is that for anyone reading this who is intrigued but still thinking, “I don’t think I could ever do that,” just remember: it’s all in the mind.
[1] Talking was allowed again on the morning of the tenth day to allow students to reacclimatize before going home
