Over the years, I’ve been on a number of retreats. Without exception, these times of turning away from the day-to-day and tuning into my inner world have provided tremendous insight and restoration. They have left me with a lingering aftertaste of deep ease, contentment, and well-being. A simple yet hard-to-measure quality of presence has been a gift beyond price, bringing with it an appreciation of life and a lasting joy that’s found in the simplest of experiences.
Yet, not all retreats are equal. What I’m about to share with you here will give you a sense of how going on retreat can be distinctly different, depending on the approach. I’ll talk about two retreat experiences and the impact that each of these had on my experience, both during and after. My hope is, by doing so, you’ll be better equipped to find the right yoga retreat for you.
Hungry for peace
Some retreats can be gruelling. My first ever experience was a semi-brutal, 10-day silent retreat in the Canadian Rocky Mountains. On arrival, I was stripped of books and my phone. A bag of clothes and a simple bed were to be my only external comfort for 10 days. It felt like I’d willingly booked myself into prison! However, I was hungry for some peace. I decided – rightly or wrongly – to give in to the experience and trust that this was needed to set the stage for deep quiet and rest from my inner world.
As you’ll discover, I didn’t (and did) get my wish.
From watching my breath to escaping my brain
The first day was pretty easy. I found great relief and comfort in simply sitting quietly for hours, with nothing else to do. We were asked to ‘Just watch our breath”. What could go wrong with that? Over the course of this first day, I experienced that delight that we all feel as we move from stimulated to relaxed. “Oh, here we go” I thought, “peace is here”.
The next 4 days were hell on earth. The relief of the first day was replaced by the stark realisation that whilst I could shut out the world, I couldn’t shut out my mind. Sitting ‘just watching my breath’ was next-to-impossible. Relentless thoughts, ideas, planning, ruminating and old, unresolved stories played like a bad B-movie rerun on repeat.
The next 4 days were hell on earth. The relief of the first day was replaced by the stark realisation that whilst I could shut out the world, I couldn’t shut out my mind.
Doing it wrong
Living in this madness with no proper instruction as to how to navigate it was almost unbearable. Had I had my own transport, I’m pretty sure I’d have left. However, with no way back to the world I was indeed imprisoned, and it didn’t feel good. Sitting for hours with a straight back and ‘strong determination’ just added to the brutality of the whole experience. Whilst I’ve come to appreciate that it’s good to endure hardship, there’s a line that this crossed. My body felt broken. The pain was overwhelming at points. But, being a glutton for punishment, I continued as best I could.
I met with the teacher on day 3 & 4 and expressed my challenges, only to be met with “you’re doing it wrong, the instruction is to watch your breath”. No shit! I felt chastised rather than supported. Whilst I understand the perspective and the simplicity of this approach, it totally missed the mark in terms of being in any way helpful.
The spiderweb
From day 5, something new began to take place. Despite the continued relentlessness of my mind, I was catching glimpses of presence. It was still farcical to attempt to concentrate for anything other than a few seconds at a time. But something else was happening too. Part of my experience that we could call my ‘observing self’ was starting to move more and more into the foreground. During one morning stroll around the compound, a spider’s web covered in morning dew caught my attention. I was captivated by the beauty and intricacy of it. There was nothing else to do, nowhere else to get to, nothing else to look forward to. For the 15 minutes of the break, this became my entertainment. I was deeply present with just this one thing.
One simple tweak
Only after the experience did I realise how fully attentive I’d been. I couldn’t help thinking they should provide us each with our own personal dewy spider’s web to replace watching our breath. I’d seen countless spiders’ webs in the past and had seen them as a nuisance at worst and a passing wonder at best. Now, it was vivid, magical, and astonishingly beautiful.
These glimpses of my observing self continued throughout the following days. If I could go back to myself then, I’d suggest one simple tweak to the practice. This would have been to stop obsessing about concentration and become interested in this quiet, watchful presence. It would have been a game-changer. In this way, the retreat’s ‘style’ totally missed the mark and overlooked an incredible possibility.
A lot of pain for a little presence
At the end of the 10 days we broke silence. I couldn’t bear socialising. I didn’t want to talk, but instead felt a need to ring-fence the presence I’d fostered so I could continue to nourish it. Driving away from the retreat centre with my lift-share cohort, we stopped at a petrol station to get fuel. I walked into the shop and felt immediately overwhelmed by the bright and shiny packages on the shelves. Somehow, it all seemed so vulgar and obvious. “Buy me!” screamed, inches from my face. I couldn’t wait to get back in the car and hide away again.
The aftereffects of that first retreat stayed with me for a while, but the trauma of it lived on. On balance, my mind told me the reward was not worth the journey. A lot of pain for a bit of presence. It took a few years for me to engage in retreat again.
A heart full of trust
In 2008, my life was very different. I was teaching yoga full-time and piggy-backing the experience offered to those who came to my classes and courses. A daily soaking in calm, peace, and presence was slowly rewiring my brain and changing my nervous system. I was more at ease than ever before, but something still felt like it was missing.
A weird convergence happened in April of that year. A call from my accountant saying it would be wise to have some more business expenses to save some tax that year, and an email from The Centre Of Timeless Being landing in my in-box the same day, inviting me to go on retreat with a teacher who turned out to be a wonderful mentor and guide. I was in my heart, full of trust, and it just felt ‘right’ to book.
No ‘doing’ yoga
I spent 7 days in the foothills of Montana. In certain ways, the approach of this retreat was confronting – not in its style or brutality, but in quite the opposite way. The ideas I had of how to ‘get there’ with practices like physical yoga were turned on their head, because, well, there was no standing on our heads. Or making shapes. Or ‘doing’ yoga.
Initially, my mind didn’t know what to do without that structure. The practices were quiet, slow, gentle, and very welcoming in their nature. We were offered some simple reflections, the most powerful of which was that there was nothing wrong with who we were, what we thought, and what was happening during meditation. That we couldn’t get it wrong. Just sit, be, feel, welcome, and be still, and something will likely happen, all by itself.
Letting it go, and in, and through
Somehow, deep down, this chimed with my earlier retreat experience and I deeply trusted the teacher (I still do). So I tried something new: I let go. I let it all in and through. As I’m writing this, I have tears in my eyes, because this idea of befriending and welcoming myself and my experience changed my life in the deepest, most lasting way. It has brought such beauty, relief and peace, as to be something I want to share with the world for the rest of my life.
This idea of befriending and welcoming myself and my experience changed my life in the deepest, most lasting way. It brought so much beauty, relief and peace that I want to share it with the world for the rest of my life.
There was an incredible pace and flow to this retreat. There was enough guidance, instruction, and holding to be supportive. Yet there was also plenty of quiet, and loving warmth to hold me through the journey. Staying in a tipi was fun. Each time I walked back to it from the beautiful, hexagonal practice hall, grasshoppers would rise and fall in waves at my feet. A little stream by the tipi became my go-to place to just sit and watch. Being absorbed in the water’s flow was captivating and peaceful. I could feel that deep presence and appreciation for the ordinary re-emerging. But this time it was pain-free, easy, and natural.
Breaking down
On day 5 I had a total breakdown. Partly triggered by external events, I met within me a deep, old, aching sadness – a feeling of being unlovable and unloved. I spent much of that night in bed, sobbing. What eventually soothed me was a sweet little cat, who seemingly picked up on my upset and crept into my tipi. It came and nestled into my belly, purring. I eventually fell asleep, exhausted and empty from the tears.
The next morning, I dutifully headed up to the meditation hut. I was determined to squeeze every last drop out of the experience. Though others’ interest was were beginning to wane and opt for sleeping in, I felt compelled to keep sitting and welcoming the feelings that felt so painful yet important to let out and through. I had no idea of what was about to happen and how it would change my entire experience of meditation and yoga for the better.
An unforgettable experience
Each morning we’d sit together for an hour. The sun always came up at the mid-point of the morning practices and bathed the room in light and warmth. That morning, the sun felt particularly strong so I half opened an eye to check. It was cloudy outside, and there was no sign of the sun. As I closed my eyes again and continued to sit quietly, an experience unfolded that I’ll never forget. That inner warmth slowly transformed into pure, unadulterated bliss. It didn’t make any sense. I’d been in the depths of despair just hours before! I felt at once part of everything and yet outside of it all, just watching. It felt like someone had removed my personality and put in its place a joyful, playful, and attentive quietness that just loved everything it met and experienced.
Being with it all to be free
That joy and lightness lasted a very long time, and its echos still live on in me. On my return home, it helped me to leave an unhealthy relationship with grace and without blame. I was having the best of times, even though nothing externally had changed. In fact – arguably – life was ‘worse’, but my centredness and calm wrapped the whole of life in an embrace that just couldn’t be tainted, even by the worst news or the most stressful days.
I now understand that it was the release of this feeling of being unlovable that really led to this profound experience. It was only through welcoming, letting the pain and sadness be part of my experience that I could move beyond it. There was no longer a need to bypass who I was and how I felt. By being with it all, I could be paradoxically free of it.
You can’t do it alone
What I learned from the two retreat experiences I’ve shared here is this. It’s great to have an environment that’s simple and allows us to be undistracted. However, if not held by a loving presence that engages with the participants and gives loving support, it can make the quietness too confronting. It can erode the possibility of going deeper toward freedom from self-obsession.
What I learned is this: it’s wonderful to be in an environment that’s simple and allows us to be undistracted. However, if not held and supported by a loving presence, it can be too confronting… I needed a guide.
I needed a guide. Somebody I respected and loved to hold enough of me to let go of the rest. I needed an approach that allowed for an integrative, humainsing component, offsetting what can be quite austere ideas and ideals of how to find peace.
Whilst I’d probably enjoy that first retreat now that I’ve had 2 decades of meditation experience, it wasn’t what I needed at the time. It was only through practices that supported welcoming emotional content and a very loving forum, that I truly found ease. And – dare I say it – awakening.
The reward of stopping
I’m sure we all have fantasies of withdrawing from life. Times when we believe going to live in a cave or sit on a mountain-top will bring us the peace we crave. This desire is wisdom. There’s something intrinsic to our human experience that knows that unplugging and stopping will be its own reward.
Speaking with friends and fellow teachers around the world, there’s an unprecedented demand for yoga and meditation retreats right now. It makes sense. The world is as – if not even more – crazy than ever. Taking a break from that is wise, but doing it well can be complex, and knowing where to go and how to find it, challenging.
Finding the right retreat for you
There’s a gazillion possibilities out there to go on retreat. Structured, unstructured, swilling wine by the pool…or aesthetic and bare, practical and no-nonsense vs embracing and gentle. But what do you need? Are you ready to be held and supported? What does your heart tell you as to how and where you could go on retreat?
If what I’ve shared here resonates with you, I have a couple of possibilities that you might want to check out for 2024. The first is a five-day retreat in Holland, where we’ll explore ‘how to be’. This 5-day experiential meditation, deep rest and self-inquiry retreat will empower you to discover the depths of your own stillness and support you to uncover a simplicity and ease of being that is always there, waiting to be remembered. For more details, please click here.
The second is in Portugal in October. I’m teaching with my good friend, Esther Ekhart, who I trust as a teacher who also understands and teaches what I’ve shared here. This 7-day experience will invite you to come home to yourself and rediscover inner peace through meditation, self-inquiry and deep rest – click here for full details.
I hope you might consider joining one of these events and if not, that you can find the right way for you to unplug, reset and rest in 2024.
Love,
James.
