I attended my first silent retreat with my teacher Carly Forest in May of 2017. It was a huge leap of faith to register because I was having major abdominal surgery six weeks prior, and I would still be early in my recovery at retreat time. But I chose to trust that I'd be capable of the long trip and the five days of the yoga-based retreat, and took the plunge. I had no idea what to expect, and wondered what it would be like to be immersed in deep quiet for so many days.
The day I was to leave, I woke up with a migraine. It was odd, because my headaches had taken a pause that spring, and it had been some time since I'd had a bad one. The migraine was unlike any headache I'd had before and I was a little scared by its intensity and severity. I didn't know it then, but it turns out that this day was the start of what would become a very long journey with chronic migraine. Blissfully unaware of this, and accustomed to carrying on in the face of adversity, I hit the road and made the trip in blinding pain.
Arriving at the retreat centre was both a relief and overwhelming. I was one of the first to arrive, and nobody was available to help, so I had to transport my own gear from my car through the forest to my little hut. I could only carry 5 pounds, so it took several trips to carry things, a few items at a time. I felt so vulnerable in my post op state with a migraine layered over top, and had no idea how I was going to manage five days in silence without being able to communicate my level of suffering.
But in our very first session, Carly extended an olive branch. Each session would begin with a two word check-in. She explained that the check in would help her to understand where everyone was at in their process, and to take the temperature of the room at the start of a session. We were asked to be "pith" with our words; we needed to boil down our experiences, our emotions, and all we were navigating to a simple essence of two words. Three sessions a day meant I'd be speaking six words each day of the retreat. Wow.
Can you imagine checking in with your spouse, a friend, a coworker using just two words? It's a unique experience. And I learned quickly that in order to do this, I needed to sit with myself and quietly listen for what was most true for me at check-in time. I also learned quickly that what was true for me at check-in would shift throughout a session.
Through our days together I marvelled at the different experiences of every person in the room at each check-in. We were all hearing the same words, doing the same yoga practice, eating the same food, dwelling on the same land, but we were all being touched and moved in different ways. Having those days to be quiet and present to the fluidity of my experience and the journey of the others I shared space with was such a gift. It was a valuable life lesson, realizing how differently we were all experiencing the same circumstances.
Going home and re-entry into life post retreat was an interesting ride. The things that happen on retreat happen in daily life. They happen all day, every day. But in the noise of life, we miss them. We don't see the moment that frustration eases and peaceful acceptance takes its place because we're working or driving or running from one thing to the next. We don't realize that we just reacted in anger with a loved one because we've been feeling overwhelmed and unappreciated at work. I could write for a long while about my experiences and all that I took home from those five precious days spent in silence in the forest on Denman Island. But there are two precious gifts I've carried with me:
First gift: Two words are are so little, but they are sufficient. No matter how much I'm going through, no matter what I'm experiencing, if I sit quietly and reflect, two words are all I need to tell someone where I'm at. Two words are all I need to bring me into the essence of my present moment. They give me fuel for reflection and insight, and bring comfort when it's needed.
AH and I have used the two word check in during challenging times in our relationship. "How are you really feeling," I asked him recently, when we were struggling with moving forward from a moment of anger. "I feel frustrated and unheard," was his reply. His two words gave me clarity to see my actions and understand why we'd gotten into a pickle over something that seemed inconsequential. Those two words gave us a place to move forward from with respect and understanding.
I recently used two words to check in with myself when life was feeling a little daunting. "I feel frantic and ungrounded." After taking a few minutes to sit with that truth, I realized that I'd stopped getting up early to have some quiet time before my day begins because sleep has been my priority as I recover from Long COVID. I've since returned to my practice of getting up half an hour earlier on my workdays so I can lay on my yoga mat and move my body before my day starts. I enjoy the early morning peace, and I'm so thankful that two words have led me back here.
Second gift: more than one thing can be true at the same time. Sometimes my truths are similar: I feel happy and excited, or I feel nervous and expectant. But more often, my truths are dichotomous: I feel sad and hopeful, or I feel overwhelmed and empowered.
My last silent retreat was in the fall of 2019, just a few short weeks after my first brainstem aura and trip to the hospital. It was a huge struggle to be there, but two word check-ins helped me to be present during a time when I was terrified to be alone and in silence. It was a special time that I still hold close because those days helped me to feel okay about holding peace and fear with the same hand. And as the years go by, I'm learning to be okay with having my feet in two very different places at the same time. It's quite a spacious place to dwell in, really, when one has the flexibility to hold two contrasting truths in the same hand and allow them to coexist in time and space.
The pandemic has given me so much fuel to practice holding contrasting truths. During lockdown when AH and I were trying to figure out how to pay the bills and keep our business running: anxious and hopeful. When Omicron emerged and our region went through a staggering surge in cases, and we were working on the front line with people all day, every day: fearful and confident. And through the long months with Long COVID, struggling to make progress but celebrating each victory: cautious and ecstatic.
And now it's today - New Year's Eve Day - as I finish writing this post. This year has been such a wild ride, filled with so many moments I am happy to leave behind. And yet, I don't wish it away because it has given me so much. But I'm thankful to move forward, and to see what lies ahead. I feel grateful and expectant.
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If you wish, a small prompt for your own reflection as the year comes to and end... What's your two word check-in as 2022 comes to an end? Sit with your words in a quiet space, and see what gifts they have for you. Feel free to share in the comments, or send me a message if you'd like.
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