Issue 49 - Tse Qigong Centre

October, and the year was closing in. The morning training sessions were takingplace in increasingly darker and colder conditions and the trees were beginning to losetheir leaves. In the Norfolk countryside, the fields had been harvested, dug over andleft for the winter. I’d been growing tired and feeling crowded-in as the daysshortened. It was time to get back to Amaravati and take stock.On the first night, I stand in the field behind the retreatcentre, in the gathering darkness. Even the frequentroaring and blinking of planes taking off and landingat nearby Luton Airport can’t disturb the tranquillity ofAmaravati, the deathless realm. Nevertheless, I sleeplittle this night, lying wide-eyed in the packed male dormitory.The evening’s meditation session had seemed to go on forever,my tired, aching but restless body protesting at being made tokeep still and pay attention to its own discomfort and my mindstirred up by its own aversion. I’m glad to get up at 5.30am andgrab a quick shower before the morning meditation.Ajahn Jutindharo and the Venerable Sacciko initiate themorning chanting, the inspiring words lifting the heart andreminding me of the feeling that I’d ”come home” to somethingreal, valuable and lasting in this place. Ajahn Jutindharo is a tall,thin, scholarly looking monk who leads us gently and patientlythrough the sitting and walking meditations every morning,afternoon and evening. The Venerable Sacciko is a younger,energetic monk, always seen with his sleeves rolled up, eager totackle any task that presents itself. He collects us from the fieldafter the walking meditation sessions by banging a gong with hiscustomary vigour and leading us back to the shrine room like thepied piper in the children’s stories.This time round I’m finding the meditation sessions difficult.The formal sitting is drawing attention to some old injuries I’dmanaged to forget about, setting off negative thoughts andreactions, and the walking meditation, in that bleak, wind-tossedfield, trudging backwards and forwards between a small stuntedtree and a fence post covered in bird droppings (very romantic,eh?), that’s bringing up a lot of different emotions to be examinedand assimilated. I remember at one point looking up and watchingall these people walking with their heads bowed,and thinking tomyself, ”This is like a lunatic asylum! All we have to do is changethe monks robes to white coats!” Just then it started to rain. I’mnot having a good time!The enforced silence also has the effect of driving oneinwards – the energy usually expelled by talking goes straight tothe head, making one much more aware of the thoughts andemotions that flicker across our awareness like summer lightning.Most of these thoughts seem quite trivial and inconsequential.I’m saved from further depression by the Venerable Sacciko ringingus into the shrine room. We sit in silence waiting for the AjahnScences from aMonastic RetreatAT AMARAVATI BUDDHIST MONASTERYQi Magazine 42