The Taboo of Non-Sharing

On the silent meditation retreat I used to attend, we were actively discouraged from sharing our experiences with fellow meditators. I am currently studying with a Buddhist Monk, and as part of the course, the sangha have been instructed not to discuss their meditation practices with each other.

The traditional Buddhist retreats and teachers I have encountered so far actively discourage sharing experiences with each other.

The reason they give is, “If you hear of other people having special experiences, you might get discouraged. You might hope for states like that and compare yourself with the other person. This comparison is not fruitful for your practice. So do not share your experience with each other.”

I sat behind a fit young woman in one of the 10-day retreats. She could sit for hours in a Vajrasana pose without moving a muscle. I would be in awe of her. I could not sit still for more than 10 minutes. (I was propped up on three cushions and was never comfortable until I found out later that all I needed was one cushion below my buttocks, and the rest of it was managing the discomfort of just sitting).

I would need to move to scratch an itch, change my posture, relieve the numbness creeping up my legs, swat a fly buzzing at my ears, and chase the mosquito feasting on my blood. But she sat still like a Buddha.

I would look at her and think, “I would never be able to meditate like her. I am so useless. Maybe I should leave.”

At the end of the retreat, when we were allowed to talk to each other, I chatted with her, and she told me what a tumultuous time she had had during the retreat. She told me how many times she had contemplated running away, how many tricks her mind had played, and how it drove her crazy. She was a yoga teacher and she was devastated that she could not do a “better” job at managing her mind.

I said, “But you were so still, like a Buddha. I thought your meditation must be going so well.”

She said, “I wish.”

Silence can breed fantasies

I tortured myself with comparisons and stories of another person’s experience with mine when I did not even know her reality.

Even in the sangha that I am currently a part of, when I speak individually with the members, I hear them saying that they must be the only ones struggling with their practice, everyone’s practice must be going so well, and they must be experiencing the special meditative states the teacher describes.

I was unsure if silence about practice serves anyone, but I wasn’t sure how sharing would help until I encountered my teacher and her emphasis on reflection.

She teaches nonviolent communication and conscious parenting. She insists we actively reflect on our experiences at the end of every session.

So, when I started teaching meditation and mindfulness a few years back, I actively incorporated reflection after practice. I ignored the traditional way of not talking about the experiences and actively encouraged my participants to share.

My experience is that sharing and talking about experiences in a safe environment brings us closer together. Every practice and every person is different. Each of our experiences needs to be seen, heard and acknowledged. When we are heard and seen for who we are, it helps us stay with our own experiences and not create fantasy stories about others’ experiences.

Creating a Culture of Mindful Sharing

Pema addresses this in a short chapter in the book, “How to Meditate: A Practical Guide to Making Friends With Your Mind”. The chapter is titled “Creating a circle of practitioners”.

Pema emphasises the importance of the sangha (community) as a central support in meditation practice. She says,

I practice with three different groups during the week. This is the main reason why I have been able to keep my meditation practice alive and awake. I can lean on the sangha’s energy when I cannot sit alone.

I have also found this beneficial with my Qi Gong and Tai Chi practice. On days when I can’t do it alone, I join my friends in China on Zoom every afternoon during weekdays, and we practice together in silence—not a word exchanged. Together.

Writing to all of you weekly is my way of creating a sangha for myself. I share my experiences with you and am enriched when you share yours. It enriches me when I can sit with you in practice every Thursday. (We have a practice circle every Thursday at 1:00 PM IST. If you’d like to join, drop me a note, and I will include you in the invite).

Along with reiterating the benefit of the sangha, Pema also encourages us to be our own meditation instructors. She says,

We conclude this edition with a tiny story this week.

P.S. I am quickly running out of stories! Send me one of your favourites, and I’d love to feature them in the newsletter.

How Grass and Trees Become Enlightened

During the Kamakura period, Shinkan studied Tendai for six years and Zen for seven years; then, he went to China and contemplated Zen for thirteen years more.

When he returned to Japan, many wanted to interview him and asked obscure questions. But when Shinkan received visitors, which was infrequently, he seldom answered their questions.

One day, a fifty-year-old student of enlightenment said to Shinkan: “I have studied the Tendai school of thought since I was a little boy, but one thing in it I cannot understand. Tendai claims that even the grass and trees will become enlightened. To me, this seems very strange.”

“Of what use is it to discuss how grass and trees become enlightened?” asked Shinkan. “The question is how you yourself can become so. Did you even consider that?”

“I never thought of it that way,” marvelled the old man.

“Then go home and think it over,” finished Shinkan.