Winter Retreat — Practising the Present
A few years ago, I went to a nearby retreat centre on a four-day solitary retreat, where I had the use of a small cabin. Before arriving, I had this idea that I would make it a very “productive” time, with a schedule filled with study, physical exercise, meditation, art projects, and the like. It took about half an hour after arriving for all of this to go completely out the window. I ended up doing much of what I had intended, but in a very different spirit and with a very different schedule. I was led to do what I needed to do, rather than what I thought I should do.
Here are a few excerpts from my retreat journal:
It’s difficult fitting in exercises for Head, Heart, and Body.
It’s a funny balance:
Trying not to be too tied to a schedule.
Trying not to be too loose.
Return to the openness and innocence of childhood. Don’t try to accomplish anything. Give in to a spirit of play, curiosity, innocence, loving, being loved.
I feel such resistance, such opposition to simply being. Not that there is so much to do here, but there is so much to not do. The spirit of laziness and comfort seeks to intrude, rather than the spirit of simply being.
There is a recliner chair in the corner. In the morning and early afternoon, I can recline and experience a sense of “just being” while I sit and read. At almost any time, I can hear the low notes of the wind moaning in the shelter belt. It feels so snug and secure, hearing the wind, feeling the shelter. The wildness is in the world — it is good. I am safe here, hearing its wildness.
What’s the difference between sitting in a chair in the spirit of laziness as opposed to actively “just being” in the chair? They look exactly the same from the outside. The difference is in the internal attitude, what Annie Dillard has called “a certain precise tilt of the will”. One state is dull, the other alert. About the only way to reach this active state is to become quiet, sometimes for days at a time. With practice, it won’t take as long, but it is never something you can do without intention. You need the time for the internal noise to fall away so that you can hear the still, small voice within.
You can see the progression from noisy “doing” to silent “being” in the successive journal entries. The first entries are short, almost brusque, then lengthen as the process continues. It starts by finding things “difficult”, the implication being maybe “too difficult”. This is followed by noticing the balance needed between doing and not doing. There is a realization that it is necessary to start at the beginning, as a child. This is met with resistance. Finally, a quiet and reflective state appears and notices the movements of the world around.
It has become a cliché to say so, but the present is the only place where we live. And it only took two days of silence to get there! If we are to know what our place and our work in this world is, we need to revisit the present as often as we can. Of course, we are always in the present, but we seldom notice being in it and this is what we need to revisit. We do not need to go on retreat to do this, but regularly trying to be fully present to our actual lives, through various practices such as conscious breathing and daily meditation, is important.
I found a book by Henri Nouwen in the cabin where I was staying. A passage in the book struck me as being particularly relevant.
I also came to see that I should not worry about tomorrow, next week, next year, or the next century. The more willing I was to look honestly at what I was thinking and saying and doing now, the more easily I would come into touch with the movement of God’s spirit in me, leading me to the future. God is a God of the present and reveals to those who are willing to listen carefully to the moment in which they live the steps they are to take toward the future. “Do not worry about tomorrow,” Jesus says, “tomorrow will take care of itself. Each day has enough troubles of its own.” (Matthew 6:34)
Henry Nouwen, In the Name of Jesus, pp. 3-4
Father Henri, as it turns out, did not live to see the next century. Neither do we know if we will be here to find out if our worries will come to pass. God is a God of the present. Do not worry about tomorrow (or regret the past). Each day has enough troubles (and enough pleasures) of its own.