Peace & Quiet

On June 21st I gave my fourth speech at Toastmasters. A few people in the group had expressed an interest in hearing more about my experiences in India, so I wrote the following speech. Giving a speech in front of people allows the added aspects of tone of voice, gestures and dramatic effect. So I've added to it somewhat in the written form, although the premise and the outline remains the same. It is titled "Peace & Quiet". Hope you enjoy it.

Peace & Quiet

The first time I went to Shinjuku, the central nervous system of Tokyo, I exited the station and there were people everywhere. There were shop employees standing outside shops on stepladders holding megaphones and shouting “Irasshaimase”, trying to get customers to enter their stores. You can buy anything in Shinjuku – anything except a little peace and quiet. Around every corner, the chatter of the city is unstoppable. It can be so loud that, often, you can’t even hear yourself think!

Funnily enough, this reminds me of when I spent a few months in rural India as a university student. I stayed in the town of Bodh Gaya, which is in the north-eastern state of Bihar, not far from Kolkata or Nepal. Bodh Gaya is a rural community and an important pilgrimage destination for meditation. It is in Bodh Gaya that Siddhartha Gautama sat under a tree, quieted his mind, and entered samadhi (the concentrated mind). It is said that he sat for 49 days, peeling back life’s illusions one by one until he saw the truth for what it is. Here, he became Buddha, which means fully awakened.

We were a group of 30 university students studying in India for a semester, and after a few weeks in India we were offered the opportunity to participate in a 2-day meditation retreat. None of us expected to attain enlightenment during the weekend, however we were prepared to meditate for 13 hours a day. Also, we would agree to a code of silence, which meant that there would be no communication, not only during meditation hours but also during meals, before bed, and in the morning. We were even to refrain from making eye contact during the retreat, all in order to help us to quiet the mind.

I won’t lie. The first day was terrible. Physically, it is difficult to thrust the body into stasis and sit in one position for so long. However, even more difficult was the mental challenge. To be thrust into the stony silence of a meditation retreat, I found the mind becomes agitated without the external stimulation. The mind does not want to stand still in the present moment, so it will race to the future or turn back to reflect on the past. I found my mind was like a monkey in a banana tree, jumping from branch to branch grabbing at everything and anything that even resembled a banana. My body was still, but the activity in my brain left me exhausted. So here was the conundrum: in the city, you can’t hear yourself think; on the meditation cushion, you can’t make your brain shut up. So, how to get some peace and quiet in life?

By the second day, our teacher reminded us that this was to be expected. “Your thoughts are like clouds in the sky. Let them pass by,” he said. Even though we could not stop the thoughts, over time our minds would quiet down.

Gradually, I was able to let go a little better, although occasionally I would find myself riding those clouds as if they were a magic carpet ride. I would catch myself at those moments and try to concentrate the mind, returning to the present moment. At those times, I was acutely aware of the present moment, and felt relaxed in what felt like the first time in years.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

At the end of the second day, our teacher complimented us on our efforts during the retreat. He could see from our smiling and relaxed faces that we had been able to quiet our monkey minds, if not gain a little insight into ourselves as well. Indeed, it was a beautiful day.

But then something occurred that I always remember when I go to Shinjuku. It so happened that the head priest of the temple we were staying at had returned from a pilgrimage to Lumbini in Nepal. He was to give a short talk after lunch to tell us of his travels and give us the official tour of the temple grounds. The priest was an older man and had a peaceful looking face; he had probably meditated for many hours every day for most of his life.

We were all outdoors, so he was brought a microphone and amplifier so we could all hear his story about Lumbini, the place where Siddhartha Gautama was born and lived until he left his kingdom to meditate among the ascetics. The head priest brought the microphone to his mouth and began to speak…and didn’t stop for nearly 2 hours. He told us everything about Lumbini and Buddha’s early life, in excruciating detail. His voice, although serene, inundated us in a verbal slideshow. His amplified chatter crashed like a tidal wave over the silent paradise I had discovered.

So these days, when I go to Shinjuku and I see the shop workers outside, standing on stepladders above the crowds with their megaphones, I recall the priest in India with his microphone. When the decibels seem to equal the population of Tokyo and I can hardly hear myself think, I am reminded of meditation. Inhale. Exhale. Let the thoughts go. I look up at the clouds passing overhead, astutely aware of the present moment. The daydreams obliterated from my mind. Here I am. This is life.

(Shinjuku on a typical evening)

(The tree in Bodh Gaya as it stands today)