Silent Weekend at the Garrison Institute

For awhile now, I've wanted to shut up.

When Kevin and I first traveled to Guatemala, we encountered a meditation school where students worked up to a practice of 40 days of silence. I'd never thought of practicing silence. It seemed really weird and then truly wonderful. 

When we offered our yoga retreats to Guatemala, I said to Beth, my collaborator, we should do that! Honestly, in part I thought we should do it because I knew some attendees weren't morning people and I can be super exuberant in the a.m. I thought this might protect them from my early day enthusiasm. When we did practice silence, I noticed more. I felt like I was "doing it wrong" (I didn't talk, which really seems to be the only way to screw it up but anyway...) but I was still interested. 

As a yoga teacher, I'm trying to speak less. Minimally. If you've taken my classes you're likely cracking up reading this, but seriously, I'm working on it. I've taught silently maybe once and I loved it. I would love to communicate efficiently without words but I'm not there yet.

Slowly, I've been drawn towards this practice. Kevin too. Neither of us could really explore it because we were conscious of our already demanding travel schedule given that Laz, our cat, was depressed when we were gone. We made sure one of us was always there, or if that wasn't possible, his favorite cat sitter. When he transitioned, we realized it was time to enter this practice.

Kevin wanted to barter to lay on a cold board in some monastery. I wanted to do a 12-day vipassana sit, which is intense, but very structured. We figured the middle ground was an unstructured (meaning no programming, do what you will) silent weekend at the Garrison Institute.

View of an internal courtyard. Our bedroom window. A former monk's cell.

The Garrison Institute overlooks the Hudson River across from West Point (YEAH. I DIDN'T KNOW EITHER). It used to be a Capuchin Monastery. The Catholic Church didn't need it? Could no longer afford it? We didn't get a clear answer, but, the property was being protected by one organization and I get the sense the building was falling into disrepair.

A Buddhist couple bought it. Their teacher stressed it should be an interfaith facility. When you walk in, you push hard against imposing doors. The building is impressively restored and the catethedral beautiful. Against the stain glass, on the central altar, a huge golden Buddha. Along the walls, small adornments. In the hallway, a bust of the Dalai Lama.

Beautiful. Bizarre.

The simple, clean kitchen largely sources from their garden and neighboring farms. The food was really amazing (but, when you're silent, food starts to taste really good. Or you pay attention...?). There's carefully planted bamboo in addition to native plants.

A labyrinth offers the perfect place to practice walking meditation.

This view is from the back of the Garrison. The facade looks over the grey, winding Hudson. The train stop is a short walk down a steep hill! Easily accessible from New York City.

I walked the labyrinth twice, the first time as snow fell. The second time, the following morning, I was not the first on the path. There were several animal prints throughout the path.

What does snow sound like rustling through bamboo? Like it's hushing you.

I spent my short retreat doing seated meditations, walking meditations, practicing yoga asana, reading Thich Nhat Hanh, and taking walks. Nhat Hanh related a story of a cold day when he took a walk. Returning to his home, he saw a fierce wind had blown the papers of his house in disarray. Upon returning, he closed the windows, made a warm fire, and put his affairs in order.

This weekend, I felt like I closed the windows.