Day 7 dawns, and the inner child within us rages against the confines of stillness, yet we persevere, delving deeper into the essence of our being. There’s a palpable heat in today’s work, reminiscent of the intensity found in places of potent energy like the Matahari, where experiences penetrate not just the body but the soul. And like all things, we observe and let it pass.
Childhood memories surface, like the pain of an ear operation, bringing with it the echoes of parental disagreements, the kind that leave invisible scars. Pain has been a steadfast companion in this journey, reminding us of its depth and persistence. Yet, hunger wanes, even as heroes emerge in unlikely forms, like piercing pus-filled abscesses that simply demand to be acknowledged, and then, released.
An ex partner’s presence, the beach club days with another in Spain, all come flooding back. But I am learning. There is no craving, no aversion; only the water of life flowing by, observed and untouched.
Moments with Belgian Ardenne’s and another lover, filled with declarations of love, once clung to, now float away on the river of impermanence. The Vipassana method teaches us just that – to appreciate without attachment, to love without dependency.
The artistry of this experience continues to evolve. The images of days past, from the red flower of Day 1 to the complex imagery of Day 5, all lay the foundation for Day 7’s creation. What will it be? The inner narrative dictates the stroke of the brush.
I realize now more than ever that my happiness, my state of mind, is mine and mine alone to control. The power to disrupt my peace lies not in the hands of another but firmly within my grasp.
The afternoons are a crucible, the meditation hall a furnace beneath the midday sun. My inner child is restless, animated, whispering seductively of escape and play. Yet, the wisdom of a fast learner prevails – we endure, we acknowledge the discomfort, and we wait for the liberating sound of the guru’s chant.
In moments of weakness, I succumb to the worldly comfort of Oreos and milk, before returning to the sweltering embrace of the hall. As I shift positions, seeking solace in physical change, I am reminded that true peace comes from within.
This journey is one of healing, not just on a pelvic level, but on a soul level, sweeping away the old systems to welcome a new, healthier blueprint of thought and existence.
Like a physician diagnosing disease, we identify misery and seek its origin. Without its source, it cannot survive – and so we observe, turning pain into noble truth.
Our cravings, our clinging, our attachments – they are but reactions, Sankaras, to the ever-changing tide of life. We watch, we wait, and we let them pass, uprooting them one by one.
Each day reinforces the impermanence of all things – Annica – the only constant is change.
In the deepest meditative states, we confront past lives, the cycle from birth to death, and come to understand that the path to liberation is carved through sensation, through the mindful observation of the conscious and subconscious.
As we pull out the roots of misery, our brains hyper-focus, sharpened like a laser on the task at hand. In a world where smartphones have whittled attention spans to less than that of a goldfish, the practice of Vipassana emerges as a vital antidote.
Some may see columns of light; others, like myself, find solace in silence, which feels like bliss. While my brain teems with ceaseless thoughts and ideas, even in sleep, this is my journey of awakening.
On this seventh day, we hold steady in the pain, and in doing so, we slowly, painstakingly pull out the deep-seated roots of our suffering. And as we do, we edge ever closer to the freedom that lies just beneath the surface of our practiced equanimity.
With tenderness and tenacity,
Julie Spark
