Things are different north of the city. Even after only an hours' drive, which doesn't seem that long at all.
It was a dry, brisk day in early December. You could see your breath, but just barely. It was still technically fall, but as soon as the calendar reaches the 12th month of the year, most people start calling it winter. I stood at the meeting spot and waited, checking my phone every few seconds. I was early and couldn’t contain myself, so I sent a nervous text eight minutes before our scheduled meeting time: “Hi Anya, it’s Lesley—I’m on the northeast corner of Danforth and Coxwell beside the “Hear for Life” shop—see you soon!” I hoped she wouldn’t be annoyed by my message.
I’d never met Anya before. Yet, I had plans to meet her on a random corner, so I could get in her car, so we could pick up two other strangers, so we could carpool together to go to a place none of us had ever been before. We were all embarking on a 10-day journey: Anya, me, two other people who also needed a ride, and around 80 other strangers. Once we got where we were going, they would take our phones away and we’d spend upwards of 10 hours a day meditating in noble silence. No laptops, no books, no journals, no writing instruments, no music, and definitely no phones.
Part of me I regretted signing up, but a bigger part of me felt relieved that it was finally happening.
Our drive north took longer than expected. Anya turned out to be a chatty and happy soul who didn’t drive on highways. As we made our way to the boonies, the scenery began to change. From dense urban sprawl, to more sparsely populated city blocks, to the land of strip malls, to barren trees ready for winter hibernation, to snow covered pine forests. The air up north felt crisp. Fresh. Delicious. Even though they had warned us about the snowfall, I wasn’t ready to see the meditation compound completely covered in white stuff.
I clutched the piece of paper containing my building and room information. Residence B. Room 21. As I entered the one-story building, I saw a long, empty corridor with many doors on each side. I took off my shoes and tiptoed down the hall, looking for my room. Some of the doors were open, so I snuck a few quick peeks inside. The rooms were small and basic. Some of them only had one single bed, but most were set up with two beds, and a thin piece of fabric hanging between them. My room was near the end of the hallway. I opened the door and sighed with relief: one single bed.
My mood got better from there. Having finally made it to the centre, seeing my little private room, and being in the beautiful northern wilderness filled me with excitement. “I can’t believe I get to stay here for 10 days!” “Well, it’s really 12 days if you count the day we arrive and the day we leave,” I corrected myself. I unpacked the few possessions I brought with me, took a few selfies, and texted a couple of people to let them know I had arrived safely. When there was nothing left to do in that tiny room, I made my way to the dining hall.
There were a few forms to fill out. I like forms, and there was hot water and tea too, so that made it even better. I chose to sit at a table that faced the wall, unaware that I was on the mens’ side of the dining area. We hadn’t started noble silence yet, but nobody talked to me, and I talked to nobody. When I submitted my form to the volunteers, they asked for my phone and valuables, and I handed them over. Anya showed up shortly after and we chattered excitedly. She was assigned to a little cottage all to herself. It sounded amazing.
After dinner, our last for the next 9 nights, there was a short debriefing of the ground rules. I enjoy learning new rules so I listened eagerly.
“Try to brush off as much snow as you can before entering the buildings. Leave your boots on the winter carpets. Slippers can be found in baskets at all entrances.”
“Make sure to wash your hands often as germs spread very quickly around here.”
“Paths are clearly marked and don’t wander into prohibited areas.”
“You’re welcome to walk on the trail at the back of the centre, but there are steep drop-offs, so stay on the trail.”
“The first group mediation is in half an hour. Noble silence and separation of the sexes will start then.”
“Noble silence means no talking, no gesturing, and no eye contact. There should be no non-verbal communication.”
It was hard to settle myself for the first meditation. My experience with meditation up until that point was pretty much nonexistent so I felt helpless to my racing thoughts. It’s hard to remember all that went through my mind during that hour, but I remember hearing a lot of people around me coughing, sneezing, and sniffling. I remember thinking, “I hope they washed their hands.”
I remember doing bathroom math. There were maybe 15 to 20 people in residence B. Three washrooms. How do I make sure I don’t ever have to wait in line? I remember deciding to wake up every day 15 minutes before the morning bell. That meant waking up at 3:45am.
I remember falling asleep briefly. Well, I don’t exactly remember falling asleep, but I do remember waking up.
I remember going over the meal times. 6:30am, breakfast. 11am, lunch. 5 pm, tea break with fruits. I remember worrying about being hungry.
By the end of the group meditation, the aura in the room had completely changed. There were still tons of people around me, but it was eerily quiet. We silently folded up our blankets, and stacked up our cushions—not looking at each other and not saying a word.
I stepped outside, and the night was pitch black. It’s eerie how places can look completely different in the dark. The snow-covered path from the meditation hall to Residence B looked 10 times longer, a hundred times darker, and a thousand times creepier. That was when I started hearing footsteps all around me. That was when I started feeling the need to constantly look over my shoulder. That was when I noticed that, aside from the shared bathrooms, there were no locks on any of the doors.
It was a dry, brisk day in early December. You could see your breath, but just barely. It was still technically fall, but as soon as the calendar reaches the 12th month of the year, most people start calling it winter. I stood at the meeting spot and waited, checking my phone every few seconds. I was early and couldn’t contain myself, so I sent a nervous text eight minutes before our scheduled meeting time: “Hi Anya, it’s Lesley—I’m on the northeast corner of Danforth and Coxwell beside the “Hear for Life” shop—see you soon!” I hoped she wouldn’t be annoyed by my message.
I’d never met Anya before. Yet, I had plans to meet her on a random corner, so I could get in her car, so we could pick up two other strangers, so we could carpool together to go to a place none of us had ever been before. We were all embarking on a 10-day journey: Anya, me, two other people who also needed a ride, and around 80 other strangers. Once we got where we were going, they would take our phones away and we’d spend upwards of 10 hours a day meditating in noble silence. No laptops, no books, no journals, no writing instruments, no music, and definitely no phones.
Part of me I regretted signing up, but a bigger part of me felt relieved that it was finally happening.
Our drive north took longer than expected. Anya turned out to be a chatty and happy soul who didn’t drive on highways. As we made our way to the boonies, the scenery began to change. From dense urban sprawl, to more sparsely populated city blocks, to the land of strip malls, to barren trees ready for winter hibernation, to snow covered pine forests. The air up north felt crisp. Fresh. Delicious. Even though they had warned us about the snowfall, I wasn’t ready to see the meditation compound completely covered in white stuff.
I clutched the piece of paper containing my building and room information. Residence B. Room 21. As I entered the one-story building, I saw a long, empty corridor with many doors on each side. I took off my shoes and tiptoed down the hall, looking for my room. Some of the doors were open, so I snuck a few quick peeks inside. The rooms were small and basic. Some of them only had one single bed, but most were set up with two beds, and a thin piece of fabric hanging between them. My room was near the end of the hallway. I opened the door and sighed with relief: one single bed.
My mood got better from there. Having finally made it to the centre, seeing my little private room, and being in the beautiful northern wilderness filled me with excitement. “I can’t believe I get to stay here for 10 days!” “Well, it’s really 12 days if you count the day we arrive and the day we leave,” I corrected myself. I unpacked the few possessions I brought with me, took a few selfies, and texted a couple of people to let them know I had arrived safely. When there was nothing left to do in that tiny room, I made my way to the dining hall.
There were a few forms to fill out. I like forms, and there was hot water and tea too, so that made it even better. I chose to sit at a table that faced the wall, unaware that I was on the mens’ side of the dining area. We hadn’t started noble silence yet, but nobody talked to me, and I talked to nobody. When I submitted my form to the volunteers, they asked for my phone and valuables, and I handed them over. Anya showed up shortly after and we chattered excitedly. She was assigned to a little cottage all to herself. It sounded amazing.
After dinner, our last for the next 9 nights, there was a short debriefing of the ground rules. I enjoy learning new rules so I listened eagerly.
“Try to brush off as much snow as you can before entering the buildings. Leave your boots on the winter carpets. Slippers can be found in baskets at all entrances.”
“Make sure to wash your hands often as germs spread very quickly around here.”
“Paths are clearly marked and don’t wander into prohibited areas.”
“You’re welcome to walk on the trail at the back of the centre, but there are steep drop-offs, so stay on the trail.”
“The first group mediation is in half an hour. Noble silence and separation of the sexes will start then.”
“Noble silence means no talking, no gesturing, and no eye contact. There should be no non-verbal communication.”
It was hard to settle myself for the first meditation. My experience with meditation up until that point was pretty much nonexistent so I felt helpless to my racing thoughts. It’s hard to remember all that went through my mind during that hour, but I remember hearing a lot of people around me coughing, sneezing, and sniffling. I remember thinking, “I hope they washed their hands.”
I remember doing bathroom math. There were maybe 15 to 20 people in residence B. Three washrooms. How do I make sure I don’t ever have to wait in line? I remember deciding to wake up every day 15 minutes before the morning bell. That meant waking up at 3:45am.
I remember falling asleep briefly. Well, I don’t exactly remember falling asleep, but I do remember waking up.
I remember going over the meal times. 6:30am, breakfast. 11am, lunch. 5 pm, tea break with fruits. I remember worrying about being hungry.
By the end of the group meditation, the aura in the room had completely changed. There were still tons of people around me, but it was eerily quiet. We silently folded up our blankets, and stacked up our cushions—not looking at each other and not saying a word.
I stepped outside, and the night was pitch black. It’s eerie how places can look completely different in the dark. The snow-covered path from the meditation hall to Residence B looked 10 times longer, a hundred times darker, and a thousand times creepier. That was when I started hearing footsteps all around me. That was when I started feeling the need to constantly look over my shoulder. That was when I noticed that, aside from the shared bathrooms, there were no locks on any of the doors.