As I do last-minute packing for the retreat, I find myself agonizing about little things - what clothes to bring, how much food, which books, clocks, medicines, etc. I’m reminded that our founding teacher compared entering and leaving a retreat to an airplane taking off or landing. There’s extra stress on the plane’s structure at those times, so lots of creaking and rumbling.

When preparing breakfast I realize that the fridge doesn’t work (although the motor is running), and all my perishable food has spoiled. I feel angry and ready to give up again. I spend the entire morning meditation session grumbling about “what a dump this place is.”

There were football games all day at the nearby high school stadium. I can hear the play-by-play on the PA system as if I were watching TV in the hut. Not the retreat atmosphere I had envisioned, and it’s so hard to stop myself from following along and visualizing the game. I decide to become another forest animal with no idea of what those words mean—just a constant droning in the background.

I’ve never had a retreat that went the way I wanted it to go, or the way I planned (even when my plan was to have no plan). Yet I’m never sorry. This is retreat’s great value. It helps us see these deeply-embedded ideas we measure ourselves against, and that continuously color our experience. Someone is never quite happy or satisfied? Who is that?

The re-usable Reynolds wrap skillet—my great bodhisattva: I’ve been eating only raw food until now—cereal, crackers, nuts, fruits—because I forgot to bring a pan, and I’m too noble to snatch one of the temple’s two small pans. But today I realized that I can sculpt a little skillet from several layers of aluminum foil, and it works like a charm. My first warm meal (reheated potato omelet from the temple kitchen) is indescribably wonderful—better than enlightenment. It even surpasses the Buddhas and patriarchs.

Today the chipmunk warriors are chirping at the right speed for daily chanting, so I use their chirps to keep the beat for the Heart Sutra and the Great Dharani. They chirp somewhat irregularly, so I have to be totally alert and react instantaneously to stay in sync with them. An interesting exercise in reflexive concentration.

Today I got so sick of listening to animal fighting sounds—chipmunks, squirrels, blue jays (nature’s Dick Cheneys) that I turned on the fan to drown them out. What a welcome relief, and a good lesson for those of us who tend to romanticize nature.

Yesterday morning, my frustration at my inability to stop thinking and “stay present” came to a head, and I began hitting myself with the chukpi on the thigh every time I caught myself drifting off. This went on for nearly two days as my anger mounted to a fever pitch, and the self discipline intensified until I had welts on both thighs. And then it happened! My cherished state of one-pointed concentration appeared.

My retreat ends after this morning’s meditation session. I had hoped to finish on a peaceful, reflective note, and the world seemed to be cooperating. But then the sun rose and the animals began fighting even more noisily than usual. They were going to give me a rousing send-off.