Retreat
Retreat
Why retreat? Doesn’t it sound like defeat, withdrawing, pulling back? Something an entity does when beaten, hopeless?
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Every year, I go on a retreat, and spend a lot of time in silence. I came across a terrific quote on this year’s retreat: Prayer is you talking to God. Meditation is God talking to you.
Every year, I give up. In a very intentional way, I say to myself, let’s go back. It feels like being a child again in many ways—all meals are prepared for us. There’s no shopping, no meal planning, no dishes, no leftovers to tyrannize my Sub Zero. I think that’s the most freeing part of the whole thing: the food thing. When you are a kid, you have tons of free time because you aren’t working for food, planning around food. You’re given a window—eat now—and then the kitchen closes.
I walked a labyrinth every day for six days. On the seventh day, I came home.
It’s like going to the dentist. After my six months visit, I always floss vociferously, and then it falls off again. After the retreat, I’m calmer, wiser, simplified. It will fall away. For me, going to church helps extend the half-life of the retreat—in that pure hour, the counter gets reset to zero again. Every week, every day, a little retreat, a small pulling back, to see what is.
I expect to forget all this and then remember it again. Like sleep/wake. Like flossing. Like any long term love relationship.
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