An Excerpt of a Letter from a Friend

From: Nathan
Date: Thu, 5 Jan 2006 11:09:02 -0800 (PST)

When I lived at Gampo Abbey in 2002, I did a five day solitary 
retreat. In general, the experience was mundane. The activity 
consisted of the basics of practice, cooking, reading, cleaning, and 
sleeping.

On the first day, I realized that the schedule that I had made for 
myself was too rigid. Instead of doing everything by a clock, I tried 
for a more organic approach. When I was tired I slept. When I was 
hungry I ate. When I could sit I did. If I needed a break, I read.

Early on there was a lot of chatter, and then I realized that there 
was no mind by my own mind. My chatter became silence, punctuated by 
the occasional words of a friend.

Trying to follow my illusive breath, I lit one stick of incense after 
another. The week became a time-lapse. I remember the clouds blowing 
out over the majestic headlands. I watched the votive candles flicker, 
twist, curl, and burn down. I watched the incense go up in smoke, 
leaving black rinds of ashes in its wake. I heard the small 
refrigerator power up with a sudden start and later power down, again 
and again.

One night I awoke to see lights outside. At first I thought that it 
was morning, but looking out the window I noticed that the light was 
not the sun. I went outside and spent an hour sitting on rough hewn 
steps, watching the rolling curls of the Aurora Borealis, a giant 
cosmic ribbon, stretched across the sky.

I read The Life of Milarepa, a few pages at a time. My heart turned. I 
cried.

The winds blew, and the trees waved. The clouds rolled, and it was as 
if I could see the seasons change. An hour before the retreat.s end, I 
stood looking out the window at the gales to the north. It was then 
that I caught a glimpse, like a single frame had been inserted into my 
film. I thought I saw a bright rainbow, in a perfect orange sky. It 
was just a moment, a strange flash, but somehow I knew that everything 
was really all right.