PHOTOGRAPHY: LARA PICONE (BILLABONG, TEA SET, WATER LILIES)
MY BRAIN REFUSES TO get on board
with the idea of meditation. My mind is
great at being full, but there’s no mindfulness
happening up there. I’m the type of yoga-goer
who doesn’t join in the communal ‘om’ chant
at the end of class, peeks when told to close
their eyes in order to fully relish a contorted
pose, and who is thinking about the best way
to sear the fat on a sirloin in 30 minutes’ time
when I’m released from the agonising pursuit
of inner peace.
I wasn’t always like this. I could tell you the
name of every crystal when I was a kid, and
a purple dream catcher that hung above my
bed was among my most prized possessions.
But somewhere between adolescence and
adulthood, I stopped placing a piece of quartz
on my forehead to get rid of a headache and
started taking Panadol. My descent from
mindfulness accelerated as I ploughed through
my twenties and, now in my thirties, the quest
is all but lost, swallowed up by deadlines,
social expectations and a fair amount of pinot
noir. But, I wondered, can a mindful state be
restored? And, for those of us who are
time-poor, can it be restored in two days?
Not that long ago an invitation landed in
my inbox to visit Billabong Retreat (an easy
45 minutes from Sydney). As I was just
putting the finishing touches on a particularly
trying week, the invitation’s timing seemed
perfect. “Could this be the universe
providing?” I asked my recalcitrant mind.
There was no response, but the pulsing vein
in my temple and the fifth email sent before
8am told me it was time to do something
about that pesky inner peace problem.
I grabbed my most zen friend to act as a
familiar on my journey to wholeness and
booked us in for two days of yoga,
meditation, and a mindfulness workshop.
We arrive in the early afternoon, in time
for a welcome spiel and a gluten-free bliss
ball. As we settle into the expansive verandah
with the scents and sounds of the bush
wrapped around us, I begin to assess my
fellow mindfulness disciples. Women, all of
them. My mind, cottoning onto the fact it’s
about to be coerced into training, stages a
revolt. “You’ve just fallen into the plot of Eat,
Pray, Love,” it chides. “Soon you’ll be wearing
happy pants and chanting in Sanskrit,” the
taunting continues. I weigh up the viability
of a sneaky retreat. But my friend drove us
and I can’t force her to leave with me;
besides, she already looks as though she’s in
commune with Buddha. Plus, I’m curious.Before my brain has a chance to regroup
for another offensive, I’m seated on a mat in
a beautiful, bright room. Polished wooden
floors lead to large glass doors, beyond which
a forest of sunlit gums sways gently. It’s
ridiculously tranquil and no one is wearing
happy pants. A preternaturally soothing
voice glides out across the room and seems
to temporarily disarm my combative mind.
The voice belongs to Basia, who’ll be our yoga
teacher for the next few days. My limbs follow
her serene instruction and, before I know it,
I’m closing my eyes and humming ‘om’.
After a perplexingly delicious lunch
despite the lack of any meat or bread, it’s
time for a massage. My mind, now recovered
from Basia’s chilled vibes, is back to its old
tricks, narrating on the progress of the
massage (oh, not the feet, buddy). But
meditation class provides another
opportunity to tame the wily beast.
Where the gums huddled in the day, there’s
now nothing but darkness beyond the glass,
but the room has taken on a comforting,
womb-like ambience for meditation class.
Everyone is seated in a chair with bolsters
under their feet, or in lotus pose on a mat.
Basia shows us how to breathe like Darth
Vader, constricting our throat for ‘ujjayi’
breath. I open one eye to suss out if anyone’s
smirking at my attempt to imitate the dark
lord, but everyone’s attention is focused
inwards to their own strangulated pursuits.
Next, we try alternate nostril breathing, or
‘nadi shodhan pranayama’. For a few minutes
my mind is nowhere but with my breath. I am
solely aware of the air rushing in and being
expelled by each nostril. Inevitably, though,
it becomes restless and decides to remind
me of work unfinished, problems unsolved
and, just because it now has my attention,
something someone said to me two years ago
that irked me. I hear Basia’s voice float past
like a cloud, telling us to bring our awareness
back to our breath should our minds get up
to such mischief.
“How long do you realistically think you
could do a yoga and meditation practice for
each day?” asks Basia at our one-on-one
session. Feeling emboldened by yesterday’s
efforts, I suggest half an hour. “That’s quite
ambitious; why don’t we try for seven
minutes?” I’m a little deflated that, after my
24-hour pursuit of mindfulness, Basia
doesn’t think I’m already on my ascent to
Nirvana. I agree to seven minutes. After
consultation on any physical and emotionalaches and pains, Basia draws up a prescription
for my seven-minute daily practice.
At the Mindful Intelligence workshop,
Paul von Bergen tells the room that there’s
no such thing as being good at meditation.
He assures us it’s a practice and, as with most
things worth pursuing, it only gets easier the
more you do it. You can almost feel the room
exhale in relief as everyone makes a mental
note not to beat themselves up each time
their mind shares some inane information.
The founder and director of Billabong
Retreat, Paul’s journey into mindfulness
had its own hurdles. And that’s the brilliant
thing about Paul: he’s not a dreadlocked
refuse-all-earthly-pleasures-type of
meditation guy. He wears jeans, has kids who
occasionally frustrate him, and knows there
are some things only a glass of wine will cure.
During the two-day workshop, Paul suggests
easy mindfulness practices that you have
every chance of slotting into a regular day.
Who knew, for example, that drinking a cup
of tea could be an exercise in mindfulness?
I leave Billabong feeling that mindfulness is
something within my reach, not after months
at an ashram in India devoting myself to
dharma and dhal, but every day.
So, did I attain mindfulness in two days?
Well, no – that job is bigger than two days
and the struggle is real, my friends. But I did
at least come away with knowledge on how to
work towards a more blissful state of mind.
As I suspect Basia predicted all along, I don’t
do my seven-minute yoga practice every day,
but I manage it about three times a fortnight.
I learnt from Paul how to recognise a stress
response, acknowledge it, and lessen its
severity. I also try to turn the mundane into
mindful exercises; brushing my teeth is a
winner. The dreamcatcher can stay packed
away in my adolescent memory, along with all
the lyrics to Incubus songs, but this useable,
everyday spirituality I can fully embrace.DETAILS
BILLABONG RETREAT
Just a 45-minute drive north-west of
Sydney, you can time your visit with the
wellbeing program of your choice, from
Mindful Intelligence to Stress Management.
Include a one-on-one yoga consultation
or a massage to really unwind.
billabongretreat.com.au