The bus ride was long this time. It was raining heavily and we encountered two multi-car accidents trying to get out of Shanghai city area. The group was tired and all sleeping having woken early hours to arrive at Shanghai South bus station for the bus to Lin’an.
I was awake in the bus like a shepherd watching over his sheep. I am always a little nervous with a new group coming to do the three-day Mindfulness Training at Zaoxi. Will the group be able to make the cultural transition? Will they cope with the remote conditions? I reminded myself that we had carefully screened the group so things should be OK. I practised mindfulness skills to bring myself back into the present moment and out of the “things-could-go-wrong” story my mind wanted to play with.
I looked out in front. We had passed the Hangzhou exit and mountains became visible with peaks shrouded in rain clouds. Soon we would be in Lin’an.
Arriving in Lin’an bus station we were greeted by Lijuan who always insists we need to eat before taking the last part of the journey into the mountains. Autumn was advancing so warm tea and rice made a welcomed respite. Then it was cramming into the small bus to climb the steep Tianmu mountains.
The group again fell silent as we wound along narrow mountain roads deep into the bamboo forests. The mist became fog as we climbed in altitude reaching into the very “eyes of heaven” as Tianmu means. I remembered my first trip up the mountain. I was silent too, wondering what to expect. Much of my own silence was wonderment at the sheer beauty. . . but that was spring time and there were no foreboding mists warning us of snow to come. Hervé who had come all the way from France put on his ski gloves. The temperature was falling with each kilometre. Finally we entered the village of Shi Ta Wan. I love to try to read the faces of the group as they look about. . .the mix of emotions from fear to wonderment. Soon they would be learning valuable and enriching lessons of the trickery of the mind and how to overcome their fear and inner-talk.
We made our way to the retreat house. Warm greetings from “mama” and “baba” our hosts and as usual the village elder was there to say “hello” the only English word in his vocabulary. Hot local tea was quickly served and we sipped on its smoky and woody flavour.
“Baba” came up to Lisa and wanted to inspect her watch. She graciously took it off for him. He inspected it like a mechanic trying to figure out the fault in a seized motor holding it at nose distance due to his ailing eyesight. He motioned to the clock on the wall. It is an old clock. It is covered with some spider webs and dust. It has obviously not been touched for many years. In fact it had been given to the family by their daughter who had once made a trip to the large town. No one thought that it actually needed batteries! It didn’t matter. Baba could not tell the time, anyway. Lisa asked JJ to translate into local dialect how Baba knows what time to rise in the morning and go to work. “Oh”, he stumbled, as if embarrassed by the answer he was about to give. “I wake up when my wife stokes the fire for breakfast.” “But how does she know what time to get up?” replied Lisa from Australia. “She just knows. It’s her tradition.” I watched the faces of the group. There was a short silence again. I noticed a small tear in the corner of Lisa’s eye. In that moment of time, time had stood still for us. The deep silence punctuated the moment. Lisa did not put her watch back on. I noticed she slipped it in her coat pocket. It was no longer of value to her. She had received her first lesson in Mindfulness, the world of no-time.
It was soon time for the group to get unpacked. Did I say “time.”? How did I know it was “time”. It just was.
Next Mindfulness Training in April 2010, see www.taishendo.com for details.
