(Day eight.)

No teachings for the next two days. Instead we will be increasing our daily quota of forty-five minute meditations from three to seven… By now, most of the class have moved from the classic cross-legged, straight-backed lotus position to one of support; be it sat on a chair, leant against the wall or lying on the floor. Given there will not be any teaching nor discussion groups, I thought that it be the best opportunity for me to spend a whole day in total silence to see if I hear anything from within. My silence will be more than just not speaking — I’ll also be abstaining from hearing and reading. I’ll be wearing earplugs to deaden the external sounds and I’ll continue to ignore the one third of my backpack dedicated to my library of business books that are crying-out to be read.

Our teacher, Glen, made a passing comment the other day, “I don’t know about you, but when I go on a retreat I notice that the food seems to taste better the longer that I’ve been there”. This surely is due to the reduction of the external ‘noise’ we usually suffer and thus our ability to really appreciate each and every moment increases. Either that, or the cooks simply make better food towards the end of the course. Until now the food, whilst plentiful, has been almost utterly tasteless. The length of the queue for the condiments has equalled that of the food itself.

Today the cooks played a blinder: vegetable dumplings, salt and rosemary sprinkled roast potatoes, herbed vegetables and a quite fiery green pepper sauce. Bliss! Luckily, I was one of the first people to discover the sauce and so sat in a position from which I could observe others’ reactions as they made the discovery for themselves. (I gave Squiffy a non-verbal heads-up because she really doesn’t do spice). My favourite moment was the contemplative Ruski lad being momentarily broken out of his spell to urgently douse the flames in his mouth. I think I just witnessed someone being fully present and ‘in the moment’. He spent much time timidly spooning-off the remaining sauce, in which he had draped his entire meal, to the edge of his plate. Each subsequent mouthful was clearly a new battlefront as the little pepper troopers advanced along his tongue.

So does the food taste better as the course progresses because of our calming mind? Or do the cooks wait until the eighth day to unleash some flavour on our now tame taste buds — and, boy, what a flavour! I spent the next three meditations hearing my quietened mind ask the mind-reading cooks for something other than the usual flavoured water for tonight’s supper. Here’s hoping.

(Hours later.)

Cheese cobs! Cheese, tomato and cucumber cobs! Not a drop of watery soup in sight! This meditation stuff actually works! Right… next I’m asking for a case of beer to appear under my bed. “Om mani padme hum…”

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