I used to enjoy participating in discussions. Despite the knowledge that there are always many sides to a story, I still believed that my own subjective (and flawed!) viewpoints were somehow “more appropriate” and would lead to “better understanding”. Intending to be “objective”, I took sides, sometimes even fervently. Trying to make things right, I often made things worse.

Recently, however, my urge to take sides decreases. Beyond all belief systems and viewpoints I wish to discover relations and structures – something that remains “invariant” under any possible viewpoint, similar to mathematical and physical concepts (e.g. symmetry groups, isomorphisms, general covariance).

Still I can sense something “not quite right” about most of my utterances, including this posting right here and now. Whenever I speak or write, it seems to me that a subtle form of “tunnel vision” arises, like a growing “blind spot” that I cannot see. Indeed there is some benefit in remaining silent: you can listen better, and thus you might understand more.

As for my favourite “speech guideline”, Gotama Siddhattha mentions these five factors of Right Speech: a well-spoken statement is thus spoken …

– at the right time
– in truth
– affectionately
– beneficially
– with a mind of good-will

… all of which probably sounds “obvious”, yet it seems much easier said than done. The “right time” (or proper/appropriate time) cannot be enforced by will, it has to be recognized through “wisdom” (carefully developed on its own). As for “beneficial”, wishful thinking alone is not enough. The “mind of good-will” co-determines the long-term effects of any bodily, verbal or mental action.

One must be honest with oneself, though – to apply even the slightest trace of self-deception concerning any of these factors defeats their very purpose. Understanding becomes difficult without integrity, both for oneself and others.

Interestingly, the dichotomy “(un)endearing & (dis)agreeable to others” has no effect in light of these factors. You don’t necessarily have to say what others expect to hear. Just remain completely aware of it all. – Easy, huh? :-)

Hiking. Before noon the whole group went hiking through the woods. It was quite interesting to experience this as a form of walking meditation. Whenever my mind went astray, I gently invited it for a cup of tea. After about 16 mental cups of tea we reached the peak and thoroughly enjoyed the view.

Words. Up there the group started talking again, yet no one appeared to have the urge to speak much. It seemed more like a gentle transition from silence to listening. On the way back I had a very delightful conversation with a nice woman from our group. Upon arrival we packed our belongings. During lunch Hannes sat next to me, and we spoke about sources of Theravada literature.

Farewell. Then it was time to say farewell, and I felt especially sad about leaving Pepi. She is such a wonderful woman full of kindness and wisdom, and somehow she reminds me of my grandmother. These few days in Puregg had been so priceless that I still do not know how to express my gratitude.

Journey. I shared most of the journey back to Graz with Klaus. Our train was completely overcrowded, so we had to squeeze into the tiny seats on the corridor. But this did not bother us in the slightest way – on the contrary, we shared a wonderful time and very insightful conversations. I can honestly call it the most enjoyable of all my train rides ever. For the last hour I even had a comfortable seat among some very nice passengers.

Lessons. So what have I learned in Puregg? – Practice. This word sums up everything. Yes, there were also intellectual discoveries. But for me the most valuable aspect was the practical application. The direct experience. The proper balance. The realisation of how practice feeds back into knowledge and understanding. Truly these few days have had a highly beneficial impact on my life; its full scope remains to be seen, depending on my future thoughts, words and actions, and the path that I choose with every single footstep.

Future. Clarity had arisen, and yet new confusion was already looming on the horizon. Until the present, in which I write these words, I have once again neglected this beneficial practice. But now I know how to pull myself out of the old patterns of delusion into which I so eagerly throw myself head over heels. Now I know the difference, and I have also realized that what I can do for others depends on what I allow myself to achieve within: a stable foundation, nurtured by constant practice, for the development of long-term happiness. :-)

In Puregg we had a certain routine for meals. The person closest to the large cooking pot would put a portion of food into the bowls with a dipper and pass them around. We would not speak a single word, start eating together, wait for the last one to finish, and bow down before and after each meal.

Dippers. This morning it was my turn to wield the dipper, and of course I wanted to do everything right. After I had started, someone knocked a tea cup over, and her neighbour dried up the spilled liquids. My eyes and attention shifted from my task to that event. Pepi sat beside me, and with her sharp perception she immediately noticed my distraction. She said, “continue, don’t dream!”, and for a split second I felt quite embarrassed. In the next moment I was grateful for her precise teaching. My embarrassment could only come into existence through the concept of a vulnerable ego, based on an illusion about my “self”. And even if someone now thought of me as a day-dreamer, would that matter? Indeed not! The only important thing was to remain mindful and alert, and to do whatever I did in a proper and most beneficial way.

More dippers. During meditation I was in agony. I felt as though my back pain had long exceeded any levels of “valuable experience”, and that it was only distracting me from deeper insights. But noon arrived, and lunch, and the need for someone to wield the dipper: me again. Now I knew I just had to dish up one full scoop after the other. Such I did – and in the end there was almost nothing left for second portions. I had dished up too much! And there it was again, the embarrassment, the feeling of failure, over such a subtle thing, which nobody had even commented upon. Maybe no one had even thought about it, except for me! But that did not occur to me. I felt like such a loser.

Despair. After lunch we had a break, and I sat down under a tree. I felt desperate. Everything seemed to be going wrong: the dipper experiences, the back pain, my thoughts and emotions. My eyes were filled with tears. I wrote a few lines in my diary and then decided to meditate. After a few minutes I felt something tapping on my shoulder, opened my eyes, and saw a withered leaf that had fallen right between the thumbs and fingers of my hands. I thought of the anicca (inconstancy) principle and smiled. A bit later I spoke to Hannes about my recent difficulties, and he gave me valuable advice.

Agony. In the evening Hannes spoke to us about the five hindrances and other common meditation obstacles. Despite his advice and all my efforts of turning the meditation obstacle “back pain” into the meditation object, my pain increased towards unbearable levels. I did not want to give up and clenched my teeth together, until I felt like I would pass out right there and then. To keep my mind busy, I mentally recited a passage of the Maha-Rahulovada Sutta about the “mindfulness of breathing” technique, until I arrived at the words: “He trains himself, “I will breathe out tranquillizing the bodily fabrication.”

Relief. And there it was. Relief. Serenity. Peace. The pain had disappeared. I perceived nerve signals, and I could still locate the tension, but the suffering was gone. It was like a breakthrough. Now I could sit almost without effort. And it dawned to me that before too long I would remember this experience, and remind myself that I would no longer have to fear pain.