Picture: With Martin, on my last day of a month long silent meditation retreat at Spirit Rock, CA

I attended a month-long silent meditation retreat at Spirit Rock in February 2023. Initially, the prospect of disconnecting from worldly obligations and immersing myself in the beauty of nature for an entire month, where everything, from food to laundry, was taken care of, sounded truly blissful. However, that feeling of bliss only lasted about three days. It quickly transformed into what felt like an eternity in prison. Each day seemed indistinguishable from the last. It gave the appearance of tranquility while my mind was a constant rollercoaster of ups and downs, never experiencing a dull moment.

The most significant insight I've acquired is a clear understanding of how my resistance patterns have obstructed my ability to be present in life. Ironically, this aligns precisely with what I teach at Hoffman. Because I possess a deep intellectual understanding of these patterns, I was able to discern all the ingenious ways in which my conditioned mind was covertly and unconsciously reacting.
Moreover, the retreat also served to purify my heart. It is often said that long retreats bring to the surface things that do not align with the dharma. My heart broke repeatedly as I confronted the pain of having harmed both others and myself in the past. I earnestly sought forgiveness from those I had hurt and from myself. I cleansed my soul with tears and released myself from the burden of guilt. I wholeheartedly committed myself to ahimsa, the principle of doing no harm.

While I can now express this with ease, the journey through the month was nothing but with ease. I had no option but to confront myself with unflinching honesty. I had to acknowledge all the ways I had been distracting myself from my presence. Many times, I lost myself in feelings of boredom, loneliness, and anxiety. I thought about quitting every day until the last week when I saw the finish line on the horizon.

Throughout this period, there was one person who became my pillar of support—a colleague of mine, an older, tall, bald white man with fiercely kind and intensely blue eyes. We silently chopped vegetables side by side for 30 minutes every day for an entire month. It was an unusual yet profound way of getting to know someone quite intimately.

In Sanskrit, work meditation is referred to as "Seva," which translates to selfless service. Seva involves performing tasks without any expectation of results or rewards, solely for the benefit of other human beings or the community. It is a practice intended to carry out everyday activities, such as cooking and cleaning, with mindful awareness and compassion. In my case, my Seva was to chop vegetables for 30 minutes after lunch.
At the outset, I came to realize how little experience I had in preparing various types of vegetables—chard, carrots, kale, pumpkins, yams, potatoes, and lettuce. This revelation stemmed from my previous perception of such work as unimportant chores, leading me to outsource them as much as possible, deeming them unworthy of my time. But what could be more significant than preparing food that nourishes my body and sustains my life force? Seva opened a window for me to examine my conditioned relationship with this type of work.

Seva also provided a mirror for me to examine my pattern of "doing." Since work meditation was the only time when I could actively engage in a task, as opposed to sitting in silent meditation, I approached it with great enthusiasm. In the kitchen, while chopping vegetables with great intensity, I resembled a determined soldier wielding a knife. There was a task at hand, and I executed it swiftly, precisely, and efficiently.

On the other hand, my workmate was quite the opposite. His cutting skills were not as sharp, yet he exuded relaxation, patience, and kindness. He simply smiled whenever I rushed to accomplish more. In the end, there was nowhere to rush to, even when the job was finished. In reality, there was no such thing as completing the task of chopping vegetables, as there was always more to chop. So, I questioned myself, why was I in such a hurry?

Simply through his presence, he demonstrated how performing an ordinary and mundane task like cutting vegetables could be transformed into a practice of solid presence. For him, it wasn't a chore or a task to be completed; it was a spiritual practice where he remained fully engaged in each moment.
Just through his presence, I came to realize how I had become entangled in the act of doing, losing myself in it, and taking something as small and insignificant as vegetable cutting far too seriously. When I found myself obsessing over how the vegetable containers were organized, he responded with a gentle smile, radiating deep understanding, love, and compassion. It was in that moment that I paused and recognized my compulsive reactions. Once I became aware of them, I was able to return to a state of presence.

Just through his presence, he inspired me to commit to the practice. Practice creates presence. It's only through consistent practice that I can cultivate such a deep presence. Despite having a strong cognitive understanding, I sometimes underestimate the significance of practice, using excuses like "I already know how to do this." However, the kind of presence he exemplified went far beyond what any intellectual understanding could dare to reach; it was fully embodied in his physical being and heart. I didn't just comprehend it in my head; I felt it in my entire being.

I couldn't help but wonder, "How is it possible for someone to inspire such visceral kindness without uttering a single word?" As a teacher myself, I aspired to emulate him. I wanted to transmit the energy of kindness and authenticity to my own students, allowing them to sense my genuine concern for their well-being. In this atmosphere of care, they could relax, and only in a state of relaxation could they feel safe enough to be honest and courageous.

On the last day, I broke the silence and said, "Thank you so much for your kind presence. Who are you?"

My workmate replied, "I am Martin. I am a Dharma teacher in Germany. And you?"

Our brief conversation rMartin had introduced the Hoffman Process to Europe thirty years ago and had taught it for a decade. What an incredible synchronicity! Astonished by the coincidence, we exchanged contact information. I asked if I could visit him in Europe during my summer trip, and he nodded with a warm smile.

Martin | Part 1: A month-long silent meditation retreat (CA, Feb 2023)

Martin | Part 2: Rebirth “in the Kingdom of Heaven” (Im Himmelreich, Germany, July 2023)

On Freedom