Anna – Instead of Bulgaria, I’m going into the dark

Hi Lenka and Tomáš, I’ve told myself several times now that I must write to you and share my impressions. Originally I wanted to write straight after I got home, but that felt too coloured by the wonderful impressions of the moment, and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to be “objective”. So I wanted to wait until it had all ripened in me, so I could describe everything with a bit more distance. After a month – with more perspective, then – I can say with a calm heart that my wonderful impressions of my “dark stay” haven’t faded; on the contrary, they’ve settled in me and keep growing stronger… So here it is.

How did I come to a dark retreat in the first place?

Gradually. The first time I heard that a person would voluntarily let themselves be shut away in the dark was about two years ago, when an acquaintance who had been through it told me about it – she was thrilled, although she also described how demanding the whole thing was. I found it interesting, so I read the book Tvarytmy by Jaroslav Dušek and started looking things up online. At the time I kept coming across providers who didn’t appeal to me much, whether because of their focus, the way they came across, or their overall philosophy. With hindsight I know that was as it should be, because I wasn’t yet “properly ripe” for a retreat of my own.

It won’t be a classic holiday

This year, though, my time came, and “chance” would have it that on Monday 9 January I discovered Lenka and Tomáš’s website, which appealed to me with its openness, and I simply knew that instead of Bulgaria, this year I’d be going into the dark, and precisely here. It might look as though I decided impulsively, because just a few days later I’d chosen a date and paid the deposit, but to me it was completely natural and automatic and I didn’t hesitate at all. And  no doubts came later either – in the whole five months before the retreat was due to start, I didn’t regret it for a second. I knew it wouldn’t be a classic holiday in the usual sense of the word, but another valuable little stone in the mosaic of my personal growth.

I need to get moving

I felt the right time had come and I was rock-solid certain that the dark would bring me what I needed – to get moving… I had the feeling that for quite a long time, in several areas, I’d been treading water and going round in a circle I couldn’t (and, out of my own comfort, didn’t even want to) step out of, afraid to do one thing just so I wouldn’t lose another… You could also say I expected the dark to bring me an epiphany.

I prepared carefully 

I approached the planned retreat really responsibly – not only did I read lots of participants’ experiences (most of them only after I’d already paid the deposit and knew that whatever was waiting there, I wanted to go through with it), I also bought a notebook. Yes, it may be amusing, but I’m the note-taking type, and I wanted to write down in advance all the thoughts that would occur to me, to write out my fears and worries, expectations, interesting observations I’d been soaking up around me, thoughts from books I happened to be reading, and so on.

And then it came…

I think the reason I felt fine in the dark at the start of the retreat was precisely that I knew I’d prepared adequately, that I’d put many thoughts down on paper, and that I’d prepared for possible problems or weak spots too. On the other hand, I had no great expectations in the sense that after the dark everything would change and be bathed in sunshine. I had my feet on the ground and went into it with my mind as open as possible, that is, without expectations that might limit it in any way. I knew that nobody would pester me on the phone and that I’d be alone with myself and open to everything that happened, that I’d try to humbly accept all the symbols and parables sent to me from above.

One click was all it took

So D-Day arrived. It was the evening of the third of June and I found myself in my northern cabin. I’d chosen the northern one by feel, because “I know the way and I won’t change course, I’ll reach the river full of fish way up north” and in general I prefer cold to heat. After sorting out the formalities with Tomáš, I wrote my last notes in my notebook while it was still light, showered in cold water (not voluntarily – the boiler hadn’t heated up yet, so I cooled down right at the start, and I took it as a rather funny first challenge), felt my way around the rooms and switched off the light… It was strange. One click was all it took and we were left alone in the cabin – me and the pitch dark.

I kept notes…

As I’ve already written, I’m the note-taking type, so I wrote down my observations in the dark too. To make it legible, I had a firm hardboard strip that I moved down instead of lines. And surprisingly, it really is all legible, or at least you can work it out. Besides writing down my feelings, perceptions and reflections, I also drew. I had drawing crayons with me, which, whenever I felt the inner need, I pulled at random from the bag and used to draw abstract motifs expressing my feelings of the moment… I was curious what it would look like in the light, and I was really surprised that the colours I’d chosen (completely at random, of course – in the dark there’s no other way) mostly captured the theme (feeling) of the picture perfectly…  

No sense of time

I was surprised that I had no problem at all finding my way around the space, but after the first time I fell asleep I completely lost any sense of time. I don’t know whether I slept three hours or ten, but I didn’t care. I listened to my body and didn’t worry about what I couldn’t influence. Although I’m quite a planning sort of person, suddenly I couldn’t plan anything at all, and it didn’t even bother me, which surprised me a great deal.

Everyday activities in the dark

The only fixed point of the day – though just as flexible in time – was the meal, which Lenka or Tomáš brought me once a day. The portions were really big, so I split them up and ate smaller amounts more often. Given that the dark was my companion 24 hours a day, it was interesting to do everyday activities entirely in the dark – eating something without knowing what it was, for example, I enjoyed enormously (I wouldn’t let them tell me what was coming, I just enjoyed it). The only funny thing about finding my way around was that until about the fifth day I kept avoiding the exercise bike, which of course wasn’t in the room at all. Yes, I take even this as a sign that I shouldn’t keep avoiding exercise and movement so much 🙂 .

I was processing emotions

For three days I had a headache, stomach ache and pancreas pain, which corresponds exactly to the emotions I hadn’t processed at the time – the feeling of regret, constant brooding and so on – at least that’s what Eastern medicine says, and yes, I have to admit, I’d been worrying my head about all sorts of things and plenty had been sitting heavily on my stomach. It was nothing terrible, it was bearable, and I put it down precisely to a psychosomatic cleansing, which made sense. My back also hurt on and off, which I attributed not only to psychosomatic “healing” but also to the soft mattress and lying down for so long. But even this wasn’t insoluble for me – I had a small over ball with me, which I used to stretch my back on the mat, and I also exercised with it to fill the time.

I was clearing negative energy in myself

Besides that, I also kept repeating the Ho ́oponopono mantra “I love you – I’m sorry – Please forgive me – Thank you…” and although I’d never much believed in it, it really did calm me, bring me into the present and reconcile me with myself and my path in life. With this mantra I’m still trying to keep up the process of clearing negative energy in myself, mistaken thoughts, paradigms, patterns of thinking and so on.

What I found interesting

I won’t go into too much detail about the specific images that appeared to me, because other people couldn’t understand their meaning anyway; I’ll mention instead some interesting things (interesting to me, at least). In the first days I tried to call up specific situations – I wanted, say, to think about someone in particular and reflect on them, but my brain simply wouldn’t let me. I don’t know how that’s possible, I can’t explain it, but I suppose it wanted to put a stop sign in front of any forced thinking and open the way to accepting what comes by itself. So I let it be and waited. The darkness was exactly the same Later on I could consciously imagine or dream up things, but only with my eyes closed, much like in everyday life when you close your eyes during the day and imagine what it would be like if… As soon as I opened my eyes, the image vanished or faded completely, even though the darkness was exactly the same with my eyes open or closed. Conversely, when I had a perception from above (that’s what I call everything that came to me by itself, without my asking for it or imagining it), it came with my eyes open, or grew stronger or clearer when I opened my eyes. I found that very interesting. 

What I “saw” with my eyes closed

So when I lost track of what I had consciously imagined myself (often castles in the air and dreamed-up fantasies) and what had come to me by itself (symbols, signs), opening or closing my eyes and the change in the intensity of the image was a good indicator. It sounds unbelievable and illogical, but that’s how it is… After all, the subconscious and the unconscious don’t ask about logic. I have the feeling that at the start I slept more and at the same time had more perceptions of various kinds, from crazy, through tender, to touching.  

On the fifth day came a change

I started to be bothered by persistent perceptions of light – as if car headlights were shining at me. They appeared with my eyes closed and open, flashing, glaring, pestering me at various intervals. They surely had their meaning, which I didn’t uncover, but either way this was the most unpleasant part of the retreat. I don’t know whether these headlights caused it, but from then on fewer perceptions came to me overall, and at the same time I didn’t feel like sleeping as much, so I tossed and turned more, closed my eyes in case I fell asleep, but again the bright light would wake me.

What would it be like to switch the light on?

I believe that even waiting for the next interesting perception had its meaning – it was meant to train me in patience and to tone down impatience of every kind, because when something came after this longer stretch of “idling”, it was worth it. It simply paid to wait for it. I must admit that it was precisely in these moments that thoughts came to me about what it would be like to switch the light on, what would happen, how it would disrupt the retreat and so on. It really did stay at the level of thoughts, because I realised that with my impatience I’d deprive myself of further experiences.

No “skeletons in the cupboard”, but family… 

I’d expected to cry a lot as skeletons were uncovered in my cupboards, and I was curious whether something would be revealed to me that I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone at all… Luckily that fear didn’t come true. Tears overcame me three times, and always over something I can’t change, something that’s a given (my mum’s illness, a meeting with my grandmother, who’s been dead 22 years, the situation around my dad connected with his unwillingness to do anything about himself). I never cried at perceptions concerning the situation around me myself, my current situation, scenes from the past (though they weren’t always realistic or real, but often harshly symbolic) or visions of the future (apparently I’ll write a book and so on…).

Songs kept coming back to me

Snatches of songs of every kind often came to me spontaneously – from Travička zelená, through Veď mě dál, cesto má (the Czech Country Roads) and Čechy krásné, Čechy mé, to Zlaté střevíčky (which, incidentally, is a song I really don’t like) and Jednou budem dál (the Czech We Shall Overcome, which for a change is one of my very favourites) – that one, in fact, visited me most often during the retreat.

I was looking forward to leaving the dark for the wind

As I’ve already said, I spent the whole week essentially in calm and with all humility. Just as humbly as I’d looked forward to the dark, I looked forward to coming out of it. The looking forward came on about the sixth day, when the “idling” continued, and at the same time what I began to look forward to most was not the light but the wind – or rather moving air as such. That, in fact – apart from the possibility of sharing my feelings with my nearest and dearest straight away – was what I missed most.

I waited for the moment to come

On the sixth day, along with the last meal, Lenka brought me an alarm clock with instructions on what to do when it rang at three in the morning. I was impatient, but paradoxically I slept well and woke up – I estimate – an hour before the alarm. I got dressed and, trembling all over, waited for it to ring (I still didn’t check the time – the alarm clock was in the next room, and the glow of the display would have done more harm than good anyway). When it rang, I quickly opened the cabin as instructed and sat down in the doorway.

The image I saw was utterly indescribable

Between the trees the golden colour of the sky shone through. A radiant gold, the kind used in Gothic paintings to depict the “plane beyond time”… Something unbelievable. The world was spinning around me; it really did make sense to sit, or hold on to the door frame, and look slowly around the landscape. At first, when I moved my head, my brain wasn’t able to show the picture continuously – it came in jerky scenes, as if a film had got stuck. After about half an hour I was “here and now” again and could set off along the path to the place where the sun rises. There was dew, a light breeze was blowing, clouds were chasing across the sky, and so the sun couldn’t show itself to us in all its glory. As if it wanted to tell me “I’m not meant to be the highlight of your stay; you came for what is invisible to the eye and what you carry away inside you...”

I found resolve

I stayed in that spot for almost an hour and just drank it in. I was infinitely happy, cleansed, reconciled, settled, and at the same time resolute… I went for a walk along the little path as far as a majestic-looking tree. When I reached it, I found that it wasn’t one big tree but a “tree family” which – when it holds together – looks from a distance like a majestic tree that nobody can overcome… I saw in that another fixed point of my life – to have people around me whose presence means that not just anything can knock me down….

I was happy for what I have

After returning to the little cabin I waited for my lift, so I had plenty of time to listen to the sounds of nature – the croaking of frogs, the wind in the treetops, birdsong and all manner of chirping, to gaze into the greenery and at colours more colourful than a person usually perceives. I was pleasantly moved and happy for what I have…

I looked through my notes

I set about looking through my “dark” drawings and reading through my notes. It struck me that some of them I didn’t remember at all, but when I read about them, they came back to me, including the feelings I’d had while seeing them. In places I really had to laugh at what non-sense it was… And it immediately occurred to me what a beautiful language Czech is, that I don’t have to take “non-sense” only as meaning silliness, but also as something that isn’t governed by the senses but lies beyond them…

What message  does it carry?

A feeling like that ran through my whole stay, in fact – when my outer sight was taken away for a while, it was exchanged for an inner sight, which at other times I hadn’t had so many chances to give myself over to. I didn’t tell myself that silly things were appearing to me, though it might have seemed that way to someone, but I tried to uncover what that illogicality might be hinting at, what it could mean, what message it carried.   Apparently I’d completely lit up and calmed down As soon as I got home I shared my impressions with my nearest and dearest, who had supported me in my decision to do this retreat, even if not all of them understood it. My mum, for instance, told me I looked lovely, even though I was wearing the same thing I’d worn umpteen times before. Apparently I’d completely lit up and calmed down. She wasn’t the only one who told me that in the first week after the dark. So maybe there’s something in it 🙂  And how would I sum up my retreat overall, a month and a bit later? I still feel harmonised and inwardly calm, simply above it all.

Why did I do a dark retreat?

I know the future is in my own hands and that I needed to make the journey into the depths of my soul precisely so as to be inwardly stronger and so as to accept myself and the people and situations around me, and be able to step forward towards better todays and tomorrows, because there’s no point dissecting yesterdays. During this reflection an observation from a book came aptly to mind – what you keep scratching won’t heal… And that’s what I’m trying to live by at the moment, and I don’t scratch more than necessary…

And what did it take from me?

Doubts, fears, the tension of other people’s unfulfilled expectations, the need to have everything planned down to the last detail and the stress that goes with it. In other words, it took nothing from me that I wouldn’t gladly have got rid of myself 🙂 . I must say that during the whole week I didn’t actually experience a single hard moment, no panic, so much so that I’m a little surprised at it myself… At irregular intervals I look into my notes, not only to remind myself of all the beautiful things that happened to me during the week, but also to discover further messages in them and perhaps uncover further symbols.  I’m convinced that everything has its time and nothing should be rushed…  

In conclusion…

I’m sorry, I know my confession may be too long and too broadly conceived, but I wanted to set out all the connections linked to my retreat. I thank Lenka and Tomáš for making this transformation of mine possible (it’s hard to put into words, but I simply feel different inside) and I firmly believe that within a year and a day… Or simply some other time, we’ll see each other again.