Diary of Darkness and Light: A Dark Retreat Adventure

By Carrie Klees

Brace yourself for an intense and fascinating spiritual ride! Carrie Klees documents a week spent in the pitch black of a Dark Retreat, an ancient practice of Eastern traditions, with agonizing honesty, exceptional bravery and surprisingly wicked humor. With a quirky cast of characters, conspiracy theories galore, romantic drama and enough curse words to make a longshoreman blush, Klees examines the eternal matters of truth, fear, love, belief and liberation. Klees explores her own head and heart with a burning pain and deep insight. She exposes the limits and imperfections of the human mind, in contrast to the infinite wisdom of God, with whom she desperately seeks an intimate relationship.

This is a raw story, which always returns to Perfection. While both an indictment and celebration of spiritual activities, this book offers a positive, life-affirming alternative to mainstream approaches to faith. Ultimately, her profound transformation will inspire and instruct.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carrie Klees
• Release date: Dec 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452466590

Carrie Klees

I am an adult human female on planet earth. Or so it seems.

Book preview

Diary of Darkness

and Light

A Dark Retreat Adventure

Carrie Klees

Published by Carrie Klees at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Carrie Klees

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you.

* * *

This book is dedicated to

Jed McKenna,

Whoever he is.

* * *

Table of Contents

Disclaimer

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Saturday

Sunday

Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday

Thursday

Friday

Saturday

Sunday

Epilogue

~Disclaimer~

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Do not follow the ideas of others, but learn to listen to the voice within yourself...Your body and mind will become clear and you will realize the unity of all things.--Dogen, 13th Century Japanese Zen Buddhist

My spiritual path has meandered through a huge variety of physical, mental and emotional activities. In hindsight, many of them were downright strange and often silly, desperate attempts to move my consciousness beyond the sleepwalking state. But this is my path and I'm deeply grateful to the Universe for always and forever guiding me forward. Your path is your own. It would be foolish to believe anything I have to say. I don't believe it myself.

In order to protect privacy, the names of many people and places have been changed.

~Acknowledgments~

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I gratefully acknowledge the ultimate wisdom provided by the Ultimate Creator in all aspects of this book's development, and everything else.

Deep thanks to my dear friends, Durga Ishaya, Cassie Pierce and Vic Spies, for their love, support and endless reading of this account, and all the valuable guidance they provided regarding this book and all matters. Special thanks to Prema (a.k.a. L.M. McCandless) for her very thoughtful review and feedback.

All the quotes from the Tao Te Ching within this work have been cited from Tao Te Ching: The Definitive Edition, the beautiful translation by Jonathan Star. Mr. Star's work connects deeply within me, always bringing me a sense of calm and clarity. I am deeply grateful for the wisdom within the Tao, which is divinely expressed through Mr. Star.

Profound thanks to you, reader. Our connection within this realm is an overwhelming gift. I couldn't have written these words without you.

~Introduction~

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Years ago, I wrote the following on a scrap of paper: I want to get to a place where I can write about God and peace and bliss and goodness and the world will know how wonderful life can be and how good the Universe is. Even then, I knew my spiritual journey was linked inextricably to the writing process, and overcoming my fears, beliefs and all other programming related to it. Little did I know that I would have to overcome my fears, beliefs and programming about everything else too, as part of the process.

Last February I engaged in a Dark Retreat, living in pitch-black darkness for one week. In ancient times, yogis, Buddhists and other seekers would hole up in dark caves for extended periods of time, in order to develop their spiritual states. Dark retreats are still primarily practiced in the East, often in more comfortable environments than the caves from days of yore.

Prior to entering the dark, sweet little apartment in the mountains of Virginia, I planned to keep a journal of the experience. I was surprised to discover a freedom in the dark, which allowed my voice to flow without restraint or self-consciousness. Writing the story was a huge comfort in the challenging environment of the blackest darkness. I relished the experience so much that I was motivated to continue playing with it when I left the retreat. I recognized my unusual experience could be of benefit to other spiritual seekers.

My friend Joan, a literary agent, was excited by my efforts and pleased that I had documented the experience. She gave me lots of valuable feedback as far as how to develop the journal as a tool for my own growth, as well as for something that others might want to read. She clarified the matter effectively: she said that I could sit and try to write a literary masterpiece, or I could simply focus on distilling the whole experience for my own benefit. I could illicit the entire experience for myself. We agreed the latter approach was the only way to go. I kept her advice in mind, but allowed the heart to guide me as much as possible. That was the major part of the exercise for me. I took the original journal and added many aspects of my entire journey, beyond the time in the dark, in an effort to sort the whole thing out. I have tried to re-create the experience of a weeklong meditation, with all its challenges, distractions and benefits. It is my hope that the details of my spiritual process through this weeklong meditation will be of benefit to the reader, as much as the process of documenting them has been for me.

I offer my open, honest heart to you within these pages, through the grace of the Ultimate Creator. Our connection with each other and all things is acknowledged, as it always has been and always will be. We are all here together on this planet, alive as ourselves. Very soon, we will together be dead and forgotten. So even if it's just these few words you will read, our paths are joined together at this exact point in time and space. The fact that your soul is here with these words at this moment is an amazing and gratifying thing. I'm deeply grateful to you for your part in the journey. The Universe is always giving us everything we need to wake up, to return to our true nature and spirit.

Let us continue on our journeys then. Brave as warriors. Innocent as children. Grateful.

* * *

"Just think what kind of thoughts go on inside your mind. One day just sit, close your doors, and write down...whatsoever is passing in your mind, and you will understand what I mean and you will be surprised what goes on inside your mind. It remains in the background, it is constantly there, it surrounds you like a cloud. With this cloud you cannot know reality; you cannot attain to spiritual perception.

This cloud has to be dropped. And it is just with your decision to drop it that it will disappear. You are clinging to it - the cloud is not interested in you, remember it."

Osho, The Sun Rises in the Evening

* * *

~Saturday~

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Well, here I am, as I've planned over and over in this delusional mind. I remember glorifying the image of being here in the dark. So proud and bragging and blabbing all about it. Puffing out my chest, batting my eye lashes beatifically, telling inquiring acquaintances that I would be spending my vacation sitting in pitch-black darkness, twenty-four/seven. Yes, I'm quite a spiritual seeker! Oh, some were impressed. Most were dubious, rolling their eyes about kooky Carrie, always up to something strange. Yes, kooky me, I would grin with a big yet knowing smile of bliss. Irene, a co-worker, took me aside in all seriousness and said, You know they torture people with darkness? For real. Ha, I scoffed, fearless and bold.

Now I'm scared. The little child me is crying and curled up in a fetal position.

I came here to sit in the dark for 8 days, to kill my self. The little ego-driven self, she must go. And here I am, a scared little baby. I don't want to kill the child but the fear must go. Or maybe I do want to kill it, to make room for a grown-up woman. Will eight days in the dark be enough to kill a lifetime of fear? Where did this fear come from? Did I program myself, or was it the whole of human consciousness? Or maybe we just arrive wired with a fear of death that gets transmuted into everything we think and do. What is a fear of death but a fear of being nothing? No thing. Doesn't matter, though. There's really no point in living a partial life, a life paralyzed and shaped by fear. No point in spending my life being chased by fear, always nipping at my heels. Always reacting to the Great Ugly Motivator. Always thinking, I must be careful! My motto of late: I'd rather be eaten by a bear, than be afraid of being eaten by a bear. For real.

Kriyananda, the wise disciple of the great yogi Paramahansa Yogananda, said, The first quality of the divinely inclined is fearlessness. That's all well and good, but I'm still afraid of being eaten by a bear. Such a child, a scaredy-cat. When will I grow up and take charge? At the moment, it certainly does not seem possible in here. It's the ultimate scary. Gloomy. Eight days is a ridiculously long time to sit in the dark. Just doesn't feel possible.

Who am I? Or maybe the question should be what am I? And who—or what—is really in charge? How does the true self emerge and release the illusion of control? What exactly is the true self? Is there a true self in the first place, beyond the insane, needy, delusional and fearful ego? And what precisely is the ego that I've come to despise? And why the hell does this experience of reality feel so fucked up at times? What the hell is going on here? Is it possible to learn the answers in a lifetime? How about a week in the dark? Sure hope so, because I'm deeply tired of the self I'm acting out, and really tired of the life I've been living. Life is too fucking short. How about having the best experience possible, while I'm at this business of living?

Later Saturday

Trying writing again.

After my initial freak-out, mourning the loss of light, I took a nap. After the nap I had a compulsory panic attack. It was pretty standard: loss of air, suffocating, imminent death, the usual. I wonder if there will be enough air in here. It stands to reason that if you block out all the light, which is not easy to do, the air won't be able to get in. When I spent the night in the dark with Vic after he set up his dark retreat, the air was really stale, moist and unpleasant the next morning. And that was only one night. He ended up adding a vent to the room and getting an electronic air filter. How the hell am I supposed to survive down here for 8 nights with no air? I could suffer permanent brain damage, or die in my sleep alone. Ugh. Okay, I know that isn't going to happen, but the thought does pop up. I mean, it could happen. It would certainly make the evening news: Insane woman dies in a bizarre new age ritual.

It has been difficult keeping the light out. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I started noticing all the stars poking through the insulated window coverings. In fact, a whole corner of insulation was loose, allowing a large patch of light in. I pressed the tape down and hoped it would stay. Well, I didn't really hope it would stay. It would be more accurate to say that I met the challenge with total apathy. Not too jazzed up to be in here.

I called Durga down. She had to comfort me because I was already quite distressed. She pointed out that this space is exactly the same space it was a few minutes before, in the light. I cried and fussed about my ego putting up walls, much like a rock-hard shell encasing my spirit, blocking my connection with the Infinite. She remembered the war she used to wage in seeking that connection. Now she sees it more of a dance into which you relax. She is single-minded in love with God, her Beloved. That unchanging part of us that is us, even after our bodies are gone. I love God, too, but still feel so distant that it feels more like a unfulfilled, desperate desire. Rumi, the oft-quoted Sufi poet of divine love, mused,

"Know that my beloved is hidden from everyone

Know that she is beyond the belief of all belief

Know that in my heart she is as clear as the MOON

Know that she is the life in my body and soul."

Feeling silly, I told Durga of my concern about the air. I asked if there was any way she could get Vic's air filter up the mountain from my car. She laughed and said that the house was so drafty, there would be plenty of air. She suggested I use the air ionizer if I feel the air isn't fresh enough. I don't know what the ionizer is, but will take that into consideration. She casually said she would see if she could get the air filter up the hill, but I knew even then there was no way the filter was getting here. It's big and awkward and heavy, and the hill is large and icy.

Durga had some metallic tape down here for patching the light as it sneaks in. She spent a few minutes patching the leaking light, merrily ripping the tape off the roll and slapping it on with gusto. I made feeble attempts to help, in my completely unstable mental state. We found a significant problem in the kitchen, where the whole side of the insulated window covering wasn't sticking, probably from the cold air blowing outside, cooling off the wall. She clearly enjoyed taping up the spots and I was desperately glad for her company. She left the tape on the mantelpiece for future use. Interestingly, the fireplace is covered with insulation, too. She said light came down the chimney before she covered it.

Before she left, I further complained that my body temperature feels out of whack since I got here, feeling freezing cold and burning hot alternatively. She told me how to adjust the thermostats for the electric baseboard heat, but it didn't really make sense at the time. Or now. She directed me to the range indicated on the thermostats, as if I could see the damn things. She finally said, Just set it wherever you feel comfortable. That seemed surprisingly difficult to gauge with a fluctuating body heat. She said she had been having extreme temperature swings too, since we climbed up the mountain in the freezing cold. We had loads of stuff on our backs and were dragging up a tarp full of more shit--all the stuff I brought up for the week.

Was it just this morning that I left for my big adventure? I wasn't even sure until this morning that I would try to make the trip. It's been one of the worst winters in our area in memory: bitter cold with several snowfalls in Winston, very unusual. And here in the mountains of Virginia, there's already about 3 feet of snow on the ground with more falling last night. By the time I left around ten this morning, the fresh dusting in Winston had melted. The day was bright and the sun glimmered on the older snow that was still on the ground. Heading north and west, the snow got deeper and deeper, whiter and whiter, glistening like cheerful diamonds all along the way, as the mountains got steeper and steeper. Stopped at my favorite pit stop, where they sell everything from homemade muscadine wine to dust-covered stuffed animals of the taxidermy variety. I heard the locals talking about how they had already used the wood for the winter and there was still a solid month and a half left. Rough winter. But the ride was extremely relaxing and pleasant as I began to unwind from an intensely busy month or two (or years) of life.

Arranging eight days away from the kids had been challenging. I pieced together the caregiver schedule, activities, transportation and other related matters. (I sheepishly handed Durga a copy of the detailed itinerary and emergency numbers upon arriving, just in case. She assured me that most moms would do the same, it wasn't extreme.) Work had been a bear, with constant pressure to get ridiculously urgent matters managed on top of my regular social work and supervisory duties. I was also helping Vic during his Dark Retreat: bringing him food, managing his affairs, etc. With the heightened level of stimulation and activity, I really didn't have the inclination to sit still for five minutes. Such are my usual challenges in meditating. And my usual challenges in life. My life is completely out of hand. Working my ass off all day. Trying to provide a meaningful life for my kids during the few short hours I see them awake each night. Being broke, living paycheck to paycheck and hoping my old Civic will keep on going for a while. Running around like a maniac on steroids. Searching for some kind of spiritual meaning in between being sucked dry by a life that doesn't seem real. Can't be real, feels like a dream. How did it get this way, and is there power within to change my experience? My experience sucks at the moment. Having said all that, it is now time to engage in the obligatory and deeply true affirmation: I am so grateful for my children. I would spend my lifetime in hell if it would help them be happy and well. But their well-being would only improve if I could get this experience of life under control, and demonstrate a deeper level of satisfaction and success. For God's sake, what am I teaching them now? I shudder to imagine them repeating the mess of my life, thinking that's how it's supposed to be here on earth. But that's how it works, we learn from our dysfunctional parents, and pass the tradition down as a hideous inheritance.

Beware the barrenness of a busy life, Socrates said. It's funny, though. I can clearly remember a time when the hectic pace of life was fine with me. I remember I used to like the busy-ness of my day. I would even have some melancholy feelings on Friday evenings, wondering how I would fill the weekend and dreading isolation from other adults. I remember identifying myself in a positive way with my job as a social worker. I Was a Social Worker. I remember craving the interaction with the families with whom I worked. I remember riding high on the esteem I gobbled up from my perception of helping people. My ego was gratified. It was and is easy for me to love the people I work with, warts and all. It's always felt like a valuable privilege, to be allowed into a family's home, into the inner sanctuary. People would open up and share all kinds of personal information, and I really loved and appreciated that. People fascinate me, attract me. It seems like the love I feel for them radiates and is received by them. I remember working with poor African-American families, and they would forget I was white, as they would complain about treatment by white America. Then they would remember my skin color and make apologies. But that's okay, because I hated the white man, too, as part of my bleeding-heart liberal bias. This is all to say that I probably have helped many people in many ways. But when we help people in order to gratify our own neediness, it doesn't feel like such a great thing. How much better could I love people if my neediness wasn't in the way, after all?

Back in those days, I couldn't sit still if I wanted to. I couldn't imagine sitting in meditation, although it seemed like a good idea. I couldn't face my self, whatever the hell that was and is. As I have learned to sit still, as I have gradually turned off the TV and stopped listening to the radio, as I have learned (re-learned?) to love silence and stillness, the pace of my lifestyle has become extremely uncomfortable and deeply unsatisfying. It was unsatisfying before my spiritual journey was ignited, but I was too medicated and spiritually asleep to understand what that meant. And I didn't know I had the power to change it. Max Picard, the Swiss philosopher, stated, Nothing has changed the nature of man as much as the loss of silence. That seems true for me, but which came first, the loss of silence or the loss of myself? The chicken or the egg?

Now I actively seek silence. I have come to receive silence as a priceless gift. Herman Melville said, God's one and only voice is silence. Or something like that.

A Course in Miracles teaches, The memory of God comes to the quiet mind.

And here's a perfect sentiment from Rumi: This silence, this moment, every moment, if it's genuinely inside you, brings what you need. There's nothing to believe. Only when I stopped believing in myself did I come into this beauty. Sit quietly and listen for a voice that will say, 'Be more silent.' Die and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign that you have died. Your old life was a frantic running from silence. Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking. Live in silence. Gee, that pretty much sums it up.

How does one stop believing in oneself when it's so deeply ingrained? That's all we know. Or all we think we know. And if that