Grab your cuppa and snuggle up on the sofa, because this post promises to be long.

Almost a year ago, I was writing this text. Unfortunately, I ended up losing it due to a technical problem. I then rewrote part of it, but was discouraged from posting it because I felt it wasn't as good as the first version.

Today, I'm finally here to tell you about my experience at the Vipassana retreat and the insights I had there. My purpose here is not to go into the details of how the retreat works, its restrictions and schedule — for that, you can find thousands of texts and videos on the internet. Therefore, I assume that you already have some prior knowledge about the Vipassana retreat/course.

Without further ado, here it begins:

Those who want it, find a way.

Some time before 2013, I watched the documentary The Dhamma Brotherswhich shows the implementation of Vipassana meditation in a US prison. At the time, meditation was already a part of my life, but I remember quickly concluding, after watching the documentary, that Vipassana wasn't for me. Ten hours of meditation a day for ten days? That was too much. I remember thinking: "I don't need that."

Moving into 2020, during the lockdown of the pandemic, I decided I was ready to deepen my meditation practice with Vipassana. I sent in my application for the course that would take place in September of that year. A month before the trip, Auckland went into lockdown and all the courses were canceled. I realized then that the time wasn't right yet. So I waited for the pandemic dust to settle.

In 2024, my mind was made up: I wouldn't let the year go by without going. There was no other option for me. I sent in my application in March for the course from May 22 to June 2. I received an email confirming that I was on the waiting list.

At the interview, I confirmed that I was prepared to receive confirmation up to a day before the course started. And even though I knew I was at the bottom of the waiting list, I was sure I would be there. There was no other choice.

So, at the beginning of April, I bought the tickets, booked the bus and asked for a vacation from work. Seven days before my flight, my belief that everything would work out was confirmed: I received an email saying that a vacancy was available and asking if I was still interested.

Today, back from my first Vipassana course, it makes sense that my strong determination to be there made the experience seem short. I needed that time for myself — since 2020.

The strict daily schedule and the rules of self-discipline were easy for me. I longed for a time of inactivity, silence, away from constant stimulation — and, above all, from my internal dialog. Going to Vipassana was like taking a journey inside myself.

I had so many sensations, insights and lucid dreams that only those who have been can understand how crazy this experience can be. My brain was buzzing with ideas. I didn't have a pen or paper, but I trusted that if it was worth it, I would remember. I followed the retreat's recommendations to the letter — but next time I'll take pen and paper!

For the first few days, the teacher talked about the mind as a big elephant, and us standing on top of it, trying to train it. On the sixth day, when he asked me how my practice was going, I replied that I was still trying to tame my elephant. And I was — on the sixth day, he was still totally out of control!

Then it was the seventh day. That's when things got serious.

Before that, I could sit for two hours and watch a real movie inside my head. I was so absorbed in the story of the mind that two hours seemed like twenty minutes.

On the seventh day, something changed. For the first time in my life — even with years of meditation experience — I understood what it was like to be in a deep meditative state. I would describe it as feeling the echo of silence and the dissolution of past, present and future.

Maintaining this meditative state on the eighth and ninth days, something changed. And, sorry to disappoint you here: I can't explain what or how.

On the tenth day, from 10am, we could leave the hall, break the silence and meet the people who had been around us for the last nine days. But I wasn't ready. I didn't want to get out of that state. So I meditated for more than 45 minutes before reintroducing myself to social life.

Returning to "normal" was a shock!

But talking and exchanging experiences with those people was very special. Very special indeed. During those days, you create stories and assumptions in your mind about those around you. And finally, when you talk to them, it's a surprise to see how wrong we were about so many things.

I left with my heart wide open, very surprised and moved by the experience.

I'll come back to tell you about the post-retreat later, but now I want to try to dissect some of the insights I had there — at least the ones I remember. So here are some of my thoughts:

First Insight: The Connection between Teachings 

This was the first time I had come into contact with a branch of Indian Buddhism.

Buddhism has three major branches that share the same philosophical basis — the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path — but differ greatly in their doctrinal, metaphysical, psychological, practical and spiritual approaches.

From these three branches, Buddhism has branched out into around 15 major schools — which, in turn, have even more subdivisions. It was through the Japanese branch of Mahayana, through the teachings of Nichiren Daishonin, that I was first introduced to Buddhism.

All Buddhist branches share the same fundamental concepts, but each has different techniques for achieving the same goal: enlightenment. Vipassana, for example, is an Indian Buddhist school whose technique is based on the direct observation of internal realityand it is practice independently of any belief.

Before the course began, we were instructed not to practice other religions, rituals or spiritual techniques during the 10 days of the retreat. The aim is to live the experience purely, without interference, allowing the mind to open up to the method without confusion or resistance.

And I did — up to a point. I went with my glass empty to learn the technique, but it was inevitable to associate the philosophical teachings of Vipassana with what I already knew. I didn't compare techniques, but the logic of the teachings — and it was in this field that the connections began to emerge.

The more I explore different traditions and philosophies, the more I realize that even seemingly divergent concepts are deeply interconnected. Each, in their own way, complements the blind spots of the other.

There, I came to the conclusion that this attitude gives me two fundamental qualities when learning something new:

• Always be open to new ideas, without prior judgment;
• Building a more holistic of the world and of life.

It's like putting together a jigsaw puzzle where each piece contributes to a bigger picture. I simply can't follow a single specific doctrine — that would be betraying my own nature. For me, everything contains some degree of truthbut it also carries its own limits and incompleteness.

Second Insight: A Mind Trip Through the Dhamma

That said, I always keep in mind the Buddhist concept of The Middle Way — the balance between extremes. You avoid both excess and deprivation, seeking to live wisely and clearly. In other words: what makes a medicine a medicine, and a poison a poison, is the dosage — not the content.

It was from this understanding that, during the practice of Vipassana, a question began to repeat itself inside me:

"Is there such a thing as too much detachment?"

I think so — but only if we understand "detachment" as complete absence of ego. Living in society without an ego can become, in a way, a pathology. The ego is not in itself the enemy. It is a social navigation tool. The point is not to eliminate it, but to not identifying with it. Having an ego is absolutely essential for survival; believe that you is your ego, it's not.

According to Buddhism attachment is the cause of all suffering. And in Vipassana, suffering comes from attachment to aversion, desire and ignorance. So the way to the Dhamma is through equanimity of mind clearly observing the impermanence of life and cultivating metta-bhāvanā, i.e. the intentional cultivation of altruistic love, universal kindness and a genuine desire for the well-being of all beings. Something like:

As I said earlier, it was inevitable that I would associate my previous knowledge of Buddhism with what I was learning there.

That's when I came to the conclusion that as much as Vipassana practice makes sense to me, it is also incomplete. Here I show my conclusion to the path of the Dhamma:

So making a salad mix, I concluded the following:

• Vipassana doesn't have the concept of Bodhisattva or Arhats that other schools of Buddhism have. Bodhisattvas or Arhats are beings who are on the path to enlightenment. With this concept in mind, it's easier to understand and visualize the levels of the Dhamma path. So Vipassana seemed a bit limited to me in that sense;

• Equanimity is not only the neutrality of the mind, but also the the middle way itself.The ideal path to a life aligned with plenitude;

•  Suffering comes from attachments and living in society requires a certain degree of attachment. The question is how attached the ego is. The middle path would be the ideal way to achieve a healthy attachment for living in society. To go beyond the middle path to practice detachment is to follow the Bodhisattva path, which to some extent is compatible with life in society. Levels 8-10 of the Dhamma path would not be compatible with life in society.

• By achieving total detachment and love in its purest form, i.e. the dissolution of the ego and love in its essence, I believe that this would be incompatible with life on Earth, with the physical and with matter. Thus, reaching this state would mean that the spirit necessarily would detach itself from the body and thus transcend itself. This, however, would not be death as we know it (we mortals — die / enlightened spirits —transcend).

• To have a healthy ego through the middle path necessarily requires some practice of the Noble Eightfold Path. And this practice can take different forms and concepts, but essentially, it isindispensable to the middle path.

• The path of the Dhamma is not linear — although I did represent it that way in the image above. Linearity is actually an illusion. The human mind tends to conceptualize everything in a linear way to try to make sense of reality. But this is one of the biggest cognitive traps, because life is not static. Absolutely everything in the universe is in motion — from bodies to vibrations, energies to magnetic fields, subatomic particles to the mental dimension itself. And we have no control over these movements, because the web of life is chaotic. And if life is chaotic, so too are its movements: non-linear, unpredictable, too complex for the human mind to fully understand.

Third Insight: The Creator Self

You are the supreme authority in your life. Your reality is entirely your creation. We are the Universe, and the Universe is us.

Although you can't choose where you were born, the family you inherited or what happened to you, you are fully responsible by what you do with those circumstances.

You are the main character in your story — and the weight of your decisions reflects this central role. After all, no one but you can seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling, tasting, thinking or acting for you. This responsibility, however, is too heavy for the human mind to carry lightly. Therefore, we often outsource authority, seeking comfort in the idea that someone else knows more than we do.

The second important point about the "I" is that humans live a dual existence:

• An internal one, where a silent dialog shapes thoughts, emotions and perceptions;
• And an external one, visible to the world, made up of actions, expressions and behaviors.

Both are real and coexist, but only the internal life is invisible — known only to ourselves.

Maybe that's the greatest human dichotomy — and the source of the illusion of separation. It seems that we are isolated, disconnected beings. But in fact, humanity is a single organism: a superbiomelike a forest made up of thousands of trees interconnected by invisible roots.

And that's the inner kingdom which directs our actions, decisions and external results. Some people manage to align these two worlds — living in congruence between what they feel on the inside and what they express on the outside. They navigate life with clarity, conveying their inner world with integrity.

Others, however, live in conflict between these layers, which creates misalignment, suffering and mismatch in relationships.

And to complete the puzzle: the inner life is guided by the ego (loaded with attachments) or by the Higher Self (centered on the Middle Way).

The ego, when dominated by attachments — almost always shaped by external influences — becomes a rigid, conditioned self-perception. It's that narrative we construct about who we are and repeat from childhood until death. They are the roles we identify with, reinforcing them every day.

The Higher Self is different: it does not adapt to external events. It remains calm, whole, silently present in the background.

So it's no exaggeration to say that our internal dialog creates our entire reality.

If the ego is in charge of the psyche, the person tends to oscillate between emotional extremes, avoids important decisions, seeks external validation, compares, judges and controls. But if the Higher Self leads, the opposite manifests: clarity, centeredness, confidence and fluidity.

And as I mentioned earlier, linearity does not exist — so it's natural that this oscillation between the ego and the Higher Self happens all the time. For some more than others, but inevitable.

That's why self-awareness is fundamental: to recognize the root of the intention behind each decision made.

In the end, the Self — which integrates internal dialog with the external world — is the only entity capable of making real decisions. Whether guided by the ego or the Higher Self, it is always the Self that chooses.

In other words: the Self, and its inner truth, are the ultimate authority in a person's life.

Fourth Insight: Learning to Unlearn

Unlearning is just as important as learning. And it often requires as much effort as the learning itself.

To unlearn, you have to open and empty. And in order to open and empty, we need to let go of control, certainty, expectations and previously learned lessons.

Unlearning, therefore, can sound like a threat to the parts of us that have been shaped by these certainties.

But really, unlearning is an act of adaptability and detachment (from the ego). It's uncomfortable — sometimes even scary — but undoubtedly essential.

Perhaps the most transformative question you can ask yourself is not "what do I still need to learn from this?", but yes: "What do I need to unlearn?"

Fifth Insight: The Sense of Time

Because of my anxiety, I've always had a distorted relationship with time.

The time anxiety I'm talking about isn't just anxiety about the future — like "will it work out?", "will it happen?" — but also the anxiety of the present.

For example, I often woke up, especially on Sundays, feeling absurdly anxious — sometimes, I cried. I didn't know where to start the day. I wanted to be productive, to do everything at once, but I also needed to rest — after all, Monday was the day to go back to work.

Another type of time anxiety I carry is existential.

I often put life in too wide perspective and feel, almost physically, the brevity of existence. The average person lives about 4,000 weeks. This, compared to the cosmic scale, is derisory. I think: our life is cosmically imperceptible — an ephemeral speck of dust in the universe.

Paradoxically, this perception sometimes helps me. Framing the bigger picture as a reminder of our insignificance gives me the courage to do what I hesitate to do, because the fear of regret overcomes the fear of action.

So, after Vipassana, my relationship with time changed. Especially with present time. Of course, right? After meditating ten hours a day for ten days... it couldn't be any different.

The most valuable thing I learned was that time is a pulse inside me.

Well, if everything in the universe is in motion, the time is also in motion. And if linearity is an illusion — as I've already said — then time is not moving in a line: it actually contracts and expands.

I began to realize that the pulse of time can be created within us.

It can come about in two ways:

• Mental pulsewhich comes from the way we think time (appointments, deadlines, clocks);
• And chest pulse, which is like we feel time — through the heart, the breath and the solar plexus.

The only way to really feel time is channeling the focus to the breath and the body's presence in space.

And the crazy thing is, when you sustain that focus for long enough, the time expands so much that it becomes eternity.

In practice, it's as if past, present and future were no longer separate — and you could feel them as a single, united, living, timeless thing.

Today, when I start to overthink the time, I I stop, breathe, realign — and feel time again.

It sounds crazy. But believe me: is real.

And After Vipassana

Vipassana showed me what is possible. The course is, in fact, an intensive mental training — like pressing a reset button.

I could list here all the benefits that the practice has brought me, but the main one is this: almost everyone who completes the ten days reports feeling immense inner peace.

In my case, I believe that this peace came from the silence of the voice inside my head.

The ten days flew by. I would have stayed another ten. And now I understand: it's natural to feel inner peace when you're in silence and deep isolation. The real challenge is to cultivate the discipline and peace while living in society.

Vipassana also gave me a glimpse of how is the monastic life — and I realized that it is perhaps the most profound and lucid form of pure devotion.

And today I understand why, years ago, I thought Vipassana wasn't for me — it was just that my time hadn't yet expanded enough to take me there.

From my world to yours,

Cha