Reader's Experience at a Temple Meditation Retreat (Based on a True Story, Sort of)

Silence, Sweat, and Mosquitoes: My Peaceful Meltdown at a Thai Temple Retreat

I decided to go on a meditation retreat at a Thai temple because I thought it would be relaxing. I had visions of sitting under a Bodhi tree, levitating slightly, maybe glowing faintly with inner peace. Instead, I got 4 a.m. wake-up gongs, 10 hours of sitting with my own thoughts (terrifying), and a diet consisting mostly of boiled vegetables and spiritual humility.

The retreat was held in a forest monastery, a beautiful, serene place filled with chirping birds, slow-moving monks, and the constant soundtrack of someone’s knees cracking during walking meditation. Upon arrival, they took my phone (fair), my snacks (expected), and my will to speak (rude, but okay). Silence began immediately. No talking, no texting, no eye contact. Just me, my breath, and the occasional gecko scream in the night.

Every day started at 4 a.m. with a gong loud enough to wake the ancestors. We shuffled to the meditation hall like zombies in white robes, where we sat cross-legged and tried not to cry. You think you know suffering? Try meditating for an hour on a stone floor while a mosquito uses your ankle as a buffet.

Meals were served at dawn and before noon because monks don’t eat after midday. After 12:00 p.m., it’s just water, herbal drinks, and the growing awareness that you really miss snacks. The food was simple and healthy. And by healthy, I mean tasteless. But on the bright side, nothing makes you reflect on impermanence quite like a bowl of lukewarm rice.

Meditation came in three forms: sitting (painful), walking (weirdly harder than it sounds), and lying down (also known as accidental nap mode). The goal? Observe your thoughts without judgment. My thoughts, however, were mostly about food, sleep, and whether that one monk looked a bit like Morgan Freeman.

By day three, I had entered what I now call the Silence Spiral. Without distractions, my brain began pulling up long-forgotten memories, grocery lists, and emotional baggage I didn’t even know I packed. But somewhere between boredom and existential dread… something happened.

I noticed my breath. I heard the wind in the trees. I watched an ant carry a crumb for 20 minutes and honestly felt proud of it. Time slowed. My mind quieted. I didn’t reach enlightenment, but I did feel present. And a little bit like a monk, if monks got sore backs and secretly missed Netflix.

By the final day, I didn’t even want my phone back. (Okay, maybe a little.) But I walked away from that temple with a lighter heart, a straighter spine, and the knowledge that silence, while awkward, is actually kind of magic.

Also: sit on a cushion. Trust me.