Cat in the Hat in Shambhala

​I was attending an Insight meditation retreat at the Shambhala Mountain Center in Colorado, staying in a cabin without any plumbing, nearest toilet being in a nearby shower house down the hill. At night, the temperature dropped down to 50s and the unpaved uneven unlighted trail to the shower house needed additional alertness. So, not only that I was practicing paying attention to my breath or body all day long, but also, to prevent undesirable consequences, the middle of the night walks to the toilet needed paying attention to many details:

• Putting on pants, shoes, jacket, and eye glasses in a certain order
• Remembering to carry the room key and flashlight
• Looking out for possible animal encounters on the way by moving the flashlight side to side, remembering that I was the intruder in their home
• Making it to the toilet seat on time according to the body’s clock just like making it to the meditation seat on time according to the retreat clock
• Remembering to relax to empty the bladder fully to avoid a second trip
• Remembering to bring back the flashlight and key

 
One cannot do all that in the habitual half asleep manner in auto pilot mode, as one is used to doing at home.
 
One night, as I sat on the toilet seat, almost avoiding an accident, I noticed how the benchmarks used to measure success have slowly changed over time for me. Earlier in the day, managing a walk up and down a steep trail without falling had felt like acing a tough exam in college. And now, just peeing successfully brought the same feeling of achievement. Who and where was that woman once called ‘me’ who continually took on and carried out with a smile more and more tough tasks that now seem impossible even to imagine?
 
And then, while in complete surrender to the moment on the toilet bowl, it happened! An animal, not in the long list of possible encounters mentioned at the Orientation, came into vision. It was no other than the Cat in the Hat! Even though older than the one in the pages of Dr. Seuss books, that grin was unmistakable. And that eagerness to create a little fun, no matter what the conditions were, was still alive. He began his old song and dance, with a new twist, which went something like this: Look at me, look at me now, see what I can do. I can do less, and even lesser! It doesn’t matter if it’s 2 am and it’s dark or cold! Or if one is old or one's teeth have gold! Look at me now and I can still be bold!

With every twist and turn, with a twinkle in his eye and without a second thought, he proudly let go of one more of those amazing things he was juggling before, until his hands were completely free. Then, he took his hat off and sat down on a cushion with that eternal smile before vanishing into the thin cold air of 2 am at 8000 ft. Fully awake, as I washed my hands, I noticed in the mirror that the Cat in the Hat had left a bit of his grin on my face. As I remembered to gather my key and flashlight and headed back to the cabin, my heart felt lighter and bouncy. 

Mamata Misra
(This article was journaled in summer 2019 on the way back home from an Insight retreat at the Shambhala Mountain Center in Colorado.)