10 Days in Silence: A Vipassana Meditation Retreat in Hong Kong’s Lantau Island

Kimie ZHANG
5月19日
讀畢需時 10 分鐘

The Beginning

On a late April afternoon, I caught the 3 PM No. 23 bus from Tung Chung. More like a tour coach than a city bus, it sped along the winding mountain roads of Lantau Island. I stared at Google Maps, unsure how many turns we’d taken before I finally pressed the stop button. Grabbing my suitcase, I inhaled the damp sea breeze, glanced back at the Shek Pik Reservoir, and stepped onto a narrow path barely wide enough for a single car.

"I should make it before registration closes at 5," I thought.

Before long, the sound of rolling suitcases reached me—another bus had arrived with a few female passengers, likely fellow retreat participants. Dodging a homeless man on the path, I listened to the raspy hum of cicadas and watched the dappled sunlight flicker on the ground. After about ten minutes of uphill and downhill walking, the pungent scent of animal manure wafted by, followed by the lowing of cows. A drug rehabilitation center run by a Christian organization came into view. A few more steps, and there they were—white buildings perched on higher ground. "Hong Kong Vipassana Meditation Centre."This was the place.

(Image: The Pearl of Dhamma—Entrance to the Hong Kong Vipassana Meditation Centre)

Two years ago, I became interested in psychotherapy. During a deep dive into spiritual content on YouTube, I stumbled upon Vipassana. At the time, I knew nothing about it except that it involved ten days of group meditation in near-total isolation, with all courses, meals, and lodging provided free of charge. Soon, YouTube’s algorithm bombarded me with positive testimonials from bloggers in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Singapore. During bouts of emotional lows, I kept revisiting the Vipassana website, debating whether to sign up. Eventually, I convinced myself: Even if it doesn’t work, I’ll treat it as fieldwork. Could Vipassana really be a miraculous form of psychotherapy?

So I applied. Typically, registration opens one to two months in advance, with acceptance confirmed via email. Two weeks before the course, another email checks your attendance commitment. I had planned to attend last year in Japan, but for some reason, my registration didn’t go through. This time, with the spring semester over and the summer heat yet to descend, I seized the chance to try it in Hong Kong.

The course officially began on May 1, but registration was half a day earlier. After filling out forms at the on-site office, I surrendered my phone and valuables. I was assigned Bed No. 805 and Seat No. 38—fixed for the next ten days, as the volunteers (Dhamma workers) emphasized.

(Image: Luggage area)

(Image: Registration desk)

My dorm, Block 8, was the innermost of three female dormitories, closest to the back hills. The entrance had mosquito-proof screens, and inside were a mattress, mosquito net, a three-tiered white shelf, and a blue cleaning cloth. The dorm, built in 2018, was simple and serene—perfect for meditation.

(Image: Block 8 Female Dormitory)

At 5 PM, two volunteers conducted a trilingual (Mandarin, Cantonese, English) orientation, covering schedules, living arrangements, and rules—especially noble silence, meaning no verbal or physical contact between participants, with strict gender segregation. Even walking required mindfulness to avoid noise. Since I had eye inflammation and blurry vision, I treated it as a chance to "close" that sensory channel, making silence easier to embrace.

Dinner at 6 PM was a vegetarian spread of rice, soup, and vegetables. For the next ten days, dinner would be replaced with tea breaks, while returning students adhered to the rule of no food after noon, drinking only lemon water.

Daily Meals

Breakfast: Toast, milk, whole grains (sweet potato/yam/corn/potatoes), congee (with lotus seeds/red dates/corn/wolfberries), hot drinks (chai/masala tea/ginger tea), fermented beans (peanuts/chickpeas), pickled radish

Lunch: Soups (black-eyed pea & sweet potato/red date & lotus seed & yam/lotus root & mung bean & tangerine peel), two main dishes—one stir-fried leafy greens (choy sum/lettuce/cabbage/bok choy) with carrots, the other root vegetables with protein (potatoes/pumpkin/daikon/cauliflower/broccoli/tomatoes & tofu/tofu puffs), fermented beans, pickled radish

Dinner: Milk, biscuits, coffee, tea

Fruits (bananas, oranges, apples) were available at all meals.

(Image: The dining hall after cleanup by participants)

Daily Schedule

4:00 AM – Wake up

4:30–6:30 – Meditation

6:30–8:00 – Breakfast & rest

8:00–9:00 – Group meditation

9:00–11:00 – Meditation

11:00–12:00 – Lunch & rest

12:00–13:00 – Q&A with teacher

13:00–14:30 – Meditation

14:30–15:30 – Group meditation

15:30–17:00 – Meditation

17:00–18:00 – Tea break

18:00–19:00 – Group meditation

19:00–20:30 – Discourse by S.N. Goenka

20:30–21:00 – Group meditation

21:00–21:30 – Q&A/rest

(Image: The meditation hall)

Not a Model Student

For ten days, this schedule ruled our lives. Apart from the dorm and dining hall, most time was spent in the meditation hall. A white cloth draped the teacher’s seat, where an electronic device (a tablet) played recordings of S.N. Goenka’s instructions. Participants sat in five rows, each with a blue cushion and a gray-black pillow (filled with something like cassia seeds). Many brought shawls or extra pillows. Returning students were usually seated in the front. I noticed roommates were spaced apart—likely to minimize energetic interference, as volunteers speculated.

The group comprised about 40 women and fewer than 20 men, including one white man, one white woman, an Indian woman, and a few others of non-East Asian origin. Some women spoke Mandarin, likely from mainland China or Taiwan. Most understood Cantonese and English.

Vipassana, rooted in 2,500-year-old original Buddhism, was preserved in Myanmar through oral tradition but lost in India and Thailand. The course I attended followed the tradition of Sayagyi U Ba Khin, popularized globally by S.N. Goenka. Born in Myanmar to Indian parents, Goenka was a successful businessman who turned to Vipassana after conventional medicine failed to cure his migraines. He later reintroduced Vipassana to India and spread it worldwide. Though Goenka has passed, assistant teachers now guide courses, playing his recordings (chants in Pali, meditation instructions, and discourses explaining Vipassana’s principles through Buddhist theory and personal stories) and answering questions.

Vipassana follows the Buddha’s sīla-samādhi-paññā (morality-concentration-wisdom) framework. For ten days, we upheld five precepts: no killing, no stealing, no sexual misconduct, no lying, and no intoxicants.

The first three days focused on samādhi (concentration). Day 1: observing natural breath at the nostrils. Day 2: narrowing focus to sensations in the small area below the nostrils and above the upper lip—cold? hot? dry? moist? tight? achy? No universal answer. The point wasn’t the sensation itself but realizing anicca (impermanence)—how every sensation arises and passes.

For someone who’d rather stand than sit, this was torture. Not because I couldn’t feel anything, but because forced stillness felt stifling. Day 1 left me sore and restless. By Day 2, I switched to kneeling (seiza), pretending I wasn’t sitting. But by day’s end, my knees screamed in protest.

So I rebelled. In the dim hall, I stretched my legs, pressing them against the back wall for relief. I imagined the teacher glaring at me, then shrugged—I can’t see him anyway. The guilt of rule-breaking flared and faded.

I also skipped sessions. The 4 AM gong jolted me awake, but no magic graced my dawn meditations. My days cycled through haze-clarity-drowsiness-relief. Days 1–3, I swayed like a metronome. By Day 4, seeing roommates sleep in, I followed suit, sneaking out at 5:30 AM to stretch, lingering outside the hall. Post-Day 5, I managed ~1 hour of meditation before retreating to bed or stretching outdoors. But sleep often won.

Sleeplessness was common. After a solid first night, I woke repeatedly—4–5 times in six hours, compulsively checking the clock. Some stayed awake all night. One participant shared she meditated through insomnia and felt fine the next day. Around Day 4, Goenka addressed this in a discourse: "Maintain equanimity. Don’t fret over sleep. Enlightened beings like the Buddha slept 1–2 hours; yogis remain perpetually aware." That night, I woke often but stopped checking the time, drifting back effortlessly. The next morning, I felt refreshed.

Day 4: Entering Paññā (Wisdom)

This marked the Vipassana stage—body scanning, head to toe and back, observing gross/subtle/no sensations. Here, our saṅkhāra (habitual reactions) surfaced, labeling sensations pleasant/unpleasant, sparking craving/aversion. Initially, my numb feet monopolized attention, amplifying "pain," which then haunted later sessions. But when I ignored the numbness and resumed scanning, a faint electric current surged through me, easing the discomfort (though it lingered). Tight shoulders and back also lightened with mindful breathing.

Saṅkhāra (one of the five aggregates) is the mind’s automatic response to external stimuli, buried deep in the subconscious. During scans, as we stop reacting to new sensations, old saṅkhāra bubble up. On Day 4, I stayed focused; Day 5, intrusive thoughts/images hijacked my mind—people and things I cared about. Initially, I’d get lost in them, then jolt back, using sharp breaths to refocus. Don’t suppress these "monsters." Let them come, let them go.

Goenka stressed this was bhāvanā-mayā paññā (experiential wisdom): "Observe like a scientist. Understand reality as it is." Wisdom comes three ways—through hearing, reflection, and practice. The last is transformative, not intellectual games. He warned: Don’t cling to pleasant sensations. Everything changes. Attachment multiplies suffering.

A Cockroach Crisis

"Do you speak Cantonese, Mandarin, or… English?" A girl by the door hugged herself, anxious.

"Cantonese." Five days without speaking made my voice raspy. I’d broken silence.

"There’s a cockroach in the far bathroom!"

"Protect yourself," another urged.

"Another brown one—huge, and it flies!"

"I can’t handle this one. We’ll wait for [the brave one]!"

Too tired, I zipped my mosquito net and lay down, eavesdropping on their battle plans.

Thuds from the bathroom. "One’s dead!"

"Shh—she’s asleep."

"The other flew onto her bed frame."

"Should we tell her?"

"Let her sleep."

Probably not my bed, I thought. Then, itching erupted. Was my body reacting to cockroach trauma? Scenes of past panic flashed. Even if, so what? I won’t die. Anicca, anicca... Repeating the mantra, I calmed and drifted off.

At 1 AM, rustling near the net’s top-left corner. A dark speck. Goosebumps. I sat up, letting cool air soothe me, patting myself down—no new bumps, but the itching returned.

Next afternoon (Day 6), red dots covered my arms and legs. Dust mites? Too much ginger tea? Or cockroach-induced saṅkhāra? My mind churned. Seeing three empty beds (left on Days 2, 4, 5), I thought, I’ve learned enough, and nearly quit. As I packed, others noticed:

"Are you leaving?"

"You’ve come so far!"

"Take any empty bed."

Their pleas worked. Though my packing disturbed others, it helped me sort my thoughts. After reporting to the manager, I got fresh bedding and stayed.

That evening, a woman asked the teacher, "How to handle fear of insects?"

"Like my wife with cockroaches?"

"Yes!" Laughter.

"Just shoo them away. Don’t kill."

Days later, I still reacted to bugs—random red patches. On the penultimate day, a tiny insect clung motionless to a neighbor’s net. My attempt to "invite" it out failed. After 24 hours of coexistence, I thought, It sleeps so peacefully. Why disturb it?

Equanimity: Making Peace with Everything

The sole measure of progress in Vipassana is equanimity. But what is it? One middle-aged woman asked the teacher twice.

"After days of hearing ‘don’t label things good/bad,’ I’m still confused."

Abstract concepts need concrete examples. One night, a middle-aged woman shared post-lunch diarrhea; others chimed in. (Perhaps the pumpkin-tofu dish was off?) With fewer participants, leftovers piled up, recycled to avoid waste. She asked, "Is my diarrhea karma-related?"

The teacher chuckled. "Maybe you just ate something bad. I’m fine. Diarrhea isn’t ‘bad.’ If you think so, that’s not equanimity."

She seemed enlightened. I realized: The body speaks its truth.

Once, I asked if sitting posture affected long-term progress. After trials, I found cross-legged with right leg atop caused numbness; left leg atop didn’t. "If left leg up, I focus better."

The teacher smiled. "What’s ‘better’? Saying that loses equanimity. Every moment is meditation. Every state is fine."

To me, equanimity means making peace—no preset judgments. Don’t dwell on the past or fret the future. Rationally, I knew this, but intellectual understanding barely scratches the surface. Through Vipassana, I felt layers dissolving, though I knew they’d resurface.

I asked, "Can I jot down my experiences? How would that affect saṅkhāra?"

Writing was prohibited, but as an ethnographer, I feared forgetting. From Day 4, I hid in the bathroom daily, scribbling two pages at a time. Later, I realized I’d underestimated memory’s power. A roommate who kept journals pre-retreat said, "What matters stays with you."

No Visualization or Mantras

Strangely, my roommate and I shared similar struggles; others nearby had parallel meditation arcs.

"I’m like a butcher, dissecting my thighs—top, bottom, sides. Next!" She mimed chopping. I nodded.

"When scanning crossed legs, I’d wonder which foot was atop."

"I overanalyzed scanning... But feeling matters. Left/right brain handle different things." Her insight struck me.

I’d visualized a body outline, obsessing over scan width. Once, I asked, "How many centimeters wide?"

The teacher laughed. "Follow your intuition."

Now I see: I’d fixated on visualization, missing the point. Maybe that’s why later scans felt stiff, losing initial lightness. (But calling it "loss" also lacks equanimity.)

Mantras, too, are discouraged—even non-religious ones like counting breaths. Goenka once said, "A student asked if counting ‘1, 2’ was okay. I said, ‘Clever! But soon you’ll focus on numbers, not breath.’"Vipassana purifies the mind, not just quiets it.

No Magic, No Miracles

"Work diligently, patiently, and persistently! Success depends on your effort." Goenka’s Indian-accented English echoed in my head.

On Day 10 at 9 PM, chatter turned to post-retreat life. One girl craved Korean fried chicken in Mong Kok. Others planned work or travel.

"I barely missed my husband—only on his birthday," my roommate said.

"Today’s feast! I savored chocolate—aroma, flavor, texture! Chewed slowly, let it melt. How long will this mindfulness last?"

"If you don’t expect it to, longer," I said.

"Exactly!"

May 11, 6:30 AM: The final session ended. After breakfast, we retrieved our phones and cleaned assigned areas. By 8 AM, I wheeled my suitcase to the office, where roommates and I took farewell photos.

In the taxi to Tung Chung, I asked a girl, "Will you meditate today?"

Leaning back, eyes closed: "I just want a shower and a mask."

Another said, "4 AM is brutal. Maybe 8 AM post-coffee."

No magic, but Vipassana helped me break habits—like hunching over desks or frowning while thinking, tensions stored in my body. Now, I catch myself, relax my brow, and stop fiddling with nails or scratching itches mindlessly.

Eating, I note "eating," observing food’s journey from lips to stomach, its texture and taste, without like/dislike. Walking, I note "walking," feeling each step, breath, and muscle. Drowsy, I note "drowsy,"observing heaviness, then breathing deeper to refresh.

Four days post-retreat, I adjusted meditation to 8:30–9:30 AM/PM. I’m considering volunteering next time—serving others to deepen my practice.

Goenka said, "Vipassana is surgery for the mind." This psychotherapy works subtly, awakening change at the micro-level of thoughts. But it’s not a one-time fix; the mind needs constant training. I write this to thank those who made my journey possible and to plant seeds of Dhamma far and wide.

May all beings be happy!