My Vipassana Meditation Experience As It Is: An Arduous Journey of Healing
From January 1 to 12, 2025, I completed my second 10-day Vipassana meditation course at Dhamma Shringa (Nepal Vipassana Meditation Center) in Budhanilkantha, Kathmandu, Nepal. I’m writing this to share my experience as it is—raw and unfiltered.
As I sit down to reflect, I can only describe it as an arduous journey of healing. I arrived wounded and returned home healed—carrying wounds I wasn’t even aware of, wounds that had been silently aching within me.
Meditation is a tough and slow process, and complete healing may take many more courses, perhaps even a lifetime. But a 10-day Vipassana course can undeniably heal you to a point where you begin to live better—freer, happier, and more at peace.
Previously, I wrote about the basic FAQs of Vipassana meditation and video in Nepali medium, covering what it is, how to join, the costs involved, and more. This time, I won’t delve into those details.
Instead, I’ll share my personal experience exactly as it happened, so others can get a real sense of what to expect. While the impact of Vipassana is deeply personal, the experience can be extremely challenging—especially for first-timers. This is my attempt to share just how difficult, strange, and transformative it can be, with no filters.
Planning and Preparation
I experienced my first Vipassana meditation retreat in January 2017 at the same place—Dhamma Shringa Meditation Center in Budhanilkantha. Back then, I was young and curious, joining the course out of FOMO because my best friend was attending. I had little idea about what Vipassana truly was or what to expect inside the center.
This time, I knew the routine, discipline, and meditation hours required. Confident in my decision, I booked my spot online in November for the New Year 2025 course. With Dhamma Shringa always pre-booked, securing a seat felt like a small victory.
However, just a week before the course, I caught a cold. My cold allergies can last for weeks, sometimes even months, so I avoided outdoor activities and focused on recovering. I had a mild fever, a bad cough, sneezing, and a runny nose. At one point, I even considered canceling, but I was determined to go. I convinced myself I’d manage and heal during the course.
I didn’t visit a doctor or take medicine, as many Nepalis typically do. However, I asked my sister to buy me Sinex anti-cold tablets and a bottle of cough syrup—just in case. Still, I was confident I wouldn’t need them, so I packed just two Sinex tablets and the cough syrup, ready for my 10-day silent meditation journey.
To make things more practical, I cut my hair short just the day before the enrollment day. I knew the center had solar-powered hot water, but it wasn’t guaranteed with so many people using it. Plus, hair dryers weren’t available. I had been growing my hair out for a year, but I saw this small sacrifice as a practical decision to make the experience smoother.
Day 0 – Excited but Sick
1 January 2025 – I arrived at Dhamma Shringa around noon and was directed straight to the female registration area. As soon as I got there, I started sneezing and coughing more than before—maybe it was the cold air or just my nerves. I kept sipping warm water as I filled out the form.
Once registered, I was assigned a room and asked to deposit my valuables. After a quick call to my sister to let her know I was switching off my phone, I handed it in. A female Dhamma server (volunteer) guided me to the female course area, gave me fresh bed covers, and showed me to my room. Since I had mentioned my snoring and persistent cough, I was given a separate room—a small, quiet space in Z House, overlooking the glowing city lights of Kathmandu.
After settling in, I joined others outside, soaking in the sun and chatting. The first person I met was Mariana from Brazil—cheerful, adventurous, and a surfing instructor. Her solo travel stories fascinated me. I told her I wanted to travel alone but was afraid. She smiled and said, “You’ll do it one day.”
My coughing wouldn’t stop, and I worried about disturbing others. Mariana kindly handed me some herbal cough pills from Thailand. I was touched by her generosity.
I also reconnected with a familiar face, Bidhya Didi, from a previous short course at Dhammagara, Kotdada, Lalitpur.
Soon, dinner was served at 5 PM—light, simple, vegetarian. Each student was assigned a fixed seat in the dining hall and given a set of utensils—a plate, a small bowl, a spoon, and a steel mug—responsible for keeping them clean throughout the course.
Afterward, we attended the orientation at 7 PM, where we were informed about our daily course routine. And, also introduced to the five precepts (Panchasila) we had to follow:
- No killing
- No stealing
- No sexual activity
- No lying
- No intoxicants
The biggest rule? Noble silence—no speaking, gesturing, or communication of any kind. This silence was meant to help us focus inward.
Meals? Breakfast at 6:30 AM, lunch at 11:00 AM, and in the evening, just tea for old students and fruit for new ones. Every meal was a donation from past students, a practice rooted in the Buddhist tradition of accepting food as bhikshya (alms). We were reminded to eat with gratitude and waste nothing.
The orientation lasted about an hour and a half and concluded with the allocation of hall seats. The Dhamma servers handed out small slips of paper with our assigned seating. My throat was itchy, and I was struggling to hold back my cough. As soon as it ended, I rushed to get warm water and gargled—something I would continue doing every hour to soothe my throat.
At 8 PM, we gathered for our first group meditation. The Dhamma servers lined us up according to our assigned seats and guided us to our places. My seat was D3—column D, third row. The most experienced students, who had attended multiple courses, sat in the front rows, while those with fewer courses were placed further back. As an old student with just one completed course, I was placed in the third row. This session officially marked the beginning of noble silence.
We practiced Anapana—observing the natural breath. But I was exhausted, still coughing, and on the fourth day of my period. The day ended at 9 PM.
Back in my room, desperate to feel better, I took a Sinex tablet and some cough syrup, whispered a silent prayer for healing, and finally fell asleep, hoping tomorrow would be easier.
Day 1 – Sleepy Head
At 4:00 AM, the wake-up bell rang. I got up, but my body felt sluggish—tired, heavy, and drained of energy. Probably because of the pain and discomfort I experienced the previous day or the medicine I took. Or maybe because I wasn’t used to waking up this early. Still, I pulled myself out of bed, freshened up, and headed toward the Dhamma Hall for the group meditation.
Carrying the hot water thermos I had brought from home, I filled it at the dispenser near the hall, took a few sips, gargled my throat, and stepped inside. Most students were already seated, silently meditating. I slowly found my place, settled in, and began focusing on my breath—Anapana meditation.
But as soon as I sat in silence, my mind became louder. The smallest sensations on my body, the faintest background noises, and the constant chatter in my head—all became painfully noticeable. These things are always there, but in daily life, we’re too distracted to pay attention. In meditation, they come to the surface.
I had more than just subtle distractions, though—I had a persistent, itching tickle in my throat, chest tightness, and the unbearable urge to clear my airways. I tried to focus on my breath, observing the natural inhale and exhale, but the irritation kept intensifying. I felt helpless, frustrated, and even guilty—what if my coughing disturbed others? I forced myself to hold back, but the struggle was real.
When the irritation subsided for a moment, my mind wandered—past memories, future worries, random monologues. Then, at times, I would simply fall asleep while sitting cross-legged. When I woke up, the cycle repeated—the throat irritation, the internal battle, the pity, the guilt. I even thought, If only I could sleep more… at least that way, I wouldn’t feel this discomfort. But I reminded myself why I was here—not for comfort, but for discipline, patience, and resilience.
Adding to my struggles, I was also on my period—dealing with lower back pain, discomfort in sitting, and mood swings. But instead of seeing them as obstacles, I reframed them as tests—real-life challenges that meditation could help me navigate. So, despite everything, I recommitted to healing myself and completing the course.
Somehow, I made it through the 4:30 to 6:30 AM session. The moment I stepped outside, I went straight to the hot water dispenser—drank warm water, gargled, and finally felt some relief.
Then, I headed for breakfast, served at 6:30 AM. I don’t remember the exact menu that day, but breakfast usually included fruits, cornflakes with milk, tea, bread with jam, and a light main dish like fried rice, rice pudding, pasta, or chow mein. I enjoyed everything served.
Since my last short Vipassana course, I have been vegetarian, so the food suited me well. However, many others—especially those accustomed to spicy or non-vegetarian meals—seemed to struggle with the change.
Struggles and Small Wins
After breakfast, we had free time until 8:00 AM—a chance to rest, walk, or clean up. I went to my room, took my last Sinex tablet, a capful of cough syrup, and also decided to try the herbal cough pills Mariana had given me the day before. I was desperate to get better.
At 8:00 AM, the next group meditation session began, but I was so exhausted that I slept through most of it. I had kept the cough pills between my gums and teeth as Mariana had instructed, hoping they would help, and initially, they did. But later, I realized they were making my throat feel worse, leaving tiny dust-like particles in my mouth. After the session, I gargled again and decided they weren’t right for me.
The rest of the morning passed in the same loop—coughing, irritation, self-pity, self-consolation, and recommitment. And a lot of dozing off while sitting upright.
At 11:00 AM, it was lunchtime. Like breakfast, lunch was a delicious, healthy vegetarian meal. Afterward, we had a break until 1:00 PM. By this time, I felt brighter and more energetic—probably because the medicine’s drowsy effect had worn off, and the midday sun felt warm.
The afternoon meditation (1:00 PM – 5:00 PM) went slightly better than the morning sessions, but I still couldn’t give my best. At 5:00 PM, it was time for evening tea/snacks. As an old student, I was only allowed tea or lemon water, while new students got fruit slices, puffed rice, and tea.
The next few hours were much the same—painful, restless, and sleepy. I even fell asleep during the Dhamma discourse (7:00 – 8:30 PM)—something I usually loved. This is when S.N. Goenka explains the logic of meditation, how it works, and answers common questions. I always found these sessions insightful, but this time, I slept through most of it. Not good.
I had taken both of my Sinex tablets and had no choice but to ask the Dhamma servers for medicine. When I approached one, she told me I needed permission from the teacher. There were only two times a day to meet the teacher—after lunch (12:00 – 1:00 PM) and after the final session (9:00 PM). So, I decided to wait until after 9:00 PM.
That night, I met Guruma, the female assistant teacher, and explained my situation. She granted permission for the medicine, and I assumed a server would bring it to my room. But even after waiting, it never came. I went downstairs, hoping to find someone, but the entire female area was empty—everyone had already gone to bed.
Feeling defeated, I returned to my room. My cough kept me awake for a while, but I consoled myself once again—I will heal. I will complete this course. And with that, I finally fell asleep.
Day 2 & 3 – The Struggle Continues
The next morning (day 2), I woke up coughing, my throat sore, and when I checked the tissue—bloodstains. My heart sank. Was I getting worse? But strangely, my body felt lighter than the day before. Confused yet determined, I got ready and headed for the 4:30 AM meditation, repeating to myself—I will heal. I will complete this course.
That day, I followed up with the Dhamma server three times about the medicine, and by evening, I finally got one tablet. I took it that night and the next day. By the third day, I felt better and didn’t need it anymore.
Still, meditation was a battle. The throat irritation wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried to focus on my breath—in, out, natural flow—but within minutes, my throat would itch, dry up, and demand my attention. I found a small trick—swallowing my saliva helped suppress the cough and prevented me from disturbing others.
On Day 2, some of us old students were assigned cell seats—small rooms just big enough for one person to sit comfortably. These isolated compartments are inside the Shunyagar – the temple-like structure, as shown in the picture below.
We were sent there for complete solitude, allowing for deeper concentration. I actually liked it—it gave me my own space where I could cough freely without disturbing others.
The Monkey Mind
Another major obstacle in the early days of Vipassana is the restless mind. It’s surprising how far and fast it wanders without you even realizing it. I would focus on my breath for a minute or two, and before I knew it, my mind had already traveled back in time, revisiting old memories—some joyful, some painful. I would relive past events, reframe them in my favor, or get caught up in future plans—what I would do after I left the course, next month, next year…
In daily life, we barely have time for reflection. We react to our thoughts and feelings but rarely observe them with a calm, neutral mind. And, we aren’t aware of those feelings in a real sense.
In Vipassana, however, these buried emotions start resurfacing. I recalled painful experiences, misunderstandings, and people who had hurt me. At first, I felt anger and resentment, but soon I realized—holding onto these emotions was only hurting me. I chose to forgive because that was the only way to heal.
Then, a shift happened. I began remembering moments when I might have hurt others—especially one person, years ago, who had been nice to me in their way, but I had misinterpreted their actions and responded rudely. Although time had passed, I realized I must have hurt their feelings. I decided I would seek an apology after the course.
It wasn’t just painful memories that surfaced—there were also moments of deep gratitude. I reflected on all the love and support I had received in my life, often from people who had no expectation of anything in return. They simply believed in me and helped me move forward. Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten to appreciate them. I made a promise to reconnect, to check in on them. And once the course ended, I did.
Healing Beyond Meditation
To be honest, I didn’t master the meditation technique as much as I had hoped. But in the silence, I uncovered wounds I didn’t even know still existed.
Before I could be free, before I could truly cultivate love and kindness, I had to heal. And for the first time in a long time, I finally began.
Day 4 – Vipassana Meditation Experience Starts
Day 4 marks the introduction of Vipassana meditation—the core practice of the retreat. The first three days of Ana-Pana meditation serve as preparation, training the mind to focus with precision.
Vipassana meditation involves observing bodily sensations with complete neutrality—whether pain or pleasure—without reacting. The goal is to understand the mind’s workings through the six senses: skin, mouth, ears, nose, eyes, and mind. Everything within and around us is in a constant state of change—every second, every millisecond.
If change is inevitable, why do we cling to past wounds, hold onto grief, or let greed and hatred consume us? Why suffer over a past that’s gone or a future that hasn’t arrived? Vipassana teaches us to accept impermanence (anicca) and free ourselves from unnecessary suffering, replacing it with inner peace and compassion for all beings.
Struggles and Realizations
On Day 4, I felt physically better—my cough was almost gone, my menstrual period had ended, and I had taken a bath the day before. The sunny weather lifted my mood, making it easier to immerse myself in the practice.
However, my monkey mind was restless—constantly reacting to sensations, craving movement, resisting stillness. I realized how undisciplined my mind was, easily swayed by discomfort and emotions. I decided not to give in to these impulses but to focus on the instructions instead.
Laziness crept in. My mind whispered, This is boring. I want to leave. I need entertainment. But I reminded myself—this is the battle I must win. I made a firm decision to stay committed, and by the end of the day, I felt a deep sense of accomplishment.
Adhitthana – The Practice of Strong Determination
That day, we were introduced to Adhitthana—sittings of strong determination. Three times a day, we had to sit completely still for an hour:
🕗 8–9 AM
🕝 2:30–3:30 PM
🕕 6–7 PM
No movement. No adjustments. Just pure observation.
It was tough. But I did it. And for the first time, I felt a glimpse of real progress.
Days 5, 6, & 7 – Hard Work, Happiness
After being introduced to Vipassana meditation on Day 4, the following days were all about deepening the practice. Each day became more focused and advanced—first, observing sensations on each part of the body from top to bottom, then reversing the process, then scanning multiple areas at once, and finally, sweeping through the entire body.
By this point, my cough and cold had mostly healed, and my mind had begun to settle. The restless monkey mind, the lazy mind—I felt like I was finally overcoming them. So, I committed fully—to the technique, to the learnings, and to noble silence.
I noticed that some students, especially newcomers, struggled with noble silence. A few whispered in secret. Once, I overheard two younger girls mumbling near the toilets. I felt pity, not judgment, and simply walked away.
Another time, someone asked me if there was hot water; I responded with a silent nod. Unlike in my previous course, I didn’t feel regret for this small interaction. Back then, I had spoken to a friend when it felt necessary, only to be consumed by guilt for breaking her silence. But now, I understood—our minds are always speaking, always making noise inside. Whether or not we verbalize it, the chatter never truly stops.
Another day, an older student, about my mother’s age, kindly offered me, Vicks, upon seeing me struggle with my cold. Again, I responded with kindness—without words, but with complete understanding.
Days 8, 9 & 10 – The Cold Returns
I had been doing well. On the 7th day, I took a bath and went outside for a bit. That must have triggered my cold allergy again because, by the next day, I was sick once more. I thought about asking the servers for medicine, but my stubbornness—or maybe my determination—kicked in. I wanted to fight through it on my own.
The irritation in my throat was back. Sneezing, coughing—I just couldn’t focus like before. But then I thought, if I really want to learn to stay peaceful in tough times, isn’t this the perfect test? So, I pushed myself to stay focused, but honestly, it was hard. No matter how much I tried, the sickness kept pulling me away. Still, I didn’t let the frustration or self-pity take over. I told myself it’s okay, that I’d just do my best with whatever energy I had.
These three days were rough, no doubt. But I tried my best to stay patient and peaceful. And in a way, maybe this struggle was actually helping me train my mind—to stay calm, to accept, to keep going even when things weren’t ideal.
Day 10 – Gratitude and Kindness
I made it to Day 10, the final official day. The morning sessions ran as usual until 9 AM, after which we learned Metta Bhavana—loving-kindness meditation. It’s about compassion—for ourselves, for others, for everyone, near or far. At that moment, I felt deeply grateful, especially for my best friend who had introduced me to Vipassana, and my Master’s teacher, who had encouraged us to explore this path.
With that, noble silence was lifted—and the energy shifted instantly. The moment we stepped out, people sighed in relief, faces lit up, and the chatter began. Everyone was excited, sharing experiences, and reconnecting with friends from Day 0.
I caught up with Mariana, Sikha Didi, Bidhya Didi, and my neighbors. We all felt a sense of accomplishment. I admired Bidhya Didi’s discipline—she had maintained noble silence and dedication almost the entire time.
I also approached Purnima Shrestha, someone I had followed for a long time—an adventurer and newsmaker. She had recently received high recognition, including being listed among CNN’s Extreme Athletes of 2024. Despite the media attention, she was here for a quiet meditation. She shared that Vipassana was a test for herself—a challenge to stay calm despite the pull of fame.
She was proud to have resisted the temptation to cancel or postpone. I asked her, “Which is harder—climbing mountains or meditating?” We laughed and talked about her near-death experiences and how being in the mountains itself feels meditative.
Shared Struggles, Shared Growth
As we talked, I realized we had all gone through similar struggles—back pain, restlessness, homesickness, impatience. New students spoke more about their pain, while seasoned meditators seemed calmer. But in the end, everyone was happy—we had made it.
The afternoon was more relaxed, except for the compulsory Adhitthana hours. There was a book exhibition, a donation program, and a documentary screening—Doing Time, Doing Vipassana—about how Vipassana transformed prisoners in Tihar Jail, India.
After that, it was time to pack and clean. But honestly, we were so caught up in talking that my face hurt from smiling and laughing too much. Conversations continued in our quarters, the dining hall, and even the Dhamma hall, until the servers had to remind us—silence was still in place there!
At lunch, Sita didi shared how her entire family practiced Vipassana—her husband, father-in-law, and even her sons. Jokingly, I said, “Maybe I should add ‘Vipassana meditator’ to my future partner/husband’s criteria!” We laughed. She also shared how meditation helped her with confidence and focus while riding her tall bike.
My neighbor, Eliza, told me about her past Dhamma service and how much it had helped her. We ended up talking about life, work, and personal dilemmas—ten days of silence, and yet, within hours, we felt so connected.
Day 11 – Back Home, Healed
Day 11 started like every other—the 4:00 AM wake-up bell, followed by meditation at 4:30 AM. This final session included both Vipassana and a short Metta Bhavana. Afterward, we listened to a Dhamma discourse by S.N. Goenka, where he gave us guidance on how to continue our practice in daily life.
And just like that, the course was officially over. A delicious breakfast awaited us in the dining hall, where the chatter and laughter continued. We also received the certificates for the successful completion of the course.
Then, the long-awaited moment arrived—we could finally collect our phones after 11 days and take photos. Some people got emotional, and reluctant to part after sharing such a deep, unspoken connection. I took a few pictures with fellow students, and our Guruma (the female assistant teacher) before our bus departed around 8:00 AM. Some students stayed back to help clean up and prepare the center for the next course.
As I left, I felt nothing but gratitude—for everyone, for everything.
Spreading Loving-Kindness
Back home, I was happy and grateful. The first thing I did was hug my sisters and tell them how much I appreciated them.
Then, I headed straight to the hospital—I was still struggling with a lingering cold and cough. There, I met a beautiful doctor, eight months pregnant, still at work. She prescribed some medicine, and I felt hopeful that I’d recover soon.
I also reached out to someone I had been rude to—an incident I had recalled in the first few days of the course. Though it hadn’t been intentional, I felt the need to apologize. I sent them a message, expressing that I was sorry for my behavior and thanking them for their kindness.
Then, I called a few guardian angels—the people who had supported me selflessly when I needed it most. They were surprised to hear from me after so long, but happy that I remembered them.
And of course, I couldn’t help but talk to my friends about Vipassana. I told them, “You HAVE to take this course.” I even made a bold promise:
“If you regret doing this course for any reason, you can cut me off—act like we never even met.”
That’s how much I believe in Vipassana. If you’ve read this far, I’ll say the same to you.
It’s the strictest, toughest form of meditation. You might not like it. You might suffer. But if you follow the instructions sincerely, it will do the best for you.
And that’s a bet I’m willing to take.
Am I Continuing the Practice?
To be honest, not as consistently as recommended. But I try—30 minutes, an hour, whatever time I can manage.
The Benefits?
I’ve become more aware of my emotions. Whenever I catch myself reacting, I try to step back, observe objectively, and stay calm instead of getting carried away. I feel I’ve become kinder, more forgiving, and more positive about myself.
But meditation is a journey. Just attending a course or two won’t completely transform you overnight. Your family and friends might not even notice a difference. But deep down, you know you’ve changed—and for those changes to become visible, continuous practice is key.
Final Thoughts
This has been my personal experience—everyone’s journey is different. My only intention in writing this was to share how strange, tough, and rewarding Vipassana can be. I hope it gives newcomers a clearer picture, helping them walk in with openness and commitment to face whatever comes their way.
May you all be happy!
Bhavatu Sabba Mangalam.
