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am session. Dressed all in white, I took the boat with the local workers early in the morning while it was still dark outside. No one was at the center except a young woman cleaning the floor. I sat outside and waited with my shoes neatly in the rack. As I waited, I watched the monks returning from collecting their alms. Old men, middle-aged men and gangly teenagers with feet still too big for their bodies walked past holding their alms bowls and carrying bags of provisions that were given to them. Some had two bags; others had six. Eventually, a kindly monk invited me inside. I was apparently the only tourist visiting that morning. Meditating at 7 am is not a top tourist attraction. I signed in and waited for the “master.” Soon young women emerged from the back in long dresses of palest lavender. They were well versed in the ceremony. They grabbed a cushion, so I grabbed a cushion. They sat on the floor, so I sat on the floor. An old monk with a smiling face arrived and stood on the raised platform along with the other men (men and women were separated). He chatted with the women and was apparently telling jokes as he had everyone laughing. After the stand-up routine, he sat in the front with a crackling microphone and everyone started chanting and bowing to touch their foreheads to the floor. I followed as best I could. Then they all stood and started walking very slowly across the floor. I copied and wondered if this was the process for the next three hours. I had the door in sight.
     
    Then I noticed another monk sitting at the information desk. He motioned to me to come sit. He welcomed me to the session and told me about Vipassana or Insight Meditation – meditating to simply acknowledge what is happening in the body or mind in that moment. Frankly, he startled me. Since I had been coached to stay away from the monks, he was not what I expected. He was a few years older than I with sparkling eyes and freckles across his nose. He looked me directly in the eye with an unwavering gaze. I struggled to maintain eye contact, feeling somehow vulnerable, exposed and forbidden, but he never faltered. He led me to another room while the others continued their walking. Our room was long and narrow with white tile walls and a grey tiled floor. A pile of cushions sat at one end with a simple, metal folding-table at the other holding the image of Buddha. Three fans provided the only cooling in the room on a sticky, humid morning.
     
    First there was walking meditation. All I needed to do was maintain focus on my body as I slowly walked, stood, turned and repeated – over and over. He chanted for me, “Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, standing, standing, turning, turning, turning, right foot, left foot...” His voice was soft and comforting. After several passes, he had me continue saying the words to myself. Nothing could be so simple, and yet when he stopped chanting, I felt that the training wheels had been removed.
     
    After my short stint of walking meditation, he instructed me on seated meditation. The principle was the same except to say, “Rising, falling, rising, falling” with every breath. And if my foot went to sleep, I was to focus my attention on it until “it passes.” Hmmmm. He showed me how to get onto the mat, sit, and fold my hands with intention. Here was the first problem. My legs are not flexible enough to sit in a yoga pose like this. He rallied and had me pile up several more cushions until it was more like a chair. There we sat – rising, falling. He told me to continue with thirty minutes seated meditation and thirty minutes walking meditation. And he left.
     
    sat as comfortably as possible and focused on breathing. The only sound was the whir of the fans and an occasional bell or barking dog. I don’t know how long I sat before I lost touch with my foot. I tried focusing on it, but wasn’t willing to wait it out. Shaking and stomping brought it back. I was thankful to be the