Art Is the Antidote: Managing Obstacles on Retreat September 30, 2026 15:14
I have been looking forward to this retreat for over a year. I had planned and prepared for it. I knew it would help me to deepen my practice—and to do a better job of scheduling time for my daily practices at home.
It did help immensely, and I did benefit from this twelve-day Yamantaka retreat. However, it was no picnic. We had three meditation sessions each day, which lasted between two to three hours per session. Rinpoche also hosted a morning teaching each day before lunch to explain in more detail aspects of the sadhana. This added up to about nine hours of sitting per day.
(image: morning water bowl offerings)
There were moments early on when I wanted to pack up and go home—but I didn’t. I made it to every session and every teaching. I woke up extra early in the mornings to make time for my personal practice. I was attentive—I took careful notes…and still…obstacles emerged.
I wasn’t the only one—obstacles seemed to happen to everyone around me. Fellow retreatants were experiencing physical obstacles—coughs, colds, sinus headaches. Some experienced body aches from sitting: back, hip, and knee pain—tingling feet and toes. One retreatant fractured her ankle after a fall. So, we were all dealing with challenges of one sort or another.
My obstacles weren’t physical in nature—they were emotional. Old patterns and triggers rose to the surface unexpectedly during one of the early sessions. Feelings I thought I had processed and healed long ago crept back with a vengeance to taunt me. Waves of inadequacy, of not feeling good enough, of not being understood, of not being able to understand or keep up, of being left behind.
These feelings were disruptive, unpleasant surprises. I tried to sit with them and observe them without judgment. I continued to practice, to sit, to listen. Thankfully, after a day or so, the emotional fever broke—with the help of Dharma friends…and art.
(Image: flowers, torma, and water bowl offerings on altar space)
***
David and Marilyn are both dedicated Buddhist practitioners, and they were also fellow retreatants. David is a local artist in the community and has been for decades. He lives his life as an expression of art, and he uses everything around him as a vehicle for his creative ideas. On September 11, he planned to do a performance piece at his studio, which was a few miles from the retreat center.
David drove Marilyn and I to his studio after the last meditation session that evening. They are both kind-hearted Dharma friends, and I confided in them about the emotional obstacles that were bubbling up for me. They were attentive and reassuring. Marilyn pointed out something that I hadn’t considered. As Buddhists, we aren’t supposed to criticize other sangha members. She said, “But you’re criticizing yourself…and you’re a sangha member, too.” It was a clear reminder that I need to be more mindful about this tendency to lambast myself.
We arrived at the studio and walked up a metal spiral staircase that led to a deck on the second floor. This was where David started to set up for his performance.
Marilyn took me on a tour of the apartment space above his studio, and soon after, friends and fellow artists began to gather on the driveway.
One woman, who has been friends with Marilyn since elementary school, rode up on her new electric bicycle. Her wavy, snow-white hair framed her face, and she wore a flowered sundress with hiking boots. Another friend arrived and spread a Mexican blanket on the curb for us to sit on. In all there were about a dozen spectators who gathered in front of the studio. The sky turned pink as the sun set behind a neighborhood elementary school. Moths fluttered around a nearby streetlight, and a muffled announcer’s voice echoed unintelligibly from a distant football field.
At sunset, the performance began. The name of David’s piece was “Unspeakable,” and it was a reflection and response to the 9/11 attacks. This year marked the 25th anniversary of the terrorist attacks.
David didn’t speak during the performance. One of his sons made introductory remarks, and we all watched in silence as David stood on the second-floor deck and set fire to several skulls that were made from packed ash.
One by one, he dropped them from the deck railing to the pavement below. Each flaming skull landed with a dull thud, and the cloud of ash extinguished the flames instantly upon impact.
His performance lasted approximately fifteen minutes. At the end, David quietly walked away from the deck railing and into the darkness. Friends, artists, and observers quietly walked, rode, or drove away in silence.
(Image: skulls made from packed ash on second floor deck railing before performance)
I rode back to the center with another Dharma friend who attended the performance as well.
It was good to take a break from the retreat—to leave the center for a couple of hours to talk with friends—to meet their friends and chat with open-minded, kind-hearted locals who appreciated art. David’s performance was quiet, but compelling, powerful, and poignant. Taking this art break was just what I needed to adjust my perspective and snap out of my self-deprecating spiral. I felt a strong sense of connection, community, and appreciation while at his studio, and I was very grateful to spend some time with David, Marilyn, and their friends.
***
One of my favorite things to do on this retreat was to walk the kora, especially in the evenings after the last session of the day. After the 9/11 performance, I walked the kora in the dark, sidestepping frogs as I circumambulated the Kalachakra stupa. I turned the large metal prayer wheels of the mani korlo, caught a glimpse of a stray white cat darting among the trees, and I listened to crickets and katydids as I walked around the lotus pond by flashlight.
(Image: large prayer wheel in mani korlo: prayer wheel pavilion)
***
Having access to compassionate friends, art, and a little time with nature was exactly what I needed to successfully pivot and complete this meaningful retreat.
It allowed me to immerse myself in practice, to sit with ease, to maintain a calm, clear mindset, and to focus with confidence and assurance on Rinpoche’s teachings and the sadhana.
Obstacles present opportunities to purify, and the obstacles that arise typically represent aspects that we need to work on the most. Thankfully, the rest of the retreat progressed without any additional obstacles for me. I was able to enjoy the teachings, the practice sessions, and the company of the other retreatants.
(Image: view from an evening walk around the Kalachakra stupa)
***
The final, culminating event of this twelve-day retreat was a fire puja, which is also a purification practice as well as a celebration. After the puja, the concluding prayers, and the group photo, I packed my belongings and headed home.
(Image: bowls of rice, mustard seed, beans, and barley--offerings for fire puja)
***
I had something else to look forward to later that day. I arrived home to shower, change, then drive to Newfields, an art museum in Indianapolis, where I would meet my daughter for the opening of “Giants: Art from the Dean Collection of Swizz Beatz and Alicia Keys.”
(Image: Alicia Keys and Swizz Beatz at opening of "Giants" at Newfields in Indianapolis)
My daughter works at the museum and helped secure funding for this exhibit. We stood on the Sculpture Court, an outdoor space for special events. The late afternoon sun was beginning to set, and a small ensemble played several songs before the Deans approached the podium and made their opening remarks.
Afterwards, we walked through the exhibit, which was a collection of bold, beautiful paintings, photographs, sculptures, collages, mixed media, and music.
The atmosphere was celebratory, and people were celebrating on every floor of the museum. It was a festive party atmosphere, and people were dressed to the nines in flamboyant gowns and fancy dinner jackets.
Some were dancing on the main floor in front of Robert Indiana’s LOVE statue. Everyone was smiling, laughing, chatting, and enjoying this event.
Art has a way of bringing people together, and we were immersed in a mandala of art—surrounded by creativity and beauty on every floor.
It was a wonderful way to celebrate with my daughter and mark my re-entry into the “real world” after the intense retreat.
This exhibit will be in Indianapolis until February, so if you’re in the area, please go see it. It truly is an amazing, meaningful collection.
I definitely want to visit again so I can take more time with each piece in a quieter setting.
Ironically, this party atmosphere was not jarring to me after spending twelve days at a Buddhist center. I felt at ease and connected to all the strangers around us. I felt open, curious, attuned, and focused—and most importantly—I felt like I belonged there. I was grateful to be surrounded by art, artists, and art lovers.
(Image: My daughter and I on the Sculpture Court at Newfields)
***
Art is a powerful antidote and a creative force that brings people together. It fosters meaningful thought and conversation.
I was thankful that it helped to steer me in the right direction when I was grappling with obstacles, and it also helped to carry me home in order to continue meaningful practice.
***
Thanks for taking the time to read this month’s blog offering. I hope that any obstacles you may be facing currently are minor, and in managing them, may they help you to grow and progress along your path.
Retreats are meaningful opportunities to deepen, enrich, and recommit to one’s practice. Art offers opportunities to explore diverse viewpoints and fosters compelling connections with community. May your practice enrich your life, and may your life be filled with meaning and beauty.
(Image: cup of tea on the deck of my cottage at the center--an afternoon indulgence in between sessions)