Emmanuel Carrère - Yoga

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If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.

Apocryphal Gospel of Thomas

Seeing as I have to start somewhere in relating the story of these four yearsduring which I tried to write an upbeat, subtle little book on yoga, was confronted with things as downbeat and unsubtle as jihadist terrorism and the refugee crisis, was plunged so deep in melancholic depression that I was committed to the Sainte-Anne Psychiatric Hospital for four months, and, finally, during which I bade farewell to my editor of thirty-five years, who for the first time wouldnt be there to read my next bookI choose to start with this morning in January 2015, when, as I finished packing, I wondered whether I should take my phone, which in any event I wouldnt be able to keep with me where I was going, or leave it at home. I selected the more extreme option, and no sooner had I left our building than I was thrilled to be under the radar. It was just a short walk to the Gare de Bercy, where Id catch my train. From this annex of the Gare de Lyon, small in size and already quite provincial, dilapidated train cars take you straight to the French heartland. The old-fashioned compartments, with six first-class and eight second-class brown and gray-green seats, reminded me of the trains of my distant childhood in the sixties. A few army recruits slept stretched out on the seats, as if no one had told them that military service had been abolished long ago. With her face turned toward the dusty window, the only person near me watched the graffitied buildings file past under a fine gray rain as we left Paris and passed through the suburbs to the east. She was young, and looked a bit like a hiker with her huge backpack. I wondered if she was on her way to go trekking in the Morvan hills, as Id done long ago, in weather conditions that werent any better than they were today, or if she was goingwho knows?to the same place I was. Id made up my mind not to take a book, and spent the tripan hour and a halfletting my eyes and thoughts wander in a sort of calm impatience. Without knowing exactly what, I was expecting a lot from these ten days Id spend cut off from everything, out of contact, beyond reach. I observed myself waiting, I observed my calm impatience. It was interesting. When the train stopped at Migennes, the young woman with the big backpack also got off, and, along with me and twenty or so other people, headed over to the square in front of the station where a shuttle bus would pick us up. We waited in silence, seeing as no one knew anyone else. Everyone sized up everyone else, wondering if they looked normal or not. I would have said they did, or at least normal enough. When the coach pulled up, some sat down together, I sat alone. Just before we left, a woman in her fifties with a handsome, solemn, sculpted face climbed in and sat down beside me. We said quick hellos, then she closed her eyes, indicating that it was fine with her if we didnt talk. No one spoke. The coach soon left the town and headed down narrow roads, crossing villages where nothing seemed opennot even the shutters. After half an hour it turned onto a dirt road lined with oak trees, and stopped on a gravel driveway in front of a low farmhouse. We got off, picked up our bags from the luggage bay, and entered the building through separate doors, one for the men and one for the women. We men found ourselves in a large, neon-lit room fitted out like a school dining hall, with pale yellow walls and small posters bearing bits of calligraphed Buddhist wisdom. There were some new faces, people who hadnt been in the coach and who must have arrived by car. Behind a Formica table, a young man with an open, friendly facedressed in a T-shirt while everyone else was wearing either sweaters or fleece jacketswelcomed the new arrivals one by one. Before going up to him we had to fill out a questionnaire.

After pouring myself a glass of tea from a big copper samovar, I sat down in front of the questionnaire. Four pages, back and front. The first didnt need much thought: personal information; people to contact in case of emergency; medical situation, medication, if any. I wrote down that I was in good health but that Id suffered several bouts of depression. After that, we were invited to describe: (1) how wed become acquainted with Vipassana; (2) what experience wed had with meditation; (3) our current stage in life; (4) what we expected from the session. There was no more than a third of a page for each answer, and I thought that to seriously tackle even the second question Id have to write an entire book, and that in fact Id come here to write itbut I wasnt about to mention this. Prudently, I stuck to saying that Id been practicing meditation for twenty years, that for a long time Id combined it with tai chi (putting, in parentheses, small circulation, so theyd know I wasnt a complete beginner), and that today I combined it with yoga. However, I didnt practice regularly, I went on, and it was to get a better grounding that Id enrolled in an intensive session. As to my stage in life, the truth is that I was in a good way, an extremely favorable period that had lasted almost ten years. It was surprising, even, after so many years when I would unfailingly have answered this question by saying that I was doing very, very badly, and that that particular moment in my life was particularly catastrophic, to be able to answer candidly, even playing down my good fortune, that I was doing just fine, that I hadnt suffered from depression for some time, that I had neither love nor family nor professional nor material problems, and that my only real problemand it certainly is one, albeit a privileged persons problemwas my unwieldy, despotic ego, whose control I was hoping to limit, and that thats just what meditation was for.

Around me are fifty or so men, in whose company I will sit and be silent for ten days. I eye them discreetly, wondering who among them is going through a crisis. Who, like me, has a family. Whos single, whos been dumped, whos poor or unhappy. Whos emotionally fragile, whos solid. Who risks being overwhelmed by the vertigo of silence. All ages are represented, from twenty to seventy, Id say. As to what they might do for a living, its also varied. There are some readily identifiable types: the outdoorsy, vegetarian high school teacher, adept of the Eastern mystics; the young guy with dreadlocks and a Peruvian beanie; the physiotherapist or osteopath whos into the martial arts; and others who could be anything from violinists to railway ticketing employees, impossible to tell. All in all, its the sort of mix youd find at a dojo, say, or in any of the hostels along the Way of Saint James. Since the Noble Silence, as its called, hasnt yet been imposed, were still allowed to talk. As night begins to fall, very early and very black behind the misty windowpanes, I listen to the conversations of the small groups that have formed. Everything revolves around what awaits us in the morning. One question comes up again and again: Is this your first time? Id say about half the group are new, and half are veterans. The former are curious, excited, apprehensive, while the latter benefit from the prestige that comes with experience. One little guy reminds me of someone, but I cant say who. Since Im a negative sort of person, my attention focuses on him. With a pointed goatee and a wine-toned jacquard sweater, hes annoyingly smug in the role of the smiling, benign sage, rich in insights into chakra alignment and the benefits of letting go.