Going into the darkness was terrifying. Facing the unknown abyss of your own soul.
Coming out of it was terrifying in a different way. It felt like being an alien walking through foreign terrain for the first time. Like being a fish given wings and pushed to fly through an overgrown jungle. Like entering the atmosphere from outer space.
Everything was overwhelming. The lights were too bright, the sounds too loud, the movements too fast. Maybe that’s what birth is like—violently pushed out of our peaceful existence into this strange new world.
It’s funny that it’s called “dark retreat”. Retreat. That sounds so soothing and relaxing. Five days in complete and utter darkness. Yes, you come out fully refreshed, calm, and invigorated. You just won’t know how calm, and how much time it takes to readjust to the numbing speed of life.
I feel life more intensely than ever before
This might sound beautiful—but it can also be overwhelming at times. I’ve gotten way more sensitive and attuned to my surroundings. I can’t handle things the way I used to handle them anymore. I can’t just put on blinders and go into bruteforce willpower mode.
This used to be my superpower. Steli Fucking Efti. Whenever I was faced with a difficult situation, adversary circumstances, inner resistance, I’d have a voice in my head that would shout at me: “Who cares?! Do it anyway!” And then I did indeed do it anyway, no matter how I felt.
I can still go to that place and operate that way. But very few things now seem worth it, because doing that to yourself comes at a high price. And it’s never how you do your best work, it’s never how you become your highest self.
Did you ever swim through a waterfall? The water forcefully pounds down on you, like a thousand fists, and all you hear is gushing white noise that drowns out everything else. It’s intense and overwhelming. Oftentimes normal everyday situations now feel like that to me.
A few days ago I sat on the grass in a park during a sunny day. This to me would have been relaxing once. Now it’s overwhelming—too much going on, too many people, too many voices, too much music, too much activity.
I sit in an empty quiet room. But I now realize it’s not empty. There’s so much going on. The wind outside. Reflections of light from passing cars. The sound of a dog barking in the distance. The softness of the couch. The coolness of the floor. The smooth lines of the wooden table underneath a layer of shiny lacquer. The massive heaviness of the black wooden frame around the mirror.
Or take things that are really loud and intense. Like driving a car.. You move through the world at a breakneck speed with a two ton machine made of steel, and everything screams at you.
The darkness exposes the intensity and fullness of life. It’s like a detox for all the things that numb us, it removes the filters that water down the truth. My doors of perception have opened up wider.
Staying in the present moment
I realize that I always hurry too much, am always too stressed, too afraid of not having done enough. There’s an incessant voice within me, 24/7, always asking: “What should I do next?”
The question what should I do next removes me from the present moment and triggers stressful thoughts about the future. I worry about what could happen if I do this, and what could happen if I do that.
Almost all my future thinking is just a manifestation of worry and stress.
Almost all my past thinking is just a manifestation of guilt and regret.
Why do I fill my life with these? What am I running away from in the present moment?
You can do a million things and never be present, because your mind is always on to the next moment, next day, next week, next year. While you rush through life, all the hours in it become utterly empty.
I knew most of this conceptually before my dark retreat. But in darkness,I had to open my eyes to the full truth of what this meant for my life.
Becoming gentler with myself
One of the biggest changes has been a growing tenderness towards myself. I still put so much pressure on myself, set such a high bar, and expect so much. All I want to do now at times of intense stress, is hug myself, love myself, breathe, tell myself it’s ok. Relax, Steli, slow down, you’re good. There’s no need to rush, you’re going too fast, you’re too tense. Just breathe. Everything is well.
Slowing down takes time
You’d think going slow is easy. But it isn’t. I’m so used to always going faster. Getting things done quicker. It’s a deeply ingrained habit, and there’s a part of me that objects whenever I slow down: “Slow? Why do you want to go slow? We’ve been trying to speed things up for so many years, and now you want to slow it all down?”
But the darkness forces you to do things slowly. You cannot walk while at the same time thinking about something else. You’ll run into things. Action in darkness requires presence.
In darkness, you do one thing at a time. You do it slowly. You don’t worry about the future.You finish what you start, since you can’t have multiple threads and loops open in darkness.
“Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.” - Navy Seals
I used to think that slowing down would mean I have to sacrifice progress. That it would come with a high price I’d have to pay, that I’d somehow become less in the eyes of society, that it would diminish my place in the world. I was scared of not being enough.
But darkness taught me that going slow doesn’t mean I’ll accomplish less. It doesn’t mean I’ll fall behind. It is quite the opposite. I can’t go anywhere worthwhile in a hurry. Slowing down ensures that I don’t blindly rush to places that will ultimately hurt me. It helps avoid traps, distractions, and dead ends. And in the end, I’ll go much further in life, and much deeper, by slowing down and progressing through life mindfully.