Illusions of Surrender

5 years ago, I went to India on a spiritual pilgrimage.

I had just graduated and I was seeking truth. Buddhism had helped me grow profoundly over the past 2 years, and I was deeply committed to it.

As I finished my master’s degree, my girlfriend chose to end our relationship. She felt like our paths now diverged.

I was deeply heartbroken and lost. I had thought we would spend the rest of our lives together.

In search of healing, I took refuge in meditation.

I began by volunteering in a 3-day meditation course for children. My youngest brother and sister were amongst the students.

Then, I joined a French Vipassana center, Dhamma Mahi, as a long-term volunteer.

Vipassana was my home as I grieved my past relationship.

I met other seekers with whom I felt seen and understood.

They had the same drive for self-liberation. We laughed, cried, shared, and encouraged each other on our spiritual paths.

I made many friends who inspired me and nourished my heart.

As December neared, a part of me was looking for a next step, a bigger one.

Life in the center was simple and beautiful, yet, I was yearning for more.

So I chose to do the wildest thing I could think of — to go on a spiritual pilgrimage to India. To follow the footsteps of the Buddha from his birth to his death.

And this, is where my illusions of surrender began.

Just after Christmas in 2019, my mother, brother, and I went to Dhamma Mahi for the New-Year’s retreat.

10-days in silence, where January 1st is celebrated in meditation.

This was my first retreat in family as well. My journey with Vipassana had inspired several family members to make the same leap.

It was a magical experience to share.

Although we were in silence for 10-days, there was an invisible bond holding us together.

At the close of the retreat, I had my ticket for India. I felt brave and confident, yet, I knew this would be a very challenging trip.

And, truth be told, it shocked me to the core of my soul.

I had read accounts of Vipassana pilgrims and how India broke them open.

I was seeking such an experience. Perhaps even enlightenment.

As you may sense, this is where things get tricky.

I arrived in Paris as a young man going on an adventure.

While I was buying some food and water at the airport, I lost my credit card on the floor. I searched my best, but eventually I had to cancel that card.

First sign from the Universe.

A little later, when I was boarding my plane, I was asked if I had a return flight.

In my zeal for self-actualization, I bought only a one-way ticket.

I told myself that I would surrender to the journey.

However, life doesn’t always work that way.

I desperately tried to buy a ticket going out of India, but the reception was bad.

So I got refused access to boarding and lost my ticket.

Now, a sane person would re-evaluate their choices and ask if they should persist.

I didn’t. This is where surrender becomes egoic obsession.

I found a place in the airport and bought a new over-priced ticket. I was going no matter what happened.

After 24 hours of flights and layovers, I arrived in Varanasi — the holy city.

I had been to India when I was about 7 years old. My mother wanted us to experience a side of the world we didn’t know about.

It was one of the most shocking experiences of my life.

I remember distinctly seeing children my age, naked, begging me for food.

That trip left a core imprint in my memory. I now knew how privileged I was.

I’m not sure why I went back to India. In a way, I wanted to prove to myself that I was strong enough.

Varanasi told me otherwise.

I have never been as overwhelmed as I was in my first days in India. Everything felt like too much.

I did not feel safe. My senses were overstimulated. What was renowned as one of the holiest places in India, did not feel spiritual at all to me.

This perspective, of course, was heavily influenced by how much in shock I was.

The city felt chaotic, dirty, noisy, and over-zealous.

It was filled by Indians with strong spiritual faiths, often to extremes.

After a few days of struggle, I decided to begin my pilgrimage with Sarnath — where the Buddha gave his first teaching after enlightenment.

I actually loved Sarnath. It was a breath of peace for me.

I was now surrounded by Buddhist pilgrims and monks — a recurrence that would follow me for the rest of my pilgrimage through India and Nepal.

I felt increasingly at home.

In my small hotel, I met a Japanese traveler called Sahaja.

She was one of the most unique persons I had ever met in my life. A free-spirited fairy. We ended up traveling together for the next few weeks.

I began meditating rigorously. After all, I was in India to practice in these holy sites.

My days mostly consisted of hours of meditation, interrupted only by watching the pilgrims and monks around me.

I loved observing their rites, chants, and devotion.

Looking back, it felt like a dream, a real adventure.

Personally, I come alive when I am thrust in the unknown, where I have no cultural references.

One night, by mistake, I drank water while I was showering. I only had a bucket of cold water to wash myself, and the temperature shock made me drink a small gulp.

This was my first, of many times, being sick in India.

For 2-3 days I had diarrhea and could barely eat.

Even post-recovery, my immune system was messed up.

In search of change, Sahaja and I took the train to Bodh Gaya.

I was now beginning to experience more of India. And train rides are my favorite way to learn about a culture.

Sahaja, however, felt a little insecure on the train. Several Indian men were staring at her and I stayed by her side as a guard.

Arriving in Bodh Gaya remains one of the most magical experiences of my life.

This is where the Buddha got enlightened — not a small deal.

It is one of the most sacred sites in Buddhism, attracting masses of monks and pilgrims from all over the world.

When I was meditating in the temple, near the Bodhi tree, I felt at peace. I was at home here.

But when I went outside of it, India woke me up again. I remembered where I was, and felt the same fears again.

The smells, noise, people… It all felt overwhelming.

I struggled to know who to trust in India. Most Indians who talked to me were either asking me to buy something or begging me for money.

And when you’re constantly being triggered, it’s hard to listen to your intuition.

Fortunately, I met other travelers with whom I bonded and felt safe.

A week later, I joined a more advanced meditation retreat at Dhamma Bodhi.

The energy there was unbelievable (intense would be a euphemism).

The retreat was hard. Really hard.

Yet, this was why I was there. I wanted no shortcuts.

I remember one session in the meditation cells (tiny meditation rooms), where I meditated 2-3 hours without moving once.

At some point, it was like my body stopped responding. A mix of bliss and mystery. I didn’t really know who I was anymore.

Vipassana retreats bring up deeply rooted “sankaras,” karmic imprints lodged in our bodies.

Negative karma, in order to be released, needs to be felt. Which often comes with great discomfort and pain.

The core of this path is to be “equanimous” with whatever arises — to not react, cling, or reject. We observe the coming and passing of all phenomena.

This is the path to liberation in this tradition.

There were many very advanced meditators in this course, particularly our teacher.

He had an aura that could not be faked. I often went to ask him questions, and it always felt like he was able to read my mind (he probably could).

Upon finishing the retreat, I was tired and relieved. Not much more enlightened, but proud of myself.

Near the kitchen, I saw a note on a sign-post.

There was an outbreak in China, a new virus, and Chinese citizens were advised to go home. This was February 2020.

Another sign.

I stayed in Bodh Gaya for about a month.

When I was not meditating, I was connecting with the unusual people here.

I became close friends with a forest monk who was around my age, and considered joining his monastery in Thailand.

I met a “sadhu,” an Indian monk who lived with nothing in nature, and had a little group of followers.

I meditated from dawn to sunset with monks and friends near the Bodhi tree. I even saw the Dalai Lama once.

I also became repeatedly sick and had the worst food poisoning of my life.

It was borderline dangerous. When I woke up to go to the bathroom during the night, I would faint on my way there. Again and again.

I was beginning to break physically, mentally, and emotionally.

A faint pulse in my heart started to question what I was doing.

Looking back, I feel like my head wanted to continue, but my heart wanted to go home.

I continued my pilgrimage in Sravasti, where the Buddha had his main monastery, and served a 10-day vipassana course. I was the only English-speaking volunteer.

It was a little surreal. I drank chai, made chapatis, and chased away the monkeys during meals (literally).

I then continued to Kushinagar, where the Buddha passed away.

At the same time, the news around Covid became louder and louder.

I was now very alone, in a foreign country, and a little lost on the inside.

I clung to meditation and my pilgrimage like a life-raft, afraid of what would happen if I let go.

Where the Buddha had died, I was also dying on the inside.

I began to slowly see my spiritual ego, the obstinate seeker that refused to listen.

Yet, the community of pilgrims and monks felt like home. I did not speak to them but their devotion gave me strength.

I persisted in my meditations.

A few days later, I boarded a bus for Lumbini, Nepal. My last stop.

This is where the Buddha was born. Where his journey began.

I felt bitter-sweet. My purpose was nearing an end. I could feel that all these hours of meditation weren’t bringing me any closer to life.

I was alone most of the time, seeking to free myself from suffering.

But was I actually living? Or trying to free myself from being human?

This was my tipping point. I had given all I could to this path, yet, my heart was not there anymore.

In a way, Lumbini was the conclusion of a chapter. I realized that becoming or living like a monk was not my path.

It was time to go back to the world. To live a human life.

My illusions of surrender revealed themselves.

Time and time again, I had forced my will. My body and life kept giving me signs to stop. Yet, I continued.

This was my biggest lesson — what appears as surrender can actually be your ego seeking control and meaning.

I do not regret my time in India and Nepal. These 2 months taught me lifetime lessons.

They showed me that hours of solitary meditation were not my path.

They guided me back home to life — to service, relationships, and humanity.

This does not mean that the path of meditation and retreat is wrong.

It is simply not my journey to authenticity.

All experiences are gifts if we can learn from them.

I may never go back to India.

But I will surely continue bringing spirituality into my daily life.