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Natalia Bojanic reflects on the awakening effects of retreat and finding the balance between meditation practice and the responsibilities of daily life.
Ironically, I am writing these words not from a place of stillness but in the midst of London’s bustle, with a restless mind that longs for the vast, open land of Crestone. The memory of Miyo Samten Ling (MSL), where I was blessed to spend two retreats, ten days in August 2024 and twelve in April 2025, reminds me of what it feels like to live with few concerns, wholly dedicated to Dharma.
Revisiting my retreats brings a mix of gratitude and, I’ll admit, a twinge of heartbreak. Gratitude for the gift of silence, simplicity, and solitude. Heartbreak because those days are so strikingly different from my reality of juggling two careers, a Master’s degree, a relationship, a teenage stepdaughter, family in Brazil, and all the movement of a modern city.
What surprised me most in both retreats was this: I didn’t miss my busy routine. Not one bit. The silence felt like home. The solitude was nourishing, and I found authentic joy in the smallest encounters: the deer grazing nearby, the song of the birds, the presence of a rabbit, or even a tiny spider. Maybe that’s an indication I did miss humans a little!
Though silence was the cornerstone of the retreat, a few interactions with others (via notes, emails, or brief encounters) were a balm for the heart. I remain deeply grateful to caretakers Sitatara and Aaron, who cared for yogis with such genuine kindness that I felt more looked after in the Colorado mountains than anywhere else in the world. I am honored to call them my Dharma sister and brother.
I am also deeply grateful to Eva Natanya, who welcomed me so lovingly and made these retreats possible. Eva’s generosity opened the door for what felt like quantum leaps in understanding. Concepts clicked, meditations deepened, and suddenly the Dharma felt less like an abstract ideal and more like an embodied possibility.
When non-Dharma friends ask me, “But why silence? Why solitude?” I try to explain that retreat connects me with something far beyond this body and mind. It reawakens the heart, sharpens clarity, and nurtures a sense of belonging not just to people, but to the environment at large. The blessings of conducive circumstances gently and gradually dissolve the boundaries between oneself and everything else. Even as the memory fades, I try to return to it often for perspective and wonder, like revisiting a favourite song that never really leaves you.
When it was time to return to the “real world,” I felt sadness to leave MSL and fear of losing what is most precious, so I asked Lama Alan for his advice on integration. He warmly offered two practical jewels:
Simple and completely doable, no mountain required.
My short retreats have inspired me to prepare for longer ones. Though the time is not yet ripe, I have set a timeline and a clear intention. Until then, I continue to build momentum through half-day retreats in London, week-long retreats in the UK countryside, and, most importantly, through the simple daily rhythm of practice at home. Just because the possibility of a long retreat is not here now does not mean preparation should wait.
And so, my Dharma friends, I leave you with this encouragement: don’t wait for “perfect” circumstances. Do what you can, where you are. Stillness can begin in the mountains, or in the messy miracle of our daily life.
Retreat is not only a place but a way of returning, again and again, to what is most real and true.
May we all find moments of silence amidst the noise and stillness in busyness.
