Should I go for PhD or not?
Basically, I participated Bali Usada Tapa Brata.
This is what happened. This is my story.
Day 1: The moment I realized I know nothing
I arrived at Centre Baturiti around 2 PM, sweating in the Bali heat. They handed me a room assignment and the rules: noble silence. No talking. No eye contact. No nodding. No reading. Nothing. It started a bit later at 8 PM.
I looked around at the other participants. Different ages, different backgrounds, different languages. One guy looked like he’d done this a hundred times. A young woman kept fidgeting with her water bottle.
That evening, we started with the most basic meditation: Meditasi “Konsentrasi” (concentration). Just breathe through your nose. That’s it. Sounds easy, right?
My mind wandered within 30 seconds. “Did I turn off my laptop? What if someone needs me? This floor is hard. Is everyone else doing this better than me? Why is that person breathing so loud? Am I breathing too loud?”
I opened my eyes slightly. The teacher was watching. I closed them again.
By the end of 45 minutes, my legs were screaming. My back hurt. My mind had wandered approximately one thousand times.
I thought: “Six more days of this?”
Day 2: When 4:30 AM became my new reality
The bell rang at 4:30 AM. In the dark, I stumbled to the meditation hall, still half-asleep.
The schedule was intense: meditation, fruit, meditation, lecture, meditation, lunch, meditation, exercise, meditation, snack, meditation, lecture, meditation, sleep. Repeat.
Around 10 AM, during a meditation session, my leg fell asleep. Then it started burning. The pins-and-needles sensation got worse and worse. I couldn’t move. We were supposed to stay still for 45 minutes without shifting position (they called it “Tekad Kuat”, strong determination).
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My brain started screaming at me: “MOVE! This is torture! You’re going to damage your nerves! MOVE NOW!”
But I didn’t move. I just watched.
The burning became tingling. The tingling became sharp jabs. The sharp jabs became… almost interesting? Like I was watching it happen to someone else’s leg.
When the bell finally rang, I stood up. My leg was fine. Nothing damaged. Just… my leg.
During lunch (still eating in silence, still not making eye contact with anyone), I caught myself smiling at my food. Just happy about food. When was the last time I was just happy about food?
Day 3: The pain that felt like sensation
By day three, the meditation shifted to “Kebijaksanaan” (wisdom meditation). Now we had to notice how the breath changes. The cool air going in. The warm air going out. The space between breaths. The temperature. The rhythm.
During breakfast, I noticed my tailbone. It had been hurting for months due to past accident. It got relapsed. I’d learned to ignore it, the way you ignore background noise.
But sitting there, eating food in silence, I really felt it. It hurt.
Here’s the weird part.
It hurt.
But I wasn’t suffering about it. I wasn’t thinking “This is terrible, when will it stop, why me, I hate this, I should see a doctor, what if it never gets better, I’m too young for back pain.” I was just thinking “Huh. That’s pain right there. Interesting sensation.”
52 Forms of Thought
That afternoon’s lecture was about the “52 Forms of Thought”. Pak Merta Ada showed us a diagram: 14 unwholesome mental states (ignorance, anger, greed, worry, ego, etc), 13 neutral ones (attention, concentration, perception, etc), and 25 wholesome ones (awareness, loving-kindness, compassion, wisdom, letting go, etc).
He explained how sensations trigger these different mental states. Pleasant sensations can lead to greed. Unpleasant ones to anger. But with awareness, we can choose different responses.
However, to simplify the process, the most important traits we must practice are:
- Concentration
2. Mindfulness
3. Wisdom
4. Loving-kindness
Turned out, during our meditation, we basically practiced those already. We concentrated our attention into our breath within the nose. Tried to be mindful of the “feel”. We tried to recognize the “change” (Anicca). However, when things did not seem to work as expected, we did not need to be too hard on ourselves. It has to be soft.
Anicca (अनिच्च)
“Impermanence is not a negative aspect of life. It is the very basis of life.” — Thich Nhat Hanh
Anicca means impermanence. Everything changes. Every breath is different. Every sensation arises, peaks, and passes away.
The pain in my tailbone? I started noticing it changed. Sharp, then dull. Throbbing, then steady. Present, then absent. Nothing stayed the same, not even for a moment.
This is why we suffer, Pak Merta Ada explained. We grasp at pleasant sensations, wanting them to stay. We push away unpleasant ones, wanting them to leave. But they’re already changing. They’re already gone.
I was beginning to understand the concept intellectually. Watch the change. Notice the impermanence. Don’t add stories to sensations.
But I didn’t yet know how to use this understanding. That would come tomorrow.
Day 4: Finding my sick writer
“Observe constantly that all things take place by change, and accustom yourself to consider that the nature of the Universe loves nothing so much as to change the things which are and to make new things like them.” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
Day four introduced “Merasakan Badan” (feeling the body meditation). We had to scan every single part: head, forehead, eyes, nose, jaw, throat, neck, shoulders, arms, elbows, wrists, hands, fingers, chest, stomach, back, hips, thighs, knees, calves, ankles, feet, toes.
Also the seven energy centers they called chakras.
It took 45 minutes to scan my whole body. At first, I felt nothing in most places. My left arm? Nothing. My right knee? Nothing. Just absence.
But then, in my chest, I felt tightness I didn’t know was there. Like a fist clenched around my heart. In my jaw, tension so strong it was making my teeth ache. My shoulders were up around my ears.
When had I started holding myself like this? How long had I been walking around as a clenched fist?
The Seven Chakras
Pak Merta Ada explained that chakras are energy centers in the body. Seven points from the base of your spine to the top of your head. I’d always thought of chakras as New Age nonsense, something people talk about at yoga studios between green juice cleanses.
But when we scanned these specific areas during meditation, something was different.
The base of my spine (root chakra). My lower abdomen (sacral). My solar plexus. My heart center. My throat. The space between my eyebrows. The crown of my head.
In my solar plexus, I felt a knot. Dense. Heavy. Like I’d swallowed a stone years ago and forgot about it.
In my throat, tightness. All the words I never said, maybe.
My heart center felt hollow. Not painful. Just empty space.
I don’t know if these are “real” energy centers or just areas where we commonly hold tension. Maybe there’s no difference. Maybe the body stores emotions in specific places, and ancient meditation teachers noticed patterns thousands of years ago.
What I do know, paying attention to these areas made me aware of tensions I’d been carrying unconsciously. And awareness, it turns out, is the first step to release.
Day 5: The day of self-healing and let go of anger
“Anger… is often more hurtful than the injury that caused it. … It is a vice that is purely voluntary.” — Seneca, On Anger (De Ira)
Day five: “Penyembuhan” meditation (healing). We actually were introduced this method last night. Now we directed attention to specific problems in our bodies. My tailbone. My tight shoulders. And other issues.
There were fewer lectures today. More meditation. Longer sessions. The exercise changed to something called “Olahraga Usada”. It was gentle, conscious movements that felt like tai chi mixed with prayer.
Applying Anicca to heal
Now I understood. Last time, I’d learned about Anicca intellectually. Today, I was learning to use it.
When I brought my attention to the knot in my solar plexus and applied Anicca, just watching it change without trying to fix it, something happened. Sometimes it tightened. Sometimes it loosened. Sometimes it moved. Sometimes it dissolved, just for a moment.
The same with my tailbone pain. When I scanned that area and watched with the understanding of Anicca, observing how the sensation shifted from sharp to dull, from present to absent, the suffering about the pain started to dissolve.
Not because I transcended it or became enlightened. But because I stopped adding stories to sensations. I stopped saying “This shouldn’t be here” or “This will never leave.”
I just watched it arise. Peak. Pass away. Arise again, different.
The pain was still there. But now I had a tool. Not to make it disappear, but to relate to it differently. To watch it change, knowing that change is the only constant.
This was healing. Not fixing. Not transcending. Just being with what is, knowing it won’t stay the same.
Don’t look back in anger
During the evening meditation, a face appeared in my mind. Someone who’d hurt me years ago. Someone I thought I’d forgiven, but apparently hadn’t.
I felt my chest tighten immediately. My jaw clenched. My breath got shallow.
Then I remembered the words, “Ego-reduction. Letting go of emotions. Throwing away anger. This is the best way for recovery. All diseases come from the mind.”
So I tried something. I imagined that person standing in front of me. I said (in my head, since we couldn’t talk): “I forgive you. I release this. I let you go.”
Nothing happened at first. My chest was still tight.
But I kept saying it. “I forgive you. I release this.”
Slowly, slowly, my chest loosened. Not completely. But enough that I could breathe deeper.
When the meditation ended, something had shifted. I couldn’t explain it. But something was different.
Day 6: Forgiving myself
“Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.” — Nelson Mandela
The instructor explained the method, we’d systematically send loving-kindness to different groups, expanding our circle of compassion outward. Starting with ourselves, then loved ones, then neutral people, then difficult people, and finally all beings.
For each group, we’d repeat: “May you be happy. May you be happy. May you be happy.”
To Myself
Think of yourself. Wish yourself happiness.
“May I be happy. May I be happy. May I be happy.”
It felt so awkward. So fake. Like lying to myself.
I’d been so mean to myself for so long. “You’re not good enough. You’re behind everyone else. Look at what they’ve accomplished and what you haven’t. What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you just figure this out?”
How could I wish myself peace when I’d spent years at war with myself?
But I kept trying: “May I be happy. May I be happy. May I be happy.”
By the tenth repetition, something cracked. Tears started flowing. Not sad tears. Something else. Relief, maybe. Or exhaustion from carrying so much self-hatred.
To Family
I thought of my dad, mom and sister. Their face appeared clearly in my mind. “May you be happy. May you be happy. May you be happy.”
My chest felt warm. This part was easy. Love flowing naturally, like water downhill.
To Someone I Love
First, think of someone you are closed with. Picture their face. Wish them happiness. Pick 5.
I thought of my girlfriend and some other friends.
“May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you be at peace.”
To Someone Neutral
Now think of someone neutral. Someone you don’t know well. Wish them happiness.
I thought of the woman who served our lunch every day. I didn’t know her name. Didn’t know her story. But she was there, quietly doing her work. “May you be happy.”
This felt strange at first. Why would I specifically wish happiness to a stranger? But as I repeated it, something softened. She was a person too. Carrying her own burdens. Deserving of peace.
To Someone Difficult
Now think of someone you dislike. Someone who hurt you. Wish them happiness.
My chest tightened immediately. The person from the past appeared. The one I’d tried to forgive.
“May you be happy.”
It felt like choking on the words. Like lying. How could I wish happiness to someone who hurt me?
But I kept trying. “May you be happy. May you be happy. May you be happy.”
Slowly, I realized something. Wishing them happiness wasn’t condoning what they did. It wasn’t saying “what you did was okay.” It was releasing my grip on the hatred. Letting go of the poison I’d been carrying.
By the tenth repetition, my chest loosened slightly. Not forgiveness yet. But space. Room for the possibility of forgiveness someday.
To All Beings
Finally: extend this loving-kindness to all beings. Everyone. Everything. Animals, plants, the entire universe.
“May all beings be happy. May all beings be happy. May all beings be happy.”
This felt vast. Impossible. But also somehow right. If I could wish happiness to the person who hurt me, to the stranger serving lunch, to myself, then why not everyone?
We’re all just trying to survive. All carrying something heavy. All deserving of peace.
When the meditation ended, I felt exhausted. Wrung out. But also lighter, somehow.
Breaking the noble silence
Around 12:00 PM, we broke the Tapa fast. We can talk. Dinner was back.
That evening’s lecture was called “Telenovela”. Pak Merta told stories about life, how he started his journey, and how seriously we take ourselves. People laughed out loud for some parts. Actual laughter, after six days of silence. It felt almost festive, like a celebration.
I wrote in my thought.
“I’m learning to say: ‘I forgive myself and everyone. I let go of everything. We all live with gratitude.’ I practice this sentence every morning at 5 AM when we start meditation practice. The atmosphere at Centre Baturiti made my heart calm and I could think more clearly.”
For the first time in maybe years, I felt calm.
Tomorrow would be the last day. The question wasn’t whether I’d changed. I had. The question was: could I keep this when I went back to the real world?
Day 7: Writing good energy
The final morning focused on “Latihan Sehari-hari” (daily practice). How to keep this going at home. In the real world. With phones and email and traffic and deadlines and all the noise.
We basically practiced, a simplified and aggregated version of what we have learnt. We also tried to apply loving-kindness in multiple ways as well to ensure we can sustain our meditation practice afterward.
Then, for the first time in seven days, we were allowed to share our stuff on the stage.
People shared their experiences, including me.
I realized, everyone here was carrying something impossibly heavy. And everyone was learning to put it down, even just for a moment.
What I learned
Something real happened in those seven days.
Not mystical. Not magical. Just… neuroplasticity. Brain change (or maybe a change of heart).
The clarity didn’t come from thinking harder. It came from thinking less. From quieting the noise long enough to hear what was underneath.
My tailbone still hurts sometimes. But I’m not suffering about the pain anymore. It came, but the pain was reduced significantly.
I’m still angry at some people. But there’s space now. Room to choose forgiveness instead of holding onto rage.
The PhD? I still don’t know. But I know I can trust myself to decide when I’m ready. Not when I’m panicking. Not when I’m comparing myself to everyone else. When I’m present.
For anyone considering this
You don’t need to believe anything mystical. You don’t need to be spiritual. You don’t need to already be good at meditation.
The research shows:
Pain relief is real and distinct from placebo (Zeidan et al., 2011, 2015, 2016)
Seven days produces measurable brain changes (Jinich-Diamant et al., 2025; Kozasa et al., 2018)
Loving-kindness capacity increases through brain activation (Hofmann et al., 2011)
You just need to show up and breathe.
May all beings be happy
I arrived at Bali Usada as a skeptical researcher with chronic pain and a PhD question.
I left with less pain, more clarity, and the realization that sometimes the most scientific thing you can do is shut up and pay attention to your breath.
The science explains how.
The experience explains why.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
VICKY FELIREN
*Dituliskan pada halaman https://feliren.medium.com/meditation-7-days-no-phone-noble-silence-ba3c8da021b3
