Day 9 felt strange—like standing on the edge of a dream that’s about to end. We were still within the silence, still deeply engaged in the practice, but a quiet awareness was dawning: Tomorrow, this silence will break.

The whole day felt suspended between two worlds.

We continued Vipassana practice with the same intensity—body scans, hour-long group sittings, observing sensations and staying equanimous. The technique hadn’t changed, but my relationship to it had transformed. There was no more impatience, no more struggling to sit still. Even when pain arose—and it still did—I observed it like an old friend just passing through.

I noticed my senses becoming sharper, more alive. The wind rustling the trees, the soft chirping of birds in the Budhanilkantha forest, the crunch of footsteps on gravel—all felt rich and profound in their simplicity.

But something else was surfacing too: gratitude.

Gratitude for the silence, for this rare opportunity to meet myself without distraction. Gratitude for Goenka-ji’s teachings, for the volunteers who cooked our food every day, for the strangers around me who had shared this intense journey without a single word.

Yet, in this silence, there was also a quiet fear. A fear of returning to the noise, to the world of opinions, screens, stress, and endless doing. Would I still carry this stillness with me? Or would I be swept away again?

The evening discourse was tender and hopeful. Goenka-ji spoke of the next day: “Tomorrow, you will begin speaking again. Speak slowly. Mindfully. Do not lose the awareness you have cultivated.” He also emphasized that the real challenge begins outside these walls—in daily life, in relationships, in difficulties.

It reminded me that this wasn’t a 10-day escape. It was a foundation. A beginning.

As I walked to my room that night, I stood still for a moment, looking up at the quiet stars over Budhanilkantha. No words, no thoughts—just breath, sensations, stillness.

Tomorrow, the silence would break.

But tonight, I was still here.

Completely here.