It still surprises me, the power that words have.

"Face the wall and sit down" took me right back to being the naughty child at school. But in fact it was a gentle instruction at the beginning of a meditation session. Apparently in many forms of Zen, meditators sit around the edge of the meditation hall, facing outward towards the wall. Well, I suppose if you are allowed to meditate with your eyes open, it would cut out a lot of the visual distractions.

Oh and there was indeed a visual distraction last weekend at the meditation weekend I was helping organise. Brother Michael to be precise. Even one of the three top people in the UK organisation said to him "Ninety three people are here, that’s a good number - a tribute to your pulling power!" But it wasn't just his looks, actually all three visiting monks radiated a gentle joy and totally unforced contentment. You could tell it was genuine, and not a sickly forced sweetness that Ive seen in parish churches on a Sunday morning.

OK so they are not Japanese Zen monks. Like all systems of belief, the Buddha's teachings spread around the world, morphing slightly on the surface to adapt to local traditions. So the samurai in Japan made it macho and tough. But these guys belong to a Vietnamese tradition, that has it roots in France now - and the top man there today knows the Western mind.

We were told to enjoy our breathing, to enjoy our meditation. "To breathe is to be alive, and being alive is a wonder."

Now that's a surprise. That throws a whole different mental feel to sitting down to meditate.

Then we were told that we didn't have to be perfect! But I always thought that was the nub of it - to strive for perfection and perfect mindfulness was the way to get to mental bliss. Err... no. It seems that we only have to do our best, and must do "enough". It is rather like - we were told in his voice with its musical quality and almost hidden Catalan accent - its rather like going to a banquet with a huge and glorious buffet on offer and pigging out till you feel sick. It is only necessary to consume and enjoy enough so that you do not feel hungry any more. Enough.

Well that took the pressure off straight away. But we were also instructed to enjoy the peaceful and lovely environment - mellow brick and stone buildings (old barns around a large open courtyard with a lawn) set in meadows on a gentle Dorset hillside - and to let go of all the worries and problems of our day to day existence in order to deeply experience the tranquillity of the place. A time for each of us for ourselves.

There were families and children there, but they had a separate programme of fun and events too. So parents could also have some "me" time while the kids romped in the fields and told stories in the Iron Age round house reconstruction.

I have not been very diligent with my meditation practice of late, so while I can sit still for the requisite time, I felt very sorry for my immediate neighbours who may have suffered from the nearness of my alternated excited mind and somnolence. I don’t think I snored.

Talking of snoring - its tolerated, even encouraged, during the deep relaxation after our delicious lunch. Imagine being stretched out comfortably on a sloping lawn, tucked up in soft blankets under a gentle sky, and being guided through a relaxation time. With plenty of silence between (apart from the snores!) I realised that one off my top rated bliss moments was being recreated (the one that is up there in the scores along with The Gateway Experience in my twenties and dancing a reel with a handsome man in a kilt) Half asleep - and definitely not on this planet – I was being sung to, they were Catalan lullabies softly sung by Brother Michael. Gentle haunting music with no obvious or predictable rhythm or tune. Having no previous conditioning (not as if I were listening to Bye Baby Bunting or something English) meant that no memories were brought up by this, so I could only respond at almost cellular level. Aaaahhh.

Despite spending much of the time there welcoming people, registering them and sorting out rooms and beds, making sure people knew where the loos were, and where things were happening (I had been responsible for booking all these people and keeping the records!) I found that the weekend had brought about a remarkable change.

It was only some time afterwards that I realised that there was colour in my world again and my natural mental state was one of cheerfulness and optimism. My extererior circumstances, (job etc.) hadn’t changed, and I hadn’t forced any change, but a smile came easily to me. I looked back over the summer and saw it as a dark time, and felt as if I were emerging from a gloomy tunnel.

It cant have just been the lullabies and the space to be quiet - I suppose (rather reluctantly) that it could have been all those things plus the sitting meditation time. And I thought I could get away with sitting quietly with a cup of tea just reflecting on life every morning. Seems not!