Deep and Playful: Dreaming of A Retreat That I Want To Attend… And Offer!

It’s kind of hilarious that every time I talk about a tropical retreat, I’m bundled up in a cold-weather jacket.

But honestly, that tracks. Because when I’m walking outside, cold air, nature, quiet, I start thinking about silence. The kind of silence you don’t get in regular life. The kind that takes a minute to settle into. The kind that reveals what’s been running the show underneath the noise.

That’s what’s been on my mind: silent meditation retreats, and the power of longer stretches of quiet.

For the first five or six years of my practice, I did a lot of longer retreats. Vipassana retreats. Insight meditation. Structured schedules. A ton of sitting. Some movement. Guidance here and there. Long hours where you’re basically turning your awareness inward and letting it tell the truth.

I had real insights on those retreats, beautiful ones. And I’m not gonna romanticize it. A lot of those retreats felt like the first three days were just suffering. Physical pain. Emotional churn. Restlessness. The mind throwing a full tantrum. And then, for me, something would shift around day three. The system would settle. The nervous system would soften. It felt like my whole being remembered how to slow down, like something in me finally unclenched.

It was deeply regulating. Deeply connecting.

And then the retreat would end, and I’d go back into the world. To be clear, the world is beautiful. But you know what I mean. After that much silence, everything can feel overstimulating. I remember coming out of a 12-day retreat once. A friend was teaching it and drove a few of us home after. I got in the car and it honestly felt like we were going 120 miles an hour.

I’m like, yo dude, you’ve got to slow down.

He looks at me like I’m nuts. Dude, I’m going under the speed limit.

That’s how sensitive and raw the system can be after extended silence.

Over time, here’s what I noticed. The insights stayed. They always stay in some way. They percolate. They change you. But the nervous system steadiness, the embodied integration, did not always translate from the seat to the street.

Then I went on a different kind of retreat in Panama. It was beautiful, deep, and playful in all the ways. But it wasn’t a silent retreat. And I found myself missing the silence.

At the same time, the playfulness hit me in a new way. Being on the beach. Getting in the water. Surfing. Laughing. Being with people in a way that didn’t feel like we’re all trying to be “good meditators.” It got me thinking, what kind of retreat would I actually want to attend?

Not the one I think I should want. Not the one that earns spiritual points. The one my whole system says yes to.

The honest answer was both. Depth and play. Stillness and aliveness. Silence that lets you hear your own truth, and joy that helps you remember you’re allowed to be human.

This is also the theme I’m living in right now: curiosity, surrender, purpose, and devotion.

Curiosity asks, can I meet what’s here without needing it to be different? Surrender asks, can I stop bracing long enough to actually receive the moment? Purpose asks, what am I doing this for, really? What matters? And devotion, for me, is not belief, not worship. It’s relationship. It’s the willingness to return again and again.

I shared something recently called a Letter of Devotion. It was basically a bow to the part of me that keeps showing up. The part that’s been through the rise and fall, the forgetting and returning, the noise and the clarity. Because devotion isn’t some clean, polished thing for me.

It’s messy as shit.

It’s the practice of coming back, especially when you’ve drifted. Especially when you’re tired. Especially when the heart has been disheartened by life, by community, by yourself. This retreat is an extension of that same devotion. A container where we can return together, without pretending we’re above being human.

I also think a lot of us have learned “depth” as effort. Like if it’s hard enough, it counts. If it hurts, it’s real. If it’s silent and strict and intense, it must be spiritual. And there is something profound about silence, no question.

But I’ve also seen the other side. People white knuckling their way through practice. Tightening around the whole thing. Treating meditation like another performance.

On the flip side, “play” can become avoidance. Endless stimulation. Endless movement. Never slowing down enough to feel what’s actually there.

So the question became, what if we build a retreat where depth and play support each other instead of competing?

Silence helps us listen. Play helps us integrate. Silence steadies the nervous system. Play opens the heart and lets life back in. When those two are woven together well, practice becomes something you can actually bring home.

The retreat is built around a rhythm that feels honest to how people actually live.

Mornings are for silence and practice until noon. We’ll spend that time in quiet, sitting and walking meditation, gentle movement, guided practice, and teachings that support insight and nervous system regulation. Not as a grind, more like a deep exhale.

Midday we break silence and share lunch. We take care of bodies. We reset.

Afternoons are for play and exploration. Some afternoons are wide open for rest, beach time, reading, napping, surfing, wandering, or doing your own thing. Two of the days include group excursions. One is a beach day with surf as an option. Another is a jungle trail walk, more of a stroll and explore than a hardcore hike.

Evenings we come back to the circle. Before dinner we’ll reconnect, decompress, and unpack the day together. After dinner, we take a little break and then return to practice with meditation, a short teaching, and a slower landing back into silence.

Quiet, nourishment, aliveness, reflection, quiet again.

A big part of why I’m offering this now is simple. I wanted to create a retreat that I would genuinely want to go on. I’ve had this dream for years, traveling with friends, teaching, practicing together, and it never quite came together the way I imagined. At some point I was like, okay, let’s create our own.

Not as some flashy “look at me” thing. More like, here’s what’s real, here’s what helps, and here’s a place we can remember it together.

Because community matters. Not in a performative way, in a rock tumbler way. We smooth each other out. We witness each other. We help each other come home. And honestly, I need that too.

This isn’t about escaping your life. It’s about remembering how to be in your life differently. It’s about devotion as care. Devotion as return. Devotion as “I’m willing to meet my experience, and I’m willing to practice.”

And it’s also about getting warm. Laughing. Floating in the water. Feeling the sun on your skin. Letting the body remember it’s allowed to relax.

Depth and play. Curiosity and surrender. Purpose and devotion. That’s the whole thing.

Gentle details, if you want them: This retreat is happening in Nicaragua from June 15 to June 20. If you want to learn more about the location, the daily rhythm, and what’s included, you can find the details on my site at josephclements.com under the Nicaragua retreat page. And if you’re feeling curious and want to talk it through, you’re always welcome to email me with questions.

With Gratitude,

Joseph

Written by Joe Clements — meditation teacher, musician, and founder of the Sit.Feel.Heal. Meditation Center in Santa Cruz, CA. For weekly talks, meditations, and upcoming offerings, visitsitfeelheal.org.