Welcome, dear readers, to another month of taking metta off the meditation cushion and out into the world.
Last month found me moving on from the meditation center where I’d been serving since last August. I applied the first part of author and podcaster Mel Robbin’s let them theory to my own metta meditation practice, as described in “Metta Lets Them.” This month, I felt ready to apply the second part of her theory, let me, in the run-up to the new Year of the Snake, the ultimate metamorphosis mascot.
After waiting patiently for nearly a month for my concerns for the meditation center and servers’ well-being to be acknowledged, any willingness to discuss these spiraled into a week of one-sided interrogations, accusations, and projections that culminated in being asked to leave with less than 24 hours’ notice for sowing the seeds of discord.
One fellow long-term server went so far as to scour the archives of this column looking for dirt, while another used my mother’s mental illness to categorically dismiss anything I was reporting. I like to think that all they ultimately uncovered was a pattern of speaking up about farm hosts abusing their power over the vulnerable volunteers in their care, and that any dirt they unearthed was 100 per cent organic. And while I wouldn’t wish my mother’s inner battles on anyone, bearing witness to them were my first and fiercest teachers of compassion.
Another long-term server later hilariously summed up the center’s handling of the whole debacle with this gem: “Metta, my arse!”
I surprised myself by genuinely feeling no ill will toward these textbook cases of willful blindness and character assassination as they unfolded. I felt no need to defend myself, or place anyone staying longer in the awkward position of taking sides. Instead, I opted for an Irish goodbye—leaving a gathering unannounced—applying more of Mel Robbins’ excellent let them wisdom: be responsible for telling people the truth, not managing people’s reactions to it.
On my discreet way out during the afternoon group sit, I bumped into a new arrival at the center’s main entrance. They had served a course a few months before, arriving in a very fragile state and giving me an unexpected tearful thank you on leaving for restoring their faith in humanity during their stay. It warmed my heart to see them again, now glowing from exciting travels. The site teacher, who had asked me to leave for sowing the seeds of discord, unexpectedly walked past our reunion, surprised to see me still giving a new arrival a warm welcome in spite of everything. I silently thanked the Dharma for this parting metta sanity check, and left the building once and for all, remembering more Irish wisdom from Yeats’s poem “The Second Coming”:
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold
Regular readers will know how much I appreciate the Dharma’s sense of humor, and actively look for it in everyday happenings. After enduring what had essentially turned into a modern-day witch hunt, it tickled me that my first instinct was to ask new local friends if I could stay with them on short notice, only to discover one is an actual white witch!
Arriving at their home later that day, I immediately felt shrouded in a sense of calm and acceptance that I hadn’t experienced in weeks. My hostess offered to sage me and, without knowing the full details of what had landed me on their doorstep, commented on just how much heartache there was to transmute—not just my own, but presumably the center’s too. My body basked in these peaceful new surroundings, and my inner momma bear, who had been looking out for others as best she could for weeks, slept a solid 15 hours.
Texts of concern, support, and even defense arrived, but it felt too soon to respond to all but my closest friends in case I inadvertently stirred up more aggravation. A week on, I reached out with a neutral update in the spirit that those who mattered wouldn’t mind and those who minded didn’t matter.
Back in the present, I enjoyed the company of my new friends, discovering that they were motorcycle enthusiasts. Over the next few evenings, I learned all about their beloved two-wheeled world. I was particularly touched to discover BACA, Bikers Against Child Abuse, an international charity aiming to create a safer environment for abused children. According to their mission statement:
We exist as a body of bikers to empower children to not feel afraid of the world in which they live. We stand ready to lend support to our wounded friends by involving them with an established, united organization. We work in conjunction with local and state officials who are already in place to protect children. We desire to send a clear message to all involved with the abused child that this child is part of our organization, and that we are prepared to lend our physical and emotional support to them by affiliation, and our physical presence. We stand at the ready to shield these children from further abuse. We do not condone the use of violence or physical force in any manner, however, if circumstances arise such that we are the only obstacle preventing a child from further abuse, we stand ready to be that obstacle.
(Bikers Against Child Abuse)
I also learned about Pagan handfasting ceremonies, and how to hold a space for couples to join for as long as love lasts using both human guardians and wards—a form of protection spell—to keep out unwanted energies.
And on a less serious note, it was fun to rediscover the joys of swearing, hugging, movies, and eating eggs. Every member of their family had struggled with their mental health at some stage in their lives, and the resulting “show, don’t tell” compassion they learned was palpable. Was it any wonder that I was feeling like I’d stumbled upon metta’s safe house only a few miles up the road from the meditation center?
One evening their son shared his prepper plans in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Charmed and impressed at how well thought out his strategy was, I teased that if it ever did come to pass, I would definitely be back. He sweetly said he would welcome my superpower of boosting morality. I didn’t have the heart to correct his slip of the tongue, and secretly thanked the Dharma for this reassurance after so many distorted accusations of breaking sila in my genuine attempts to uphold it.
A busy household, their garden and house plants were in need of attention. In the absence of an obvious next step and to give myself some let me time, I offered to prepare them for spring. We ended up driving five van-loads of debris to the local dump, and soon a brown blank canvas was revealed to welcome fresh growth for us all.
As I weeded, pruned, and dug out what was unwanted, both within and without, I listened to Mel Robbins interview author and life coach Martha Beck. Martha’s wisdom had helped me 15 years ago at another major life crossroads, and it was oddly heartening to listen to how messy leaving her Mormon background behind was in light of my own recent experiences. Two lines in particular spoke to this metta meditator: that we can out-love anything with kind internal self-talk and a “tell me everything” approach to our own hurts; and that when we’re under attack, rather than being a true reflection, like a mirror, the opposite is usually true.
I remembered how many times I’d been called a liar and worse in the last few weeks by people lying to themselves. I remembered how many times I’d been called fake and worse in the last few weeks by people lacking integrity within themselves. I remembered how many thoughts and feelings had been projected onto me by people out of touch with their own feelings. I remembered not once being shown compassion or consideration by those unable or perhaps unwilling to show any to themselves. And I remembered how many armchair diagnoses and worse I’d been labelled with in the last few weeks by people who hadn’t taken a good hard personal look in metta’s mirror.
Last month, I let them, the actual people involved, show me who they truly were. This month, I let me show me who I truly was, after my requests to take notes, record, or bring a neutral advocate to the proceedings were all denied. Far from sowing the seeds of discord, the opposite was—has always been and will always be—true.
One of my favorite movies to revisit while staying in metta’s safe house was WALL-E (2008), about a trash-collecting robot who falls in love with EVE, a visiting robot searching for sustainable life. WALL-E gifts EVE with a seedling he found, and all sorts of drama unfolds because of the threat that the seedling represents to humans until they are able to return it to a post-apocalyptic Earth in need of re-greening. WALL-E spends much of the movie covered in dirt, and so is labelled as a “foreign contaminant” each time he’s electronically scanned, until ultimately that same dirt ends up nourishing what comes next.
And so, dear readers, entering this new Year of the Snake, let us out-love the skins that need shedding for new seeds of metta to re-green any inner scorched Earth.
Or, to metta-morphose “Down to Earth,” Peter Gabriel’s song from the closing credits of WALL-E:
Did you think that your feet had been bound
By what gravity brings to the ground?
Did you feel you were tricked
By the future you picked?
Well, come on down
All those rules don’t apply
When you’re high in the sky
So, come on down
Come on down
We’re coming down to the ground
We hear the birds sing in the trees
And the land will be looked after
We send the seeds out in the breeze
Did you think you’d escaped from routine
By changing the script and the scene?
Despite all you made of it
You’re always afraid of the change
You’ve got a lot on your chest
Well, you can come as my guest
So come on down
Come on down
We’re coming down
Coming down to Earth
Like babies at birth
Coming down to Earth
Metta’s gonna find new priorities
These are extraordinary qualities
See more
Bikers Against Child Abuse
How to Find Your Purpose & Design the Life You Want (Mel Robbins podcast with Martha Beck) (YouTube)
Metta‘s Magic Tricks Part Two, Beyond Shadow and Light (BDG)
The Dangers of Willful Blindness – Margaret Heffernan (TED)
Why the Irish Exit Is a Mark of High Moral Character by Wil Fulton (The Thrillist)
Related features from BDG
Meditation as Medication: The Intersection of Buddhism and Mental Health
Book Review: Summoned by the Earth: Becoming a Holy Vessel for Healing Our World
Connecting from the Wise and Compassionate Heart
Buddhistdoor View: Winning Mental Health
The Dharma of Listening and Speaking, Part Two
