Hers: Beyond 54 Days

One of the many wonderful uses
for my very smart phone.

The last days of my metta practice included glimpses of desire; the desire to finish this project, the desire to stop repeating the same phrases over and over, the desire to return to my breath, the desire to just breathe...

Well, here I am, just breathing. I woke a few days ago with an excitement. Last days always bring first days. And I was excited about my first day of returning to simple breath awareness. A sitting practice focused only on the breath, nothing else. Without my beads, I use a timer. I sit for 15 minutes, 5 less than my metta practice consisted of. Why? I don’t know. I just do. Another habit maybe?

Watching my breath...it was nice...this subtle movement, in and out, sort of...

 

In my asana (yoga posture) practice I often use a soft and steady yogic breath called ujjayi. It has a way of settling and focusing my mind as I move. It also allows me to gage where I am in my practice; as my breath changes, it also teaches. Strained breathing might mean I’m pushing too hard. But this breath is light and gentle, not forced in its control. As my teacher writes, “Do not overly control the breath. Breathe through your nose with a light ujjayi pranayama breath. Not every breath is the same; allow the breath to be organic. By overly controlling the breath we become fixated on control and mastery of the body.” So I breathe soft, easy ujjayi breaths, until I don’t and then I do and then I don’t and on it goes.



About 2.5 minutes left...

And on it went in my sitting practice. Without even realizing it, I begin to develop this subtle breath control. Until it’s not so subtle and I notice my groins are tight and my legs rigid, as though I'm trying to hold my body just slightly above the ground. And the soft whisper-like sound of my breath, audible only to me is now like a roiling ocean heard a mile away. What’s happening here?

...We become fixated on control.

 

My days with the metta practice gave me something to do. Something constant, maybe a way to control my sitting practice. Over and over. May I be filled with loving-kindness. May I be well. May I be peaceful and at ease. May I be happy. There was a focus; yes, thoughts came and went, but there was clearly things to focus on, images, words. Now, just the breath.

 

If you sit and watch your breath for any length of time without controlling it in any way, you might notice that there are spaces between the breaths, little pauses before the next breath begins. I’ve noticed in these pauses that I often feel a sense of timelessness, a space being created that has the potential to hold all things, all possibilities. It’s a silence that is more than silence. It’s a space that allows for hearing, listening. That space then grows and extends into the movement of the breath. It’s here that “things arise," (said in a deep and authoritative voice). Habits and tendencies, deep and not so deep understandings, answers to questions I may be mulling over, a growing self-knowledge, an ability to see things with a bit more objectivity...

Yet, it seems I'm a little lost without my metta phrases, I'm having a hard time finding this silence. Instead, I'm forcing things, exerting my control over something that will only flourish if I let go of control. I see it in my breath, I feel it in my body. I'm reminded of a trip I took by myself many years ago. I drove from Rochester, NY to the west coast by myself. I took 6 weeks and stopped to visit a number of friends along the way. Before I left, I was so excited to set out on my own with no one to comprise with, no one else to focus on. Still each time I moved on from a stop I found myself feeling so alone, scared, and a bit sad. I had no one but myself. I feel that now without my metta phrases, alone, scared, and a bit sad. But as I learned on that trip, feelings pass and the silence of being alone becomes comforting and calming, a place of refuge, a place where I can listen to whatever arises....it just takes a little bit.

Hers: Reflections on Last Days

One of the last photos taken on our trip out west this summer...
the end of one adventure brining us into the beginning of another.

First days are exciting and last days are bittersweet…the last day of school, the last day of a job, the last day of a yoga training, the last day of sitting down with my husband to review his last self-created yoga sequence (we’re not quite there yet, but we will be some day!), the last day of my metta practice experiment…

 

...Today’s practice began like any other in these past 54 days. I woke, I flossed and brushed my teeth, I made my way into our yoga room, and I took my seat...

My metta phrases flow easily. I sync them with my breath. Inhale. (May I be filled with loving-kindness. May I be well.) Exhale. (May I be peaceful and at ease. May I be happy.) Over these days what began as about an 18 minute meditation has turned into about 23 minutes. My breathe has grown longer, my phrases drawn out. Often, Gary joins me. He sets a timer for 20 minutes. We begin our practice with three short bells; he ends his practice with two short bells. But I continued on, repeating my phrases until I come to my last bead.

From what I understand, there is a Zen tradition where a firm slap on the shoulder with a long, flat, wooden stick is used to bring the meditator back to the present moment. These bells that signal the end of sitting practice for Gary have become my sharp slap bringing me back to the moment for the last few repetitions of my metta phrases. I’d like to say that I don’t need them, that I am able to stay present with each phrase, but alas, I cannot.

Today though, on this last day, with my phrases and breath flowing easily and my focus single-pointed, I finish before the bells. I sit in total stillness, total silence, and feel the effects of my practice. I feel the calm, I feel the openness of heart, I feel glad to have completed my goal.

Has it changed me, these days of metta practice? Am I different from when I started 54 days ago? I don’t know. I’ve had some amazing experiences, some small insights. But they are so fleeting…I learn something and then it’s gone. I have some small realization, surely meant to change my life forever and then it slips away. What if everything we learned was like that?! As in, yesterday I learned how to tie my shoes; today I forget how. But, I suppose that's the way it is for a small child. And perhaps that is what we, who are on this path, are like, small children – learning more and more each day, yet repeating the same mistakes over and over, until one day, finally, what we learn sticks and our lives change just a little bit; we grow just a little bit. And so the adventure continues...

Today is the last day of this designated experiment, but not really. It's also the beginning of the next. Each day a first day, each day a last day.
 

Hers: Challenging Adventures and Realizations

New Adventure #1:
I woke lazily today. No alarm, no set plan for the first few hours of my day. I languidly slid out of bed at 7:30 to brush my teeth. Gary and I decided to walk downtown and check out the farmer’s market. Ahh, but no. “I can’t leave yet. Let’s sit first. Let’s not disrupt this newly formed habit.” Gary often sits with me, but not today. He took a pass. With my jeans and t-shirt on, I went into the yoga room, pulled out my beads and took my seat. I truly believe this is the first time I’ve ever sat in jeans. I’m usually in what I consider my pajamas or maybe yoga pants, or sometimes even a lounge-about skirt, but never jeans.

New Realization #1:
I started just as I usually do – directing loving-kindness thoughts toward myself. It’s almost like warming-up before a good run. I start slowly, focusing on myself, sensation, breath. So many days into my practice, almost near the end of my experiment, I’ve come to realize the importance of starting with myself. I’m not only wishing thoughts of love and kindness toward myself – that I may feel love, that I may feel kindness, but, and maybe more importantly, I’m cultivating the open-heartedness to direct these thoughts toward others, to behave with loving-kindness in all my relations. May I be filled with loving-kindness has become May I be filled with loving-kindness toward others.

New Adventure #2:
I mentioned to someone recently, “It’s been too easy.” I’ve learned over the years and through experience that as I set out to “work on” something, the universe has a wonderful way of presenting opportunities for me to practice whatever it is I’m working on. And it’s been too easy. Until this past week that is. Nothing crazy, nothing life threatening, but challenging experiences nonetheless. No need to go into detail, but suffice it to say, the universe has come through.  And more than once. Lucky me, I got to practice over and over until I got it (almost) right.

New Realization #2:
Each challenge that presented itself made its way into my practice. Really, it’s the presenter of the challenge who's been getting my attention. After warming up by directing loving-kindness toward myself, I bring to mind the image of my challenger. (I think of two opponents stepping into an Ultimate Fighting cage!) I then direct and direct and direct: May they be filled with loving-kindness. May they be well. May they be peaceful and at ease. May they be happy. Over and over. Minutes pass, the image fades, but on I go. When I really feel as though I’ve lost connection to my intention, I return to myself. Then back to my challenger, and on it goes until I finish. And I think it’s over. A day goes by, another, and then a new challenge…The entire process begins again. The thing to know is that these experiences, these challenges, they stay with me. There’s a reason they even make their way into my practice. It’s because I have yet to let them go. I feel bad. I am directly loving-kindness toward another in order to make myself feel better. 

New Adventure and Realization #3:
My most recent challenge occurred only just yesterday. And I think I'm getting the message. Loving-kindness doesn't just happen on the cushion in meditation practice. It happens, must happen, ALL THE TIME. In each moment and with every opportunity that is presented to us. It makes no sense to continually react to situations from a place of fear (read anger, defensiveness, antagonism) and then go home, meditate, and some send loving-kindness thoughts to someone after the fact, expecting never to be challenged again by them or anyone else. We've all heard the cliched definition of insanity....The only way I'm going to get different results is by behaving differently in the moment. And the only way I can behave differently in the moment is to actually be present in that moment. Present and available to whatever challenge is set before me. Present with each challenge or challenging person that is sent my way. Can I treat them with the spirit of loving-kindness in that moment? When I do, there's nothing to feel better about later. Can I see their suffering and respond with love? When I do, I can then direct loving-kindness thoughts and energy with ease and from a place of truth. I've had many opportunities this past week to do just that. Some of the times I failed, some of the times I didn't. But with these new realizations, I'm looking forward to my next adventures....

Hers: 40 days in...

Me waiting...
(In Ouray, Colorado: Bear Creek Trail)

40 days ago, I sat on my mat and began a 54 day metta practice. In the beginning, most mornings, some part of what's usually a 20 to 25 minute sit would be spent contemplating what I might write about and how that particular morning’s practice might translate nicely into a blog post. After shaking that thought from my mind (over and over and over), I'd find myself wondering if anyone read what I already wrote. Or wondering about what my day would be like and what I had to do. Or analyzing, analyzing conversations and experiences; deconstructing and reconstructing. Finally, I’d find myself waiting. Waiting for something that might translate nicely into a blog post. Or else just waiting, waiting for something interesting, maybe even spectacular.

Now 40 days into this experiment, I find myself just sitting down and repeating my phrases.
  May I be filled with loving-kindness.
  May I be well.
  May I be peaceful and at ease.
  May I be happy.
The blog is there, but it can wait. Work is there, but it too can wait. All of the things that hammer away on the door of my mind, they’re still there, but they can all wait.

 

Instead, as I sit and repeat my phrases, I’ve grown to know the feel of my beads. I know the feel of the spaces between them. I know for about how long I’ve been sitting by that feel. I know that only a few more repetitions are left when my right foot begins to tingle slightly. I know I’m about half way through when I have a single moment, perhaps a breath’s length of time, when I feel as though I could sit in this spot for eternity. In truth - it’s just after that moment escapes me and I reflect on it that the knowledge comes. And I mindfully return to my phrases. Drawn away from them only by the sensation of and in the moment, a growing intimacy with myself, my beads, my phrases. It's not exciting in the ways I thought it might be. It's not spectacular like the mountains of Colorado in July. But there's a deep calmness, a comfort.




Birdy taking her place on my computer,
although she generally prefers Gary's chest.
 

It reminds me of that sweet heavy feeling I have on those days I wake early, early, and roll over to find Gary and Birdy. Pile on, I say, pile on; Birdy on half of Gary's chest and my head on the other. All of it a miracle, an infinite wonder, like the feel of small, carved sandlewood beads between my fingers.



Hers: It's Your Practice



Me in a three-legged Dog Pose taken at Bandeliar National Monument
(Which, after seeing, I made Gary take another picture of another pose because I didn't like what I saw.)

I've been lax.

I haven't published a post in a week and a half.

My metta practice, thankfully, is solid. Each day, I wake, I floss and brush my teeth, I find my way into our yoga room, and I sit for my morning metta practice. It's now part my routine.

But still, I've been lax. My daily writing practice has waned. I've only jotted a few ideas, a few notes, bullet points of experience...

My practice has been weak. And I'm not too happy about it. Just like the picture above that I made Gary retake, I want to see something different than what is.

However......

Even though you say your practice is not good enough, there is no other practice for you right now. Good or bad, it is your practice.             Shunryu Suzuki, Not Always So

Hers: BatGrrl and Day 21 of Metta

 

When I was younger, I used to write. Lots. Journaling, poetry, prose, unfinished short stories, nonsensical musings, and all kinds of whatever flowed easily from my pencil. I never did much with it. I’d get ideas about doing “readings” or putting together performance pieces. But nothing ever really came from those ideas. That is until I met BatGrrl (name changed to protect identity). BatGrrl was a writer – what I considered a Real Writer. She’d published a couple of things and even put out her very own zine that was sold at the local hipster thrift-and-not shop. She wrote every day and always had something new to share, something fabulously funny or culturally relevant. She was smart, informed, creative, hysterical, and spontaneous. But best of all, she read my writing and liked it. She liked it enough that she put some of my pieces in her zine. She liked it enough that she encouraged me to keep writing, encouraged me to read what I’d written to others, to share it. More than she probably ever knew, BatGrrl was my greatest support. If she thought I could, then I could.

Until, one day…

We unintentionally yet explosively broke each other’s hearts, ending a friendship that maybe did, maybe didn’t need to end…A few years went by and those years seemed to heal the pain. We came back together only to break each other’s hearts again in a much more subtle way. Or maybe they never really healed. The how’s and why’s of that first heartbreak are irrelevant now. We were both doing what we thought we had to do.

It’s the second heartbreak that interests me today. Mostly because I don’t even think we knew it happened. It showed up in the time that passed. In the life changes, the moves, the loves, the loss, all unshared. For me – it showed up in the writing that stopped coming. And the irrational fear of reaching out. It’s been more than 9 years since BatGrrl and I first reconnected – a connection maintained only through the modern miracle of Facebook - more than 9 years since we’ve spoken. Almost as many years since I’ve written with any seriousness.

And then, day 21 of my metta practice comes along...

Everyday I’ve been sitting; I’ve been cultivating and realizing the open heart and compassion of loving-kindness. Almost every day, I’ve been writing, writing about my experience with the metta practice, writing about my relationship with my husband, writing about whatever comes to mind.

When we practice metta, we are open to the truth of our actual experience, changing our relationship to life. Metta – the sense of love that is not bound to desire, that does not have to pretend that things are other than the way they are – overcomes the illusion of separateness, of not being part of the whole. – Sharon Salzberg, Loving-Kindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness

And here on day 21, open to the truth of my actual experience, open to the truth of life, I receive a message from a dear old friend. A hand reaching out from years gone past. A hand seeking and offering forgiveness. It seems to me that loving-kindness and compassion are the seeds from which forgiveness grows, forgiveness toward others and forgiveness toward ourselves. Someone somewhere and everyone everywhere once said there are no coincidences. It is no coincidence that on day 21 of my metta practice, day 21 of a newly rediscovered and loved writing practice that BatGrrl reaches out of the darkness of our past and says hello and I say hello back...

Hers: Machine Thinking on Day 18

Day 18 of my 54 day metta practice. I recently came across this passage. It's been at the forefront of my mind the last few days each time I come to sit...

When you are walking along a path leading into a village, you can practice mindfulness. Walking along a dirt path, surrounded by patches of green grass, if you practice mindfulness you will experience that path, the path leading into the village. You practice by keeping this one thought alive: "I'm walking along the path leading into the village." Whether it's sunny or rainy, whether the path is dry or wet, you keep that one though, but not just repeating it like a machine, over and over again. Machine thinking is the opposite of mindfulness. If we're really engaged in mindfulness while walking along the path to the village, then we will consider the act of each step we take as an infinite wonder, and a joy will open our hearts like a flower, enabling us to enter the world of reality. -  Thich Nhat Hanh; The Art of Mindfulness

Machine thinking...

Machine thinking is the opposite of mindfulness.
Machine thinking is mindlessness.

 

Too often I practice this machine thinking. Machine thinking, doing, and speaking. I do it when I wash the dishes, when I do the laundry; I do it when I'm tired, when I'm irritable; I do it when I'm driving and when I have other things that I need or want to do. I see now, most clearly, that I even do it in my meditation practice, my metta practice. My multi-taking mind can easily have three or more thoughts moving along as I mechanically repeat my metta phrases, phrases that become something like soft music playing in the background. But am I really multi-tasking? Of course not. That implies that I'm actually getting something done as I'm doing it. My scattered mind, my machine thinking and doing mind, in the end, gets nothing done at all, nothing besides having sat in physical stillness for 20 minutes.

 

The purpose of metta practice is to cultivate the spirit of loving-kindness and compassion toward one's self and others. I need to be present in that process for that process to ever occur. Simply reciting the phrases, I'm coming to believe, doesn't really mean a thing. Just like the path leading into the village, to really experience the intention behind my metta phrases I must practice mindfully. I need to pay attention to these phrases as they pass through my mind. I must let all other thoughts come and go, not jump into the cab of whatever thought arises and take off.

Might I then consider each phrase as an infinite wonder?

(May I be filled with loving-kindness. May I be well.)

Might a joy open my heart like a flower as I enter the world of reality?

(May I be peaceful and at ease. May I be happy.)

 

I guess I'll try again tomorrow.

Hers: Reflections on Days of Metta

On a Monday:
I walked up the stairs at the studio and felt light, light in spirit – a deep inner peace, joy.
Did it last? Do moments like these ever?
Well, I suppose if they did we could, as my teacher has said, roll up our mats and go home.

The day was lovely, classes went smoothly, time with my private students rewarding, but these glimpses of what can only be called perfection are as brief as a breath.

And like the breath, we must notice them.


On a Wednesday:
Gary’s brother stopped by this morning at 6:20am. He was hoping that Gary would be awake and go golfing with him. Of course Gary was awake and of course he went golfing. These two things are givens. I came out of our room with a smile and an unlit candle, looking for a lighter.

“Helllloooo Brother.”

“Hellloooo Sister. Whatcha doin’? Meditatin’?”

“Yup.”

And off I go into the yoga room. I start my metta practice. It becomes a morning of men….Gary’s image appears. I direct to him. Then his brother, their dad, my dad, my stepdad, my brother, men that come to the studio, friends, more family….they come and go. I keep returning to Gary. His image fills my heart and I send that love to him.


On a Sunday: 
Some days, today, I feel strange directing these sentiments toward myself. I thought I had long gotten over that, back when I first explored metta work. But as I sit each morning, as I begin my sitting practice with "May I, may I, may I..," it seems so self-centric. Some days, I try to bring someone to mind, someone I love or someone who challenges me. But I regularly return to "may I."

Jack Kornfield suggests that we spend months focusing our metta toward ourselves. Months taking care of our selves before we turn our attention to others. Yet still...it sometimes feels strange.  

Hers: Metta for Us All (In Honor of Sergeant Mike Wilson)

I read an article in the Wall Street Journal a couple years ago. It was an article about the grand scale installation artist, Christo and his life after the passing of his wife and collaborator, Jeanne-Claude. While reading, I came across a line so poignant and beautiful that I copied it into my journal so as not to forget it. It seemed then and still does now an important idea to contemplate.

One of the less-spoken truths about grief is that you don't just lose the deceased person; you lose the person you got to be when you were with him or her.

....Today our community is in the midst of a small tragedy. Only days ago, Charlotte County Sergeant Mike Wilson was killed in the line of duty. The first officer to be killed by gunfire and only the second to have fallen in our county's history. Our small little city has been spending the last couple of days preparing for his memorial, our streets and trees decorated in blue ribbons to honor Sergeant Wilson's service and sacrifice. My own Thursday afternoon was spent wrapping the trees outside of the yoga studio. It's a strange thing - decorating a building, wrapping trees in ribbon, knowing that a family has been torn apart...because a family has been torn apart. I can only hope that our compassion somehow makes it to their hearts.

People die. Sometimes horribly, sometime peacefully. All that gets taken from them at death is probably of no consequence to them now. But what of those left behind? What becomes of them? Who do we become once they're gone?

You lose the person you got to be when you were with him or her.

I woke up the morning after decorating the studio trees and, as is becoming my habit, went into our yoga room for sitting practice. I took out my mala, took my seat, and after a few deep exhalations,  started reciting my metta phrases. As is also becoming my habit, I began my practice directing the phrases toward myself.

 

If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete. - Jack Kornfield

Soon, 10 - 15 repetitions in, Sergeant Wilson came to mind. I don't know that I've ever met him and the only image I have is what's being used in the papers and news feeds. His image made just a fleeting appearance. It was his family, his wife and children, that truly came to settle into my heart. I've no idea what they look like, no idea their age, hair color, no idea even if his kids are boys or girls. But I continued, "May they be filled with loving-kindness. May they be well..." What could they be going through? What are they doing right now? Who will they become?

You lose the person you got to be when you were with him or her.

The consummate multi-tasker, my mind repeated my phrases while simultaneously exploring those questions and then creating a story for a woman and family I've never even met. I began to answer my questions through this story. I answered them by putting myself into their place. What might I be doing?

Oh.... A deep sense of grief began to fill me, sadness.

I tried to focus harder on my metta phrases, pushing them out in their direction, whatever direction that may be. And then more broadly toward his extended family and friends, and then to all those whose lives he may have touched, and then to our entire community and all those who have experienced the loss of someone important in their lives. ALL of us. We all have, or no doubt will, experience that loss.

Who do we then become?

I'd love to end this post with some kind of answer, some kind of idea. But I don't know. I only suspect we're constantly finding out, constantly becoming who we will become.

Hers: First Day of Metta

First days are always exciting….first day of school, first day of a new job, first day of a yoga training, first day of sitting down with my husband to review his first self-created yoga sequence (still waiting on that one, but I know it’s coming and I hear it’s fantastic)...

...first day of metta practice.

My normal meditation practice is a solid and consistent 10 minutes, which I recently increased to 15. I’ve been a bit concerned about adding another 5 minutes. Not because of the actual sitting, but the time it will take from all my other morning activities: the all so important reviewing of email, catching up on the night’s Facebook events, looking at my cat, wandering about the house, you know – important stuff. But being the exciting first day of metta practice, I was able to let all that other stuff go and begin this adventure.

The mind is so incredibly amazing at its ability to multi-task…

I eagerly take my seat and begin to recite my metta phrases, synchronizing them to my breath. Not more than 10 repetitions in I start to simultaneously contemplate what I might write about in my next blog entry, wonder if anyone has read it yet, or even better – commented. Then I move onto planning my next workshop, wondering what it will be like sharing my knowledge of class preparation with Gary only to return to exploring how my metta practice will manifest off the cushion. And on it goes….When I become conscious of my wandering mind, I turn to the practice of “muttering” – softly repeating my phrases aloud. It helps me to refocus. And then, I’ve come to the last bead, 108 repetitions done. Asana (yoga posture) practice to follow, reviewing what I’ll teach in my morning class.

And then off to work I go…

My classes go smoothly and as happens in most classes, I adjust what I teach to fit the students that arrive. This is always a practice in compassion, empathy, and patience. I offer modifications and adjustments to hopefully meet the needs of the injuries and limitations that abound in the room. As we come to our final posture, Savasana, I see that for some, the discomforts are still there, preventing the release that Savasana brings. I offer as much support as I can and then let them go to find their own way.

Once I sit, I find myself wondering what more I could do or could have done. It’s then that my metta phrases come to mind. I close my eyes and try to envision all of the bodies before me and silently repeat to myself, “May you be filled with loving- kindness. May you be well. May you be peaceful and at ease. May you be happy.” I repeat it maybe 5 – 6 times. I open my eyes and see all of these bodies lying on the ground, still, relaxed, at ease….

Hers: The Project

Not too long ago, my teacher gave a talk on that website, Yoga U. I was excited to listen to it, so excited that I upgraded my data plan to a 5G plan with a personal hotspot (no cable, so no Internet access at our house) just so I could listen to it.

It was a good talk, exploring the connection between the subtle and physical bodies. I think. Truth is, even though I took notes, there’s only one thing that I remember clearly from that talk. He said, “20% of the time that a person comes to sitting meditation practice should be dedicated to Metta.” 

I liked that. I can work with that. It gives me and my mind something to do. 2 out of 10 times on the cushion: Metta.

Metta, a Pali word that translates to loving-kindness, is a traditional, Buddhist based practice. It’s used to cultivate loving-kindness both inward and outward, toward ourselves and others. It consists of repeating a number of phrases meant to bring peace, ease, and well being in body, mind, and spirit. I first came across the word and practice in a book written by Jack Kornfield, A Path with Heart. I was moved by the concept and brought it into my own meditation practice. To this day, I use the phrases offered by Kornfield, “May I be filled with loving-kindness. May I be well. May I be peaceful and at ease. May I be happy.” 

My first experiences with Metta practice were quite powerful. As Kornfield suggested it might be, it was a bit awkward directing these sentiments toward myself. I remember the first time I sat reciting my phrases; there was such a resistance - like a wall between myself and what I was saying. Finally I gave into it; it was then that my breath caught, my stomach tightened, and tears began to push themselves out of my closed eyes. But I kept with it and, over time, was soon able to turn my attention to others: family, friends, acquaintances, even people who challenged me (read annoyed the h&%* out of me). As a result, a lightness began to fill me. Not just in sitting practice, but for hours after. I began to see people in a new and different way. A knowledge and understanding came from a place deep within me. A direct perception. We all suffer. We are all trying. We all matter. We all deserve wellness in body, peace in mind and heart, safety, happiness.

And then my practice began to wane. I moved on to new ideas, new ways of exploring my sitting practice: watching my breath, regulating my breath, focusing my attention on sounds or sensations. These were subtle changes, but changes nonetheless.

I think of my first experiences with Metta practice and its effects with fondness, and even a bit of wistfulness. I remember the feelings of compassion and empathy that seemed to so easily flow from within me. (And my husband can tell you that compassion is a trait that I could definitely work on…)

I now return to this practice. I return to it not with the idea of recreating my first experiences, as we all know first experiences happen only once. But, I’d like to do a little research, an experiment. Dr. Carrie Demers, medical director of the Himalayan Institute, has said that that’s all we are ever doing – experimenting, collecting new or more data and hopefully making wise decisions with the information we collect.

So here’s my experiment: 54 days straight of Metta meditation.  I know from past experience that if I use a full mala – 108 beads – and repeat two phrases on my inhale and two on my exhale with one bead counted per breath, my meditation will be approximately 18 minutes long. So that means 54 days of 18 minute Metta meditation. My data will be collected on and off the cushion throughout my days. My findings will be published here, perhaps just as an exercise for my fingers or maybe for some random eyes that cross this page. This is my Svadhayaya project. Well, part of it.......