Category: Sunday Letters

The Constant Answer

Here’s my quote of the week for you. It’s from Neale Donald Walsh:

“What would love do now?
This is a marvelous question. It washes away all doubt. It bathes the mind with the wisdom of the soul.”

Tuck that one in your pocket and carry it with you everywhere you go. Start your day with it. When you let it guide your actions and words, you’ll be a joy to everyone you encounter. And when you remember it too late, it will show you how to repair whatever damage has been done.

Love comes in an endless variety of forms and can express itself in countless ways. An email a friend sent me a few weeks ago touched me with the insight the purest among us–our children–have about it. I stumbled across it again today and thought I’d share it with you. It made me laugh and it touched my heart, and I hope it will do the same for you. I’m sorry I can’t credit the source, but I offer my happy thanks to the person who compiled it.

Here it is. Enjoy!

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, ‘What does love mean?’

The answers they got were broader, deeper, and more profound than anyone could have ever imagined!

‘When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time , even when his hands got arthritis too. That’s love.’ Rebecca- age 8

‘When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.’ Billy – age 4

‘Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.’ Terri – age 4

‘Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him , to make sure the taste is OK.’ Danny – age 8

‘Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and just listen.’ Bobby – age 7 (Wow!)

‘If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate.’ Nikka – age 6 (we need a few million more Nikka’s on this planet)

‘Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.’ Tommy – age 6

‘During my piano recital , I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn’t scared anymore.’ Cindy – age 8

‘Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.’ Chris – age 7

‘Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.’ Mary Ann – age 4

‘I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.’ Lauren – age 4

‘When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.’ (what an image) Karen – age 7

‘Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn’t think it’s gross.’ Mark – age 6

‘You really shouldn’t say ‘I love you’ unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.’ Jessica – age 8

And the final one: The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman’s yard , climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, ‘Nothing, I just helped him cry.’

Wishing you a week where love guides you and fills your heart to overflowing.

Warmly,
Susan

Song for the Broken Things

For a few glorious days each autumn, the world sings with color. I make a point of visiting a large cemetery in a nearby town where ancient towering maples rise above the monuments and tombstones, blessing them with a rain of falling leaves. The maples’ massive boughs wear brilliant orange, scarlet, yellow, burgundy and lime that dance in the breeze and take your breath away with their splendor.

I pause now and the to read the names engraved on the granite markers, the dates that span the lifetimes of those they commemorate, some nine decades, some but a few days. Here’s a mother and father, their sons and daughters, some with their spouses and children, some without. And always I seek out the two near the center of them all that make me smile in their juxtaposition. The first one, a large marker, nearly four feet high, is engraved with the single name, “Jolly.” Behind it, the second one, equal in size, says “Moody.” When I found them, a ray of sunlight bathed Jolly’s marker, there beneath the orange trees, while Moody stood in the shade. Together, they make a poignant statement. And it seems fitting somehow that they’ll stand together until the granite crumbles away with their reflection of life-experiences: Both.

I read a poem this week by Alice Walker, “I Will Keep the Broken Things.” She describes mementos that she keeps on a shelf even though the vase is missing a piece and the woven basket’s side has a jagged hole. Then she goes on to say that she will keep the memory of someone’s laughter even though it is missing now. She thanks the broken things, the pilgrim of sorrow. And she ends by saying “I will keep myself.”

It left me with the same feeling as my stop by the markers at the cemetery. We’re all broken things, and we all have our bits of brightness and laughter as well. And we’re all worth holding in reverence. We all deserve to stand on a shelf of honor. Not because we’re perfect. But because we dare to be, to live, to weather the storms, even with our missing pieces and jagged holes, even when life steals our joy and leaves us standing in darkness.

Something larger and more ancient than us rises above us and spreads its roots through the earth on which we lie. And sometimes we get brief glimpses of its resplendence and feel its love, raining down like leaves on a light autumn breeze, whether we’re jolly or moody.

Be at peace. And whisper to the broken things, as Alice Walker did, “Thank you so much.”

Warmly,

Susan

Winds of Change

Here in west central Pennsylvania, it’s the week when autumn’s colors peak. Scarlet and golden trees glow from the hillsides and lawns, their leaves raining down in the breeze like love letters dropped from the heavens. Roadside stands have appeared with heaps of fat pumpkins and baskets of peppers, squash, onions, and tomatoes. In the fields, giant machines harvest the soybeans and corn.

Summer has slipped into memory, leaving its bounty behind. We gather it in preparation for what is to come. And here, in this moment of transition, I stand, awed, at the beauty of it all.

A mere six months ago, the trees and fields were bare, the hillsides wearing only the green of scattered pines. Patches of snow and ice still lingered as we searched the landscape for signs of spring. And now! All this bounty!

It just goes to show you that no matter how bleak the world may seem, miracles are unfolding, just out of sight. You just have to trust that everything has its season, and all of it has its own reason, however mysterious its reasoning may be.

On my window sill I have a rock engraved with the word “Change.” It’s my little reminder that change is the only constant in our world, the only thing that’s permanent.

The key to living with maximum joy is to accept the impermanence, to learn to dance to life’s changing rhythms, to welcome change as a revelation of who you are and what you value. It lets you tap your accumulated wisdom as you make choices about how to respond to its unfolding events.

Change teaches us not to cling to things, to be willing to let go of what we’re experiencing now so that we can embrace the gifts of the next now, and the next. It teaches us to be one with the present, open to all that it holds. It shakes us out of our dreams, waking us, alerting us that a spacious reality is beckoning, full of possibilities and wonders.

Change shows us that life is always in motion. Change is the music, and life is the dance.

The seasons change. The weather changes. All things come and go.

But remember this, too. Through your choices, you have the power to influence the direction of change. You can speak. You can be silent. You can act or be still. You can give or withhold. You can love or be unkind. And each of these choices makes a difference in the way that things will go.

Even when change is beyond your influence—day will follow night regardless of what you do—you have the power to accept and be open, or to resist and be imprisoned by your resistance.

I can see autumn’s beauty and be filled with awe, or I can mourn the loss of summer or dread the winter’s approach.

When I open to its beauty, it energizes me. I am one with its scents and colors, with the dance of the flying leaves, with this wondrous moment, with the realization that I am alive in it and a part of it, with all its drama, and it is a part of me. And all is well, and the next moment will take care of itself.

Warmly,

Susan

Remembering to Play

I finally got around to harvesting the herbs today–the lemon balm, the mints, the oregano. I put if off as long as I could. They have been delightful companions since they first popped from the ground all those weeks ago.

I let my mind drift back to those days. It was early spring. So many life-changing events have played out in the world since then that it’s almost as if we’re in a different corner of the universe somehow.


It’s hard to think about how life was as the year began. It is for me, anyway. I liked what we called normal in those days. I sometimes grieve its loss.  Now I feel as if I’m living in some kind of sci-fi, nightmarish, action-packed, heart-rending tragicomedy where everything is at stake. And there’s this huge war going on, a battle for mastery of the planet between what some call the Evil Empire and us, the Human Race. They’re after our minds and our souls. And the fog of war is thick; our perceptions and interpretations can be deceiving. The bad guys, who would enslave us, are sly and tricky beings. They come in many disguises, with marvelous tales. We have to be wise, continuously questioning everything, holding to our truest light when making choices. As I said, the bad guys are sly and come in many disguises. It’s amazing how smooth they can be at winning your trust.

The fragrance of the herbs catches my attention and snaps me back into the here and now. The dream world has vanished completely, instantly evaporating away. I hear the quiet purr of the dehydrator’s fan. The refrigerator is humming. The windows are dark now. Only the soft light from the pink LED amp illumines the kitchen. I hear a car pass on the road outside.

I’m making tea with some of the mint, and I take it off the heat to let it steep. I can’t resist pouring some into a little china cup to get first dibs on the taste.

A friend calls. His brother in California is buying an newer electric car, a Lucid Air or something. I remember that the name made me think of lucid dreaming. (Maybe this is all just one, big, shared lucid dream?) We talk cars, food, the arrangements in our lives designed to prevent the spread of the Rona any further. Somehow we get into talking about opossums and tell our possum stories. I tell him I brought my house plants inside. Summer vacation is over.

I walk into the kitchen after the call, carried by the fragrance of the drying herbs. I think of Modoulamin and say a prayer for him. I want to begin writing about all the things I have learned from our friendship. He’s been quite a teacher. Still is.

I take my tea to the table and seat myself at the keyboard there. What I had intended to tell you about in today’s letter was my re-discovery of a wonderful mind-hack. But then I got mesmerized by the fragrances and hurled into the dream. Anyway, here’s the hack of the day: Instead of saying “I have to,” say, “I get to.”  I used it today, and what a difference it made! Try it! You’ll love it!


Here’s what triggered it. I had been looking over my do-list at the pending projects that needed to be accomplished in the next 2-3 weeks. It felt a bit heavy and daunting. Later, I I ran across this wonderful quote from poet and naturalist Diane Ackerman. “Play is our brain’s favorite way of learning.”


Play! I’d forgotten how to play! “I get to harvest the herbs today!” I said to myself, remembering. And so I did. And how it felt like refreshing, joyous, meaningful play!

l will be enjoying the fragrance for hours and hours. It feels like a reward.

I’m going to sit down with my tea, turn on some social media and see what’s happening in our upside-down world now. I laugh remembering a cartoon I saw. A woman was pulling back her window curtain to reveal a rising sun. “I wonder what chapter of Revelation we’re on today,” she said.

At times, the changes do seem biblical.

But let me leave you with yet another quote about how to get through it all:

“Smile, breathe and go slowly.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

That’s beautiful advise. Life is good. Remember to play.

Warmly,
Susan

On Chickens, Eggs, and Infinite Worlds

Somehow my friend and I got into swapping stories about chickens. I was telling him that I got to eat a couple eggs this summer–the best I’ve ever had–that were less than half an hour from the chickens. He asked if the eggs were brown or white, and I told him they were green, a pale olive, but that I had eaten pink ones, too. And they all looked alike inside. (Sort of like people, hey?)

I didn’t know if one hen laid only green eggs and another the pink ones, or if the eggs would surprise you with their color every time one appeared, or what the rooster had to do with it all. I didn’t know, either, at what age hens began producing eggs, or how long a hen can live. Eating freshly laid eggs, I told my friend with a laugh, doesn’t suddenly turn you into a chicken expert.

Chickens are like anything else, I said. You could spend a lifetime learning about them. And some people actually do, learning whole universes of other stuff along the way. It’s one more instance of my observation that every door leads to an infinite world.

It’s true. Start anywhere, and one thing leads to the next, to the next, to the next. Tunnels lead to more tunnels or to a sudden flight of stairs. The roads make sudden turns. And it just goes on and on. Part of it, I think, is because we’re such curious creatures. We keep asking questions: How? Why? Always? What if? And the big one: What happens next?

We keep peeling back layers upon layers of information, spending minutes, hours, months, decades, every answer revealing yet more to be discovered, to be known, to be experienced. And it all grows us. We even get to keep the memories, and they themselves can be tunnels to explore. Isn’t that amazing?

“Every door leads to an infinite world.”

Part Two of that is, “Everything can be a door.” That’s because anything at all can wake you up to the moment, get you to seeing all the possibilities before you, asking what you want to make of them, which one’s are calling your name, singing the best music.

I heard once that it was a custom in a certain spiritual tradition to train its practitioners to become alert whenever they passed through a door. Maybe they had a bell suspended from their doorways to ring as an additional signal to wake from their thoughts and dreams. I don’t remember exactly. But it seems like a wonderful exercise.

Wake up and walk on. I like that.

Eventually, I suppose, you could discover that every moment is a doorway. that you, yourself, are a door, opening to an infinite world.

 Be curious as you go, and keep your sense of wonder. It’s all a mystery. Be humbled by its immensity, but celebrate the fact that you’re alive and perceiving, right in the very midst of it. Keep your senses of humor and adventure honed. You never know where your road may lead. Who would have guessed, for instance, that we’d get to these musings from a conversation about chickens and eggs?

Sending you smiles.

Warmly,
Susan

I Dare You

Sometimes when people are looking for inspiration, they walk over to their book shelves, pick a book, open it to a random page, then, without looking, let an outstretched finger drop somewhere on the page. They say they are often surprised at how perfectly the sentences they find that way fit their question or situation.

When I’m looking for inspiration, I sometimes use a high-tech variation of that method. I open the quotes folder on my computer, shut my eyes, swirl my mouse and open whatever topic it lands on. This week, it parked on “Daring.” It was exactly what I wanted, something a little bit, oh, invigorating.

I opened the file, and read the first quote on the page:

“Valor grows by daring, fear by holding back.” ~Publilius Syrus  

“Valor!” I said out loud. The word surprised me. It was a word I rarely use, but one that sparked an instant impulse to stand taller, to ready myself for whatever might come my way. I decided to look up ‘valor’ in the thesaurus and I found a whole parade of stalwart words:

Boldness. . . Courage. . . Derring-Do. . . Determination. . .

Don’t they make you feel bigger somehow? A little more adventurous and brave? And there were more!

Fearlessness. . . Firmness. . . Fortitude. . . Gallantry . . .

Grit. . . Heroism. . . Prowess. . . Tenacity

Yeah. Bring it on.

I went back to read the quote again. Be daring, he said. Holding back only grows your fear.

We have a lot of fear in our lives these days, a lot of anxiety and worry. His words are wise. Daring gets us into action. Taking action puts us back in control.

I read more of the quotes on the page:

“Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. To keep our faces toward change and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate is strength undefeatable.” ~Helen Keller
  

Ah, Helen Keller. This quote from her has long been one of my favorites. If ever there was a courageous woman, it was she.

“Think about how audacious it is to really believe in yourself.”  ~ Debbie Ford

“A single feat of daring can alter the whole conception of what is possible.”  ~Graham Greene

“Daring greatly means the courage to be vulnerable. It means to show up and be seen. To ask for what you need. To talk about how you’re feeling. To have the hard conversations.” ~Brene Brown

This was good stuff. It was giving me exactly the inspiration that I needed. Let me share some of my take-aways:


Dare to have
. . . the courage to speak your truth;
. . . the courage to say Yes;
. . . the courage to say No.

Dare to love your life.

Dare to begin.

Dare actually to like that someone.

Dare to be kind.

Dare to do it better.

Dare to cry.

Dare to laugh.

Dare to reach out.

Dare to offer help.

Dare to ask for it.

Dare to swim against the tide.

Let me give you a few last quotes.

“Success is loving life and daring to live it.” ~Maya Angelou

“It’s daring to be curious about the unknown, to dream big dreams, to live outside prescribed boxes, to take risks, and above all, daring to investigate the way we live until we discover the deepest treasured purpose of why we are here.” ~Luci Swindoll

“Dare to love yourself as if you were a rainbow with gold at both ends.” ~Aberjhani

“Rise up, start fresh, see the bright opportunity in each new day.” ~Anonymous

Dare to love your life, my friend.
Dare to expect the day to bring gifts.
Dare to keep going.

From my heart,
Susan

PS You can find all these quotes and more at: Wise Old Sayings, a fabulous site for us quote-ophiles. https://www.wiseoldsayings.com/daring-quotes/#ixzz6YJwdh0Pg

Living in Shock

On a video I watched this week the host was telling a story. It was about a man who had undergone the trauma of having his home destroyed in a fire. Three months had passed and he was in a new place. But it didn’t feel like home. And he kept remembering things he had lost. Lately, he had been misplacing things and getting distracted, forgetting what he intended to do. Time seemed strange. Sometimes whole hours were gone in a blink. Sometimes ten minutes lasted forever. He was moody, wavering between a tedious depression and itchy annoyance. It bothered him so much that he finally went to see a counselor.

“Well, Dave,” she said to him gently, “You have been living in a state of shock for three months. It takes time to get your bearings when your whole world has changed. You’re okay.”

The host said when he heard that story, it occurred to him that all of us have been living in a state of shock this year. The place doesn’t quite feel like home. And from time to time, we start thinking about all we have lost. Not only material things. Relationships. Beliefs. Whole ways of life.

You can get lost yourself, thinking about it. You can fall into a well of grief. And that’s okay. Loss hurts. It’s healing to grieve. It shows you how much you valued what you had, even if you never thought much about it. But don’t dwell in grief. You are still alive, for better or worse, and more experiences await you. And isn’t that what you’re doing here? Experiencing life in all of its textures and layers?

Somewhere this week I read this: “I always succeed. Either I win or I learn.” It’s a worthwhile attitude. Sure, sometimes the learning is painful. Sometimes the path is rough. But every moment of it is yours and enlarges you.

Another interesting item I ran across this week was the statement that your chances of being born were one in four trillion. I have no idea how that number was determined. But suppose it’s true, considering all the factors involved. Your being here is phenomenal!

And if you’re wandering around feeling distracted by the drastic changes in our world, it’s okay. These moments are yours, too. A whole lot of us, worldwide, are feeling the turbulence of the times. Life has become a seemingly unending series of shocks. Just take a breath, and realize there is vast beauty here, too, and kindness, and moments of laughter and joy. And above all, keep believing in happy endings, in the faith that, truly, the best is yet to come.

Warmly,
Susan

The Choice

A few years ago, my friend and I were busily working on a project together. We had been silent for several minutes, each of us concentrating on the work at hand, when she said, “Just think, in a little while this will all be a dream.”

That’s what Right Now does. It slides away into the dream world of memory.

I haven’t seen my friend in a while; she lives a couple states away. But I’m on my way to visit her, happily looking forward to seeing her garden and the chickens she got last spring when they were just fuzzy little peeps. Images of her face float through my mind, and the sound of her laughter—a delicious,musical giggle—plays like a soundtrack as I anticipate the visit.

Right Now holds dreams of tomorrows, too.

But there’s one thing Right Now has on our dreams of the future and of the past. It’s the only place where we can make choices and where we can act. Neale Donald Walsh has this to say about Right Now: “You are, always and forever, in the moment of pure creation. So create who and what you are, and then experience that.”

We can live in the stories about ourselves that we built in the past, or we can choose to frame who we are differently. We can be stronger, and wiser, and kinder, and funnier. Even if we don’t know how; we can pretend and act “as if.” We can decide to adopt an attitude of hope, or of forgiveness, or lightheartedness, or compassion. We can speak or be silent, watch reruns on TV or to go for a walk and see what the sky is doing. We can ask for help, or offer it, call a friend or make a new one. We can nap or we can play or do the work at hand with all the clarity we can muster. Right Now, we can be any way that we want to be. Because Walsh is right. This Now is a moment of creation.

Sometimes, if you just stop for a bit and look around you, you can let wonder flow in, the kind that you felt when you were a small child and everything was fresh and new. You can say, “Wow. Here I am, being human!” And then decide what sort of human you’d like to be Right Now. Awake? Dreamy? Energized? Amused? Brave? Patient? Grateful? Friendly? Hungry? We can imagine that we have the answers and choose to move in the direction that our truest inner self directs.

How do I want to be Right Now? That’s the central question. You always and forever have the choice. And then you get to experience the result, to try it on and see how it feels in the very next Right Now—which is always and forever happening. You can choose to do more of what you did or to try something new.

Some choices take work, and some take a bit of luck. Personally, I have a loose sort of rule to try anything at least twice. I figure if something didn’t work out the first time, maybe it deserves another try. Factors may have been at work that I’m not aware of. If I’m sad, for instance, and decide I’d like to be happier, I’ll put on a smile. If it doesn’t work, I’ll try it again. Sometimes I’ll even go for three times because I’ve heard that “the third time is a charm.” You can make up your own rules. That’s part of choosing.

The key is to remember that you always have a choice. Right Now truly is your moment of creation. It comes with being human. It’s part of the gift.

Right Now, I choose to send you love. Right Now, I choose to stand in joy. Join me?

Warmly,
Susan

Watching the Movies

The other day I realized that one of the things that has helped me keep my commitment to being a joy-warrior is my daily practice of meditation. I’d like to share a little bit about my journey with it today.

Off and on, I’ve been practicing it now for, oh, about 50 years. I had to experiment with many different styles of meditation before I discovered what works best for me. Along the way, I found a common thread. Now I think that meditation is sort of like going to the movies.

You settle into your seat and relax, ready to let go of everything for a while. You take a nice, slow breath and let yourself focus on a blank screen in your mind as the world around you fades away. Depending on the style of meditation you’ve chosen, you project your attention to one single thing. Maybe a colored geometric shape of some kind appears on the screen. Maybe you listen to a word or phrase or prayer repeating in different rhythms and volumes. Maybe you simply feel the movement of your breath, or if you’re doing a moving meditation, the way your body feels. You hold your attention on it. And after awhile, everything, even the object of your attention, gently dissolves.

The next thing you know, you find yourself all wrapped up in the scene of some inner movie, absorbed by its drama, your emotions engaged, your mind eager to see the next turn of the plot.

Then you remember. Part of you wants to keep watching the movie, to see where it goes. But a deeper part feels the call of your intention, and you take a slow, deep breath and let the movie fade as you focus once again on your chosen object of attention.

Sometimes a whole stream of little movies will play, especially if you’re stressed. But you keep remembering and beginning again. When you’re new at this, it’s easy to misjudge sessions like this, to label them as unsuccessful in some way.

They’re not. The movies are just mind-knots untangling, smoothing out the pathways in your neural networks so that peace can flow through. They play less frequently over time and get shorter before the remembering happens. It’s a matter of training. That’s why it’s called a practice.

If you’re an active person who likes always to be doing, meditation can seem like a waste of time. But the knot-untangling it does will allow you to do whatever else you do with greater clarity, effectiveness, and ease. Meditation allows you to experience a kind of inner spaciousness, and when you reconnect with your normal outer world, you engage with it more fully, with a more centered and authentic view.

If you’re a sedentary type, meditation will provide you with new insights about yourself and give you greater freedom to think more deeply. It will awaken you to the beauty of the ordinary, and provide you with new and more creative choices about how to spend your time.

If you’re already a meditator, keep on! If you’re not, trade in 15-20 minutes of squandered time to start. (Even you have 15 minutes of squandered time, you know.) The internet is full of how-to instructions. Feel free to disregard any attached philosophies or religions if they don’t appeal to you. It’s an ancient art. It’s picked up a lot of baggage along the way. Simply pay attention to the what-to-do, not the why, of it. I’ve already given you the gist of it, but instruction can certainly help.

In our tumultuous world, it’s a practice that provides you with a refuge, a rich and beneficial retreat. It’s healing. It strengthens you. It teaches you patience and presence. And it gives you a realigned perspective, allowing you to see a broader, more accepting, more far-reaching view of things.

For me, it’s a primary means of finding the light of true joy. And despite all the fits and starts as I learned it–through practice–I am deeply grateful that it has become an integral part of my life.

Warmly,
Susan

Links in the Peace Chain

One day this week when I was thinking about all the misery and conflict that ceaselessly rains down on us, suddenly a memory popped into my mind that made me explode with a huge laugh. I pictured the scene clear as day. I was with a group of friends and one of them asked Henry what he would say to people if he was king of the world.

He thought for a moment, got a ferocious look on his face, puffed himself up, took in a giant breath, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “STOP IT!”

I think we could use a King Henry today! We’ve all had about enough of this fear-filled, monotonous, rancorous routine.

Later, I ran across a much softer and more gentle piece of advice for affording ourselves relief from the oppressiveness of the times. It was an article on practicing loving-kindness meditation.

As I contemplated it, I thought about the idea that our realities, both personal and universal, rise from our thoughts. How we think about ourselves, the people in our lives and all the others in the world determines how we’ll behave toward them, how we’ll see them, how we’ll react to what they do. Collectively, our thoughts shape the world.

Mark Twain thought about this, too. Once he wondered, “What would happen if all the people in the world laughed at the same time?” Think about a time when laughter spread in sudden contagion through a room you were in. Nobody knew what so funny, but they couldn’t help but laugh because, well, it was just so hilarious to see everybody unable to stop.

I thought about the hundred monkeys story, where one day a monkey on an island starting washing his food in the sea before he ate it. The other monkeys copied him, and when the hundredth monkey joined it, the practice suddenly erupted on a far-away island, too.

What if practicing loving-kindness meditation worked like that? What if, by taking 10 or so minutes a day to send loving wishes to ourselves and each other, we became a link in a chain of loving-kindness that spread peace and joy all over the world?

It’s easy enough to do. I’ll show you in a minute. But first, here’s what loving-kindness means. It comes from a Pali word metta. Its meaning embraces the concepts of friendliness, goodwill, benevolence, fellowship, inoffensiveness and non-violence as well. In an article titled, “Metta: The Philosophy and Practice of Universal Love,” Acharya Buddharakkhita says, “True metta is devoid of self-interest. It evokes within a warm-hearted feeling of fellowship, sympathy and love, which grows boundless with practice and overcomes all social, religious, racial, political and economic barriers. Metta is indeed a universal, unselfish and all-embracing love.”

Sounds pretty powerful doesn’t it?

The process itself is simple. As with any meditation, you begin by relaxing in a comfortable position, with eyes closed, in a place where you can be undisturbed. Then, putting a gentle smile on your face, let go of any negative thought or feeling. Begin by saying to yourself,

May I be safe from danger; 
May I be healthy;
May I be happy;
May I live with ease.

Just breathe for awhile and sincerely wish yourself these blessings, repeating them until you feel satisfied.

Next practice sending your wishes for safety, health, happiness and ease to your circle of loved ones, imagining each of them one at a time and speaking your wishes to him or her directly in your mind.

The next stage is to move on to those people whom you know casually—neighbors, coworkers, acquaintances, members of your community.

And finally, you send your well-wishes to everyone, everywhere, as sincerely as you can.

In the article I read this week, the author suggested writing the words instead of silently repeating them. Writing, she said, can can instill them in our subconscious in a way that seems more effective than simply reading, hearing, or speaking them does.

Try whatever way appeals more to you.

Personally, I find the practice very soothing. It’s a way to stop the world’s madness from infiltrating your thoughts for a while. And with continued practice you’ll find your world truly does become a more peaceful, happier, friendlier place.

And who know what might happen if enough of us send wishes for well-being to ourselves and each other?

Certainly, it’s worth a try.

Warmly,
Susan