Metta is a Pali word, usually translated to ‘loving-kindness’.
About two years ago, I started a training program on Meditation and Mindfulness.
Up until then, those three words, loving-kindness, meditation and mindfulness had no real meaning for me. I never used them, I had a vague idea about their meaning, theoretically, but I couldn’t feel them. When I started the program, the realisation that I had been practising a form of meditation nearly all my life as a way of soothing, calming my own nervous system soon became obvious. Music, sound, sport, contemplation, reading, writing were my go-to-feel-better techniques.
They are all used in one way or another in one of the formal meditation practices that exist in the different cultures and parts of the world we live in.
Each and every human being knows how to ressource themselves when they go through tough times - whether it is via the need for a silent and personal time or for a social bonding experience.
Mindfulness is a bit tougher - the subtle art of being present. The beauty of connecting to our senses in each and every possible moment. This was touching a sore spot for me. Opening the gates has been a funambule type of work since the very beginning of my opening to the world. I don’t like labels, and it is fair to say that recognising myself in the ‘hypersensitive’ etiquette was a bit of a revelation. Everything is too much - light is too bright, I can’t stand rough fabric on my skin (only silk and cashmere, Marie-Chantal), strong smells can make me feel sick, the clang of dishes gives me headaches, I am never at the right temperature. Taste is the only one I always allow to be open because it only gives me pleasure. Dealing with my sensations became a magic show, where I had to trick my own self into believing I couldn’t feel. I became very good at dissociating my sensing-self and my me-self. Imagine, I had to de-program myself and try the opposite route. Open them all and see what happens.
Flooded > Depression > Self realisation
This is where I met the Metta practice. I fought long, I fought hard, I fought relentlessly. All those sweet words like compassion, love, kindness, empathy, peace, resourcefulness, openness, harmony sounded way too lovey-dovey. The judgment was harsh at first, cynical, and sarcastic. Then I thought, I have two years of this stuff (I didn’t say stuff,you can imagine), I might as well give it a go and stop wallowing into my own delusions about humanity, life and the end of times. Metta, the art of being kind to ourself and others in any circumstances.
“It turns out that there are about a million books about compassion and love and some are not at all too bad... See, it starts working” - I told myself. I had half a toe in the water, the water was okay enough, and with all the re-programming I was onto with my inner-cognitive-self, I thought I might as well try and give it a go altogether.
Connection > Empathy > Acceptance
I started connecting with everyone in a very different way. I started recognising the fear behind the violence, the lack of trust behind the inquisitive neighbour, the shame and need for belonging behind the addictive behaviour. I started understanding with my heart.
Compassion - Cum-Pati > suffering with. The capacity to share the burden and help one another.
Sympathy - Sun-Pathos > Feeling with. The distanciation with one another, you keep your feeling for yourself, I keep mine for myself and we meet in between.
Empathy - In-Pathos > feeling in. The capacity to extrapolate, I can imagine what it feels like to be in your skin.
With the opening of the gates came the curse of feeling too much. Meaning - I didn’t just feel my own feelings too much, but the one of others too. What a shitstorm that can be.
Metta, the Art of caring. Understanding that caring for my sensing and my me-self was not egotistical but would allow me to care more about others. Self-compassion, the hardest and driest practice EVER. It was literally like walking through the desert of my own soul forever. Recognising my vulnerability, my own shadows, my darkest thoughts and overwhelming depression. Diving in the deep end of my cringy heart. Yuck…and trying to find the faintest, tiniest interesting pebble that I could take and say - « hey, you are pretty, let’s take you home. »
I found the tiniest, shiniest piece of onyx and many more colourful ones since.
I am glad I opened the gates.