While writing my last post about how Buddhist metta meditation can help you to develop an open-hearted stance, I realized how bizarrely Pollyannaish that idea must appear to the uninitiated. These days, mainstream culture pushes us to adopt a “cool” stance: don’t smile or say hello, never look enthusiastic, tune out with your iPod/Blackberry/cell phone as much as you can, and generally try to look as though you’re much more important and sought-after than the next person. In contrast, the idea of going about zapping passersby with little “May you be happy!” thought bubbles is SO not this millennium.

Too bad for us! What you can miss out on by adopting the coolness stance was apparent to me on a recent bus ride, when a young mother boarded the bus with her pre-toddler son.

As the bus pulled away from their stop, the baby crawled from his mother’s lap onto the window seat just in front of me. Chortling and cooing, he pulled himself up to standing so that he could look out the bus window. Just below us—what a fabulous development!—he saw that an SUV had begun to slowly overtake our bus. It inched along below the watching baby, who whooped and belly-laughed with delight as he observed this fascinating motion.

Next, the baby’s gaze shifted to a line of trees along the far side of the road. From our perspective, those trees were zipping northward at a tremendous rate. The baby was enthusiastic about this behavior as well. Laughing hard, he lifted himself onto his toes, then bounced up and down with enthusiasm as he watched the trees fly past.

How wonderful to be thus gladdened by events so ordinary that they normally are utterly beneath our notice! The baby needed no metta thought bubbles from me. He already was the soul of gleeful open heartedness—and the antithesis of coolness. How sad for us that somehow, little by little, we lose this happy way of being that we’re all born into.

May the baby be safe and protected. May he keep his glad heart, and never trade it for “coolness.”

I spent the evening of Boxing Day (Dec. 26) at a women’s transitional center, where other SIMS members and I host a monthly dinner. We gather at the center with the dishes we’ve agreed to bring, and serve a potluck-style dinner to the residents and staff.

Each month, this convivial dinner ranks among my very favorite social events, and December was no exception. On Boxing Day, we exceeded ourselves—hard to do, because everyone puts heart and soul into what they bring—with a savory pot of beef bourguignon, an array of vegetable dishes, a candle-studded centerpiece of Christmas greenery, and my own contribution of homemade gingerbread cookies.

Last month, for the November dinner, a fellow SIMS member had made and brought a beautiful braided loaf of challah bread. Knowing that a blessing is usually made over this bread as it is broken during a Jewish Shabbat dinner, she had suggested that we offer some kind of blessing or short meditation along with her loaf. And so I had led the dinner party in a Buddhist metta meditation that night.

On Boxing Day, I was delighted when two of the center residents separately asked me to lead a metta meditation again, and so I did. I could see that, like me, they had quickly come to appreciate the simple power of this heart-opening practice, taught long ago by the Buddha to his disciples.

And so I offer a metta meditation to you, if you’d like to try it. The verses are taught slightly differently by different dharma teachers. The version below is very close to one taught by Sharon Salzberg, who probably has done more than anyone to popularize the practice. Metta, a Pali word, is often translated as “loving-kindness,” and the meditation practice is meant to cultivate an attitude of loving-kindness toward everyone you encounter, including yourself.

First, turn your attention to yourself, and then say (to yourself, not out loud):

May I be safe and protected.
May I be healthy and strong.
May I be peaceful and joyful.
May I have ease and well-being.

Next, turn your attention to a mentor, and say (to yourself, not out loud):

May you be safe and protected.
May you be healthy and strong.
May you be peaceful and joyful.
May you have ease and well-being.

Next, turn your attention to a person or group who is(are) dear to you, and say (to yourself, not out loud):

May you be safe and protected.
May you be healthy and strong.
May you be peaceful and joyful.
May you have ease and well-being.

Next, turn your attention to someone you encountered recently, but don’t know personally (e.g., a grocery checkout clerk, or fellow bus rider)—and say (to yourself, not out loud):

May you be safe and protected.
May you be healthy and strong.
May you be peaceful and joyful.
May you have ease and well-being.

Next, if you’re feeling relaxed and open-hearted, turn your attention to someone who is difficult for you in some way, and say (to yourself, not out loud):

May you be safe and protected.
May you be healthy and strong.
May you be peaceful and joyful.
May you have ease and well-being.

Finally, turn your attention to all beings, seen and unseen, in all realms, seen and unseen, and say (to yourself, not out loud):

May all beings be safe and protected.
May all beings be healthy and strong.
May all beings be peaceful and joyful.
May all beings have ease and well-being.

As we were leaving the center at the end of the evening, another SIMS member and I talked about we've both come to rely on metta practice in stressful situations such as driving in heavy traffic or waiting in a traffic jam. For example, I turn my attention to other drivers—especially those I might otherwise form a judgment about—and say: "May you be happy; may you be safe and protected." If I'm waiting in a traffic jam with an accident ahead, I turn my attention to the unknown people who may have been hurt in the accident, and say: "May you be safe and protected; may you be healthy and strong."

Sharon Salzberg suggests the easiest metta practice of all: as you walk down the street, simply turn your attention to each being you encounter, and say to each one (in your mind, not aloud), "May you be happy!"

She also shows a photo of Burmese monks holding a metta banner.

So perhaps if we practice metta long enough, one day we all will be happy!

It's Christmastide. Outside my brother's house in Port Angeles, darkness fell hours ago, and a storm front has brought wet wind and rain. But inside, we are warm, dry, and full of good cheer and my sister-in-law's good cooking. A fire blazes in the woodstove, and lights blink on the tree. On the television, the choirs of St. Olaf's College are singing: "Sing we Noel, Noel..."

Back in Seattle, where the numbers of homeless people are growing and crowded shelters are full, thousands of people must sleep outside tonight in the cold and rain, as Paul Leighty explains in a Seattle P-I editorial. Fortunately, the City recently responded to rising criticisms and a campaign led by Real Change: it suspended its sweeps of homeless encampments in the city's parks and greenbelts. Until a few days ago, police officers had been making unannounced visits to encampments and removing homeless campers' personal belongings, often leaving people without the means to pass the night safely in the winter cold.

The first of many readers to comment on Paul's editorial characterized the homeless as either "lazy, crazy, or stupid." But it's worth giving a bit more thought to who is homeless today, and who has been homeless in the past. Today, for example, the Dalai Lama remains homeless in Dharamsala, India, far from his home in Lhasa, Tibet. Likewise, many of Tibet's greatest teachers are now scattered across the world, and the beloved Zen master, Thich Nhat Hanh, has lived in exile far from his homeland of Vietnam for the past three decades.

A little more than two thousand years ago, King Herod became fearful of rumors that he would be overthrown by the newborn King of the Jews. He began sweeps of his own, sending soldiers to kill male children under the age of two. Warned in advance by a dream, Joseph gathered his wife and child, and fled across the border to Egypt. Just like thousands of Iraqis today, this little ancient family escaped violence in their own country to became homeless refugees in a foreign land.

So as a young child, Jesus was homeless by necessity. Later, he became homeless again, this time by choice. We can only speculate about the reasons that led him to this decision. Perhaps the Prince of Peace understood how too many possessions can burden the spirit and harden the heart. Maybe he heard the voice of God in the desert.

We also can imagine how compassion for the dispossessed must have grown in him during the years of his own young life as a homeless exile. Perhaps if one is homeless and dispossessed for a time, as Jesus was, one can never feel superior. May Jesus' example inspire compassion and generosity of spirit to grow in our own hearts as well. Merry Christmas!

Weekend before last, I had a remarkable experience that I've been meaning to write down before the details fade in my mind. I hardly understand all that happened, but perhaps I'll come to understand more later:

8 Limbs Yoga, the studio where I regularly practice yoga, hosted a visit from Dungse Rigdzin Dorje Rinpoche, a high lama in the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, accompanied by a small group of monks and nuns, all accomplished in leading an ancient Tibetan healing ceremony called the Chod. They came to Seattle as part of a tour of US cities to offer the ceremony as a way of raising money for a medical clinic they are building near their home in India, Zangdokpalri Monastery.

I had no experience with the Chod, but I'm always curious about such things. Besides, a Tibetan Buddhist friend strongly recommended it, and the event flier included an endorsement by Sharon Salzberg, a beloved teacher in my Buddhist tradition. And I could benefit both myself and others at the same time! At first, I felt that I should sign up immediately. But then again, googling revealed that the young Rinpoche had only very recently succeeded the elder Rinpoche who had long been considered a great master of the Chod. And so I found myself wondering: would the younger Rinpoche be as good as his elder at leading the ceremony? Would I get my money's worth? Looking back now, I marvel at how readily I dropped into "shopping mind." But fortunately, I did sign up for the Chod.

From the point of view of a recipient of the Chod, everything's very simple. You just spend two afternoons rolled up in a blanket on the floor of the studio while the monks and nuns perform the ceremony, using chanting and a variety of musical instruments. I passed a very peaceful Saturday afternoon in my blanket, barely awake, as the first snows of winter fell outside the studio window. That night, I slept a sound 10 hours, feeling as though some sort of deep level healing had begun, and that my system was rebooting itself. Sunday afternoon passed peacefully as well, as the ceremony was completed.

Afterwards, we were invited to share a "small feast" with the monks and nuns--fruit, nuts, and other simple foods that we had brought in at the request of the monk coordinating the event, and that had been blessed by the Rinpoche. And then came an invitation to meet the Rinpoche in person. I had read about the etiquette involved: how one offers a kata--a white silk scarf--to such an honored person. And katas, along with other simple souvenirs, had been for sale in the back of the studio, so I had one.

We all held back bashfully, hoping someone else would go up first, but no one did. In the end I was the first to go up, scarf held out before me, feeling awkward and hoping that I wasn't committing any serious gaffes. The Rinpoche took the scarf from my hands, draped it around my neck and shoulders, and tied a protection cord around my wrist. I offered a Namaste salutation, and he offered a gentle half-smile in return. I returned to my blanket so that the next person could come up. We had not exchanged words.

Back on my blanket, I could feel a light energy playing across my body, and then I suddenly felt myself caught in a powerful flow of compassionate love. I don't know what it was, and had no sense of its source, but the words that come to me now are names like sacredness, Buddhanature, and Holy Spirit. In those moments, I also had an insight--very much as though I was being offered a teaching--that, although I work diligently to become a more compassionate and loving person, I had never been willing to direct that love and compassion towards myself. But the strong flow of love directed at me in those moments overwhelmed the defenses I had not realized I kept around my own heart.

The moment passed, the feeling faded. When I left the studio to walk downtown to my bus stop, the tall buildings around me, the traffic, the Christmas lights, all looked insubstantial, like ghosts or shadows. Back home, I pulled off the kata, to hold it in my hands. I marveled at how it felt--and still feels--full of healing energy.