Welcome, dear reader, to another month of taking metta off the meditation cushion and out into everyday life.
“Metta Turns a Blind Corner” last month saw me putting one foot in front of the other and leading with love after a job transfer. This month found me simultaneously bartending for walking holiday guests and starting a metta speakeasy-of-sorts for my new coworkers.
If the term is new to you, a speakeasy is a place that sells alcohol illegally. They were originally called “speak softly shops”—as in never spoken of openly—and first emerged in Pittsburgh in the 1880s. Speakeasies flourished all over the US during prohibition, and interestingly made a resurgence a century later during 2020.
Before you start wondering whether this metta meditator has hung up her walking boots in favor of bootlegging, some background:
My previous article left off with the discovery that most of my new teammates had also walked away from bullying and toxic workplaces. After a few weeks of us all slowly exhaling and settling into our new staff accommodation and work routine, two more new starters joined us. At first, more helping hands were welcome. However, from their first shift something felt off. As I polished glasses and restocked the 1920s art deco bar while the guests ate dinner, one by one my teammates found their way to the bar for a silent scream and vent.
I offered what I had at hand: a listening ear, comforting words, a hug, and even a signature commiseration mocktail combining cranberry and orange juice on the rocks with a shot of lime cordial—either a dragon’s kiss or bite, depending on the amount of lime.
At first, I put the team’s mood change down to perhaps still feeling raw from their previous experiences, perhaps being in their early 20s, and perhaps the newcomers masking insecurity with bravado. It was hard to tell for sure as I was bartending blind around the corner from the dining area.
What was clear to see was their suffering.
Then a similar change happened in the staff accommodation. Our normally fun and friendly communal space turned serious and sour almost overnight. Wanting to give the newcomers a chance, I simply observed and waited for clarity.
Ever the practical soul, I thought that perhaps making everyone some room in the over-full communal freezer might help welcome everyone. I placed crates in a work chest-freezer, and asked everyone to transfer what they wanted to keep to the hotel while I defrosted our freezer in the hopes of breaking some team ice. The maneuver was easy enough, and I ended up throwing out two garbage bags of outdated and abandoned food alongside thawing years of frost build-up. It freed up a drawer for everyone who wanted one, and gave everyone one less thing to grumble about.
The team’s nightly sanity visits to the bar under the pretext of going to the bathroom during food service continued. I did my best to bless their distress, and provide metta on tap with a safe space from whatever the newcomers were triggering in them. And then I worked my first food-service shift and experienced the aggression and mind games firsthand. It was almost as if the Dharma was offering us all a do-over from the workplace toxicity we had just walked away from.
As I sat with what I was going to do differently this time, my first step was to speak up to management sooner and encourage everyone to do so too. While I felt believed for a change, the team dynamic continued to deteriorate and when I spoke up again a few weeks later—this time worried we were on the verge of losing staff—I discovered various reports hadn’t been escalated. I was too busy having everyone’s back to worry about who was covering their own and carried on holding a safe space for everyone to simply speak easy. I must admit, it felt beyond unfair after two weeks of everyone beginning to find their feet and courage again.
It was interesting to observe how everyone found their own ways of dealing with triggers. One teammate hilariously wondered whether, by provoking the newcomers into punching them, we could get maybe them fired? Another threw themselves into creating an altar for the Day of the Dead, while another offered to invite their minister father in for an exorcism! Some slept more, others less. Some ate more, others less. Some smoked more, others less. One colleague sadly described curling up in a ball on their bedroom floor to sob their heart out before deciding to resign. On the one hand, a common threat was uniting us. On another, I kept an open mind in case I was turning into one of the bullies I had just walked away from.
The newcomers continued their takeover, particularly of the communal staff kitchen. While I didn’t see the point in giving them the fight they were looking for, perhaps it was time to create even more space for metta? Chaos appeared to be winning the current battle, however peace eventually wins every war.
Along with blessing the whole sorry mess, I whitewashed the accommodation’s entrance, which was looking rather the worse for wear. Painting two coats during my day off sparked all sorts of reactions from passersby: some praised the refresh; others rolled their eyes. Some offered to help, others blanked me. Some chided me for mothering the team, others thanked me for taking ownership. What surprised me most was that none of their reactions mattered: I was having fun for the first time in too long, and that was all that mattered. This was simply my way of thanking the actual space for holding us, and inviting more metta in for a whitewash on all levels. Everyone was more than welcome to project whatever they wanted onto these newly blanked walls.
A few days later, I took myself on a day-long hike across the local common—land that local farmers have had the legal right to graze their livestock on since medieval times that is now owned by the National Trust and designated as a Site of Special Scientific Interest.
Those commons are also home to wild ponies that belong only to themselves.
As I let the sun and wind blow the cobwebs from what I had hoped was a fresh new start, I ruminated on the past year and the very real damage that playing “responsibility hot potato” can cause in spiritual and work settings alike. While I aspire to meet everyone where they are currently “at,” it saddened and angered me to remember the knock-on effect their lack of ownership had had on myself and others.
While I became hopelessly lost in the hills, I also caught sight of some wild ponies. And while I can’t claim any major “aha moments” that day, I also caught wind that my peace belongs only to myself. I can live it, share it, speak it, and even write it here month after month. But life is also ultimately a common, and everyone can only take ownership of their own.
I returned knowing that I had given my current teammates as well as the year’s lessons enough space in every sense; the time had come to host a metta speakeasy of my own before welcoming in the Year of the Horse.
And so, dear reader, whatever chaos may be encroaching on your own peace, remember to let metta speak softly and create fresh space until the war and 2025 ends.
Or, to metta-morphose Tori Amos’s song Winter about her relationship with her minister father:
Skating around the truth who I am
But I know the ice is getting thinHair is grey and the fire is burning
So many dreams on the shelfYou say I wanted you to be proud of me
I always wanted that myselfMetta says when you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
‘Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses have gone ahead
See more
Tom Lloyd, Long Mynd Commoner (Foundation for Common Land)
The Tori Amos Interview (YouTube)
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Book Review: Happy Relationships by Kimberly Brown
The Only Thing Left Is Magic
Doing Conflict Better
Buddhism and Conflict Resolution
