Welcome, dear reader, to another month of taking metta off the meditation cushion and out into everyday life.

Last month found me slowly thawing my functional freeze to rewire my nervous system in “Metta’s Reorientation.” This month found me volunteering at two further Kadampa centers, gently relaying the foundations for a new way forward for my body, heart, and mind, as well as my meditation practice.

Both centers are based in city centers, with ample green spaces out back and stunning nature reserves nearby. I arrived at both with an open heart and mind yet was pulled up short by the anything-but-peaceful atmospheres I discovered at both. Tensions between fellow volunteers and hostilities between residents further confirmed the theory I explored in last month’s article that perhaps dysregulated nervous systems unconsciously seek out retreat spaces in the hope of finding peace from the outside-in rather than the inside-out.

Having already committed my time and help, I honored my promises to both centers and supported the people and projects as best I could both practically and with metta—cooking, cleaning, leafleting, and bringing some light-heartedness to the heavy-hearted. While no one was overtly unkind to me, I was sensing that perhaps my new level of peace was “too much” for those around me. Having sat through my share of inner storms over the years, it was a good new problem to have.

And so, as soon as the day’s volunteering hours were done, my feet practically walked me out the door to go explore the nearby nature reserves to cool down during the UK’s recent heat wave.

One of the centers recently dismantled an air raid shelter in the back garden to make space for a new meditation hall. While everyone waited for new building approval, nature already reclaimed the new emptiness with wildflowers and grasses.

Something similar was happening inside as I wandered through forests and across meadows and along lake shores and canal towpaths, shedding outdated energies with each footstep. I genuinely had no idea where these epic walks were leading me. For now, they thankfully cooled me down, helped me sidestep center politics, and sleep more soundly. It was both a confusing and comforting new emptiness to find myself in, paradoxically not feeling the need to meditate formally yet feeling more aligned with the Dharma than ever before.

With each step, I blessed the earth and all beings that had walked that particular path before and would walk it after me. With each step, I allowed my body to orientate—a somatic experiencing term for noticing our surroundings. With each step, I allowed my mind to embrace sacred disorientation—a spiritual term for when getting lost is exactly what’s needed to find a truer self.

Some walks, my body ached.

Some walks, my body felt light as a feather.

Some walks, my heart felt heavy.

Some walks, my heart soared.

All walks, my mind had no idea what was happening.

Like with the years of faithful meditation practice I was currently putting to one side, I just kept showing up with the same dedication every day—come what may—blisters, sweat, confusion, and all.

It was then that I stumbled on the Ley Love Down Project reclaiming the Earth’s energetic meridians for love with song or dance or positive intentions. It was founded by Rachel Vaughan, one of the bravest humans imaginable. Growing up in Adelaide, Australia, she survived years of being sex trafficked via a network of underground city tunnels and used in outdoor satanic rituals. In hindsight, she understood that her abusers chose to perform their ceremonies above ground at the intersection of ley lines—known as portals—to deliberately invert natural energies for dark purposes.

I had heard of what indigenous cultures refer to as the Earth’s song lines and of the ley lines that dowsers map, but something about the language Rachel was using to describe both her traumatic memories and new passion project felt both new and familiar. Listening to her interviews on my walks, a fresh clarity to over a decade of metta meditation experiments emerged—not unlike dismantling an inner air raid shelter to allow nature to reclaim the new emptiness. And when I reached out to her privately by email to thank her for her courage and service and wicked sense of humor amidst horrific disclosure, she shared that overcoming her fear of singing in public as an adult made sharing her experiences seem like a piece of cake. Song lines, indeed! 

Dear reader, thank you for bearing with me as I have tried to articulate an unexpected inner detour that unfolded somewhere beyond words. What comes next will hopefully be easier to follow again.

With fresh clarity came a new call to metta action, simply flipping the script on what came before.

Whenever residents grumbled about the state of the center or the world at large, I made some communal food for anyone to enjoy or tidied a communal area drowning in clutter. 

They were small gestures, only visible to those ready for turning tides. 

One resident thanked me for a lunch they didn’t have to prepare, another for a laundry room where they could see the floor again. The fun part for me in performing these random acts of refreshed kindness was genuinely not caring who did or didn’t notice—no strings attached, no credit needed, no expectations held.

Supporting a course one evening, a local volunteer of several years walked out halfway through. I assumed they were feeling the heat or needed the toilet, and so stayed to the end. When I saw them again afterwards, I asked if they were feeling alright or needed anything. Out poured unexpected pent-up rage at the evening’s teacher and teachings. Remembering my own phase of wanting to punch a teacher last month and not wanting to involve the whole class gathering in the tea room, I whisked them to the meditation hall to let them vent in peace. 

When they’d said all that was on their mind and in their heart, I reflected back that I could see how upset they were feeling but confessed I was still too new to Kadampa to comment on the specific teachings that had angered them. I asked if perhaps another teacher might be better placed than me to clarify? To my surprise, they agreed and I went in search of someone who could help dismantle their particular inner air raid shelter. 

A few days later, another long-term local volunteer thanked me for how fresh the meditation shrine was looking. The poor tormas were feeling the heat, so I had cobbled together a discreet scaffolding with toothpicks to keep them upright. In turn, I complimented them on their artistry laying out the offerings. Out poured unexpected pent-up grief at feeling unable to meditate. Surprised by their confession, I asked to hear more about what they called “wind disease.” Apparently, long-term meditators can reach stages where energies feel so out of balance that they experience painful cabin pressure symptoms when trying to sit. Listening to their sorrow added an even greater poignancy to what I called their beautiful food mandalas. 

When they’d said all that was on their mind and in their heart, I reflected back what a wonderful private tutor they were to this newbie and how much deeper their compassion would be for struggling students when they felt able to return to teaching and meditation. I asked if perhaps they were open to hearing about some somatic approaches that were currently helping me? To my surprise, they welcomed fresh ideas after banging their head against an inner wall for years. A few days later, we went on a walk together while they told me wonderful stories about Venerable Geshe-la, the founder of the New Kadampa Tradition.

And so, dear reader, whatever unexpected detours you may find yourself feeling lost on these days, please remember to ley metta down one step—or sit—at a time.

Or, to metta-morphose former trainer for the British Army Ben Hawkes’s musical offering for the Ley Love Down Project he co-founded with Rachel Vaughan called “A Time to Rise:”

Ley metta down
Where they cross in the morning
It is time to rise
When we’re done
They are done (Ley Love Down)

See more

Let Love Down with Ben Hawks and Rachel Vaughan – Rock the Ripple (YouTube)
The Ley Love Down Project
Why Feeling Lost Could Mean Total Freedom – Kyle Cease (YouTube)
The Song (Ley Love Down)

Related features from BDG

What Moves the Pilgrim Without a Destination
Buddhism and Nature
Significance of Nature in Buddhism
Freedom in the Simple Joy of Nature