My Final Goodbye to Mettā

YOUR PRACTICE OFF THE MAT

Vol. 2 Issue 7

Six years ago, Carissa and Lindsay were preparing to launch Mettā. Three years ago, the pandemic hit and blew it to fucking smithereens, along with so many other things. Molly and I gathered what embers we could and worked cultivating the flame. Last year I took over sole stewardship of the remaining bits of the idea that was Mettā. This spring I knew it was time to let it go.  

An intense ride summed up in four sentences. Nice. 

 So, how do I close this journey down? I even thought about saying “fuck it. Don’t bother. At this point what difference does it make?” But for me at least, that didn’t feel fair to this thing that never was able to experience a proper sense of “goodbye”.

 I originally had a totally different post crafted a couple of weeks ago. And after re-reading it for the 203rd time, I scrapped the whole thing. Because honestly - I’m still not entirely sure what to make of it all.  

 In her book “Lost & Found: A Memoir” Kathryn Schulz writes “Grief confuses us by spinning us around to face backward, because memories are all we have left, but of course it isn’t the past we mourn… it’s the future.”

 Maybe that’s a person. An heirloom. A loved one. A relationship. A sense of identity. A purpose. A community. A dream. Whatever the “it” is you’re grieving, when you zoom out, maybe you notice that being in a space that is missing what is a part of you is what feels so unsettling.

In my yin yoga classes I invite students to move into the posture and then invite them to notice the negative space around their body. In that surrounding empty space, perhaps using a prop to support the body will help ease levels of discomfort or strong sensation.

How do you support the negative space that exists with loss?

The practice for me has been one of finding my breath and releasing into it. Being able to find space to breathe invites the present to slow down. You can start to carve out space to brush away the clouds and allow the sunlight to illuminate what remains. And what I find remaining is seeds left over from connection. The connection of shared story, purpose, community. All of it leaving behind seeds that I can carry that help me be a better version of myself.

The other night, night Noreen and I attended an event at Elements. It was hosted by Subcircle Residency and the aerial dance company BANDALOOP, who is in Biddeford showcasing their performance titled “LOOM:FIELD” today (Friday 8/18).

The gathering was one of shared storytelling. Attendees were invited to bring a textile that was important to us. It could be an article of clothing, an artifact, a piece of art, a cherished possession, anything to do with cloth or textiles. And then we each shared our personal story about the connection to the item.

It was a beautiful evening of storytelling (I still have goosebumps). The type of gathering where the metaphors came alive reminding us how we are connected through the vibrant threads of different life experiences. An amazing tapestry created by the connection points of our own beautiful individuality and unique life experiences woven together with common themes of love, support, growth, and community. 

 As I was reflecting on the event, I was reminded that through the Mindfulness practice we can choose which seeds we want to cultivate. And the seeds from Mettā that I choose to continue to cultivate are the ones of acceptance, gratitude, knowledge, joy, purpose.

 This doesn’t mean the big feelings associated with loss aren’t present. That’s because we can’t recognize joy without despair.  Sadness is felt because we also know gladness. You cannot know one, without the other. It is part of the cycles of life. But intellectually acknowledging that with a “yeah no shit” doesn’t make it easier when you are in the thick of. Or when waves that you thought long ago settled, are suddenly smashing into you again.

 But that is why you practice: Observe. Acknowledge. Choose. To be skilled with the practice of intentional choice. When clearer about what you are experiencing, it becomes easier to witness and move through the big, bad, hard feelings. It becomes easier to find the things will prop you up. It becomes easier to make adjustments that return you to a path of ease, peace, and equanimity (contrary to whatever recycled pop-Instagram-self-help-influencer-meme wants to tell you about “to be happy you must ignore the bad and only look at the happy” --- which is an absolute bullshit oversimplification to the Nth degree).

With each new moment is an opportunity. And what we can forget is that when we unravel our stories, you start to realize that you never truly know where your path will lead. Nor how the threads of different stories or experiences will intertwine with each other.  When choosing to move down the path with love, acceptance, kindness, compassion you will be more apt to be surrounded by that, as you will be living it. But it takes practice. Observe. Acknowledge. Choose.

And yes, just so we're all aligned - “easier” does not mean “easy”. 

So perhaps that is the biggest thing I’ve learned because of Mettā. Skills and tools and practices to bring about a little more ease into my experience. 

 At the same time I learned how to become a teacher. I experienced the unity of a shared community, grew in my relationships, and formed deep friendships. And that’s why the loss of all of it has been a master’s class in handling heartbreak even as the joy and warmth continues to be carried with me.

 So, as I think of how to say goodbye to Mettā once and for all, I am left with a simple answer. Just say:

 Thank You.

 For everything. Without you Mettā would never have existed.