One day that changed. My hands were dripping wet from handling some particularly wet produce, and he rushed over with a paper towel for me to dry myself with. This simple act of kindness penetrated my heart. Tears welled up as I realized how often I had overlooked him, unconsciously making him invisible.

Some of us make certain parts of ourselves invisible.

Metta, or loving-kindness practice, teaches us that all humans have the same needs for safety, well-being, and freedom from suffering. To unconsciously make someone the “other,” to render them invisible, strips away this reality. And it separates us from the compassion, kindness, and love that naturally dwell in our hearts.

The remorse I felt after this encounter changed my loving-kindness practice forever. I began looking around the store when I went shopping, noticing the people who were stocking the shelves, working the cash registers, and sweeping the floor, and offering them wishes of kindness and well-being. Invariably, a friendly hello or a smile followed. As an introvert I often keep my attention to myself in public places, but these simple acts of acknowledgement broke me out of my conditioned patterns and created warm interactions. This was a new way for me to recognize and appreciate the interconnections we all share.

I’ve been doing traditional loving-kindness, or metta, practice for twenty years. The practice starts by offering kindness to people you find easy to love, then to people you are indifferent or neutral toward, people you may not even notice. Then you offer loving-kindess to people you find difficult, and finally to all beings.

Since my interaction with the employee in the produce department, I’ve changed the way I teach the practice. Now, when I’m offering a guided metta meditation, I ask people to explore what categories of humans are invisible to them.

Is it someone carrying a sign asking for help, or a houseless person? Do you overlook people of different ethnicity, ability, gender identity, women, or the elderly? When you see them, do you label them with biased stereotypes and assumptions about who they are? Because when that happens, their true humanity is invisible to you.

For your metta practice to truly embrace all beings, notice who may be unimportant to you or cause you to look away. Make sure to bring them into your practice of loving awareness. Buddha encouraged us to offer kindness to everyone without exception, even if it’s just a simple gesture or a smile.

In addition, some of us make certain parts of ourselves invisible. To make ends meet after leaving home at sixteen, I was a temporary worker going from job to job for years. I worked long hours, often for less than minimum wage. I felt completely invisible, even to myself. I went home at night deflated and dejected.

Finally I realized that I needed to see in myself what was invisible to others, to offer the love and kindness to myself that was missing. This practice of self-compassion helped me appreciate the inherent value of my humanity. It was the one thing that got me through.

This practice of including invisible people more explicitly in our metta practice is not a panacea for the systemic inequities in society, but a simple invitation to make visible and explore what has been hidden. May all beings be seen. May all beings be heard. May all beings be cared for with compassion and love.

The post Who Is Invisible to You? appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

Konda Mason: What a great question, and not an uncommon experience. Our world is filled with a plethora of wonder and beauty that ignites a sense of awe in so many ways. Walks in the woods, music and the arts, sitting on the beach… this human experience is truly a gift filled with an abundance of opportunities to feel a sense of stillness and peace in our lives.

What happens with Vipassana meditation is oftentimes the opposite of peacefulness. The mind can become so busy in the so-called “stillness” that we feel we are doing it all wrong and would rather read about the dharma than actually meditate!

Over time, as you bring your awareness first to the breath, followed by the body, feelings, and thoughts, insight into the present moment, absent of preference or judgment, begins to emerge in mini-increments.

If you hang in there, though, this busy mind can become the doorway to experience insight, which is what the word Vipassana actually means. Over time, as you bring your awareness first to the breath, followed by the body, feelings, and thoughts, insight into the present moment, absent of preference or judgment, begins to emerge in mini-increments.

These moments of insight are priceless! They can become an extremely useful tool in your everyday life as you navigate the internal and external challenges of being human.

So I recommend do both: enjoy your meditative experiences off the cushion AND keep your curiosity ignited to explore the possibility of transformative insights that may occur from a regular meditation practice. Good luck!

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Vinny Ferraro: How can we possibly meet all of the demands of modern life? We can’t do everything, and we can’t do much without some downtime. Otherwise, our heads can feel like they’re spinning as fast as the world around us. 

So, how do we prioritize spiritual practice within our schedules? And can we find other places in our lives where we practice just being?

How many times a day can I step out of my story and into direct experience?

It may help to redefine what meditation practice looks like. I understand the practice as one of arrival, a kind of homecoming if you will. In this way, it can be a great relief from the fragmented awareness of multitasking.

Ask yourself:

Are there moments in my day when I could check in with myself?  You might find there are opportunities throughout your day wherein you could offer your undivided attention.

How many times a day can I step out of my story and into direct experience? If lunch is part of your daily schedule, could you incorporate an eating practice? Close your eyes, turn your awareness inward. Slow it all down.

This embodiment, this kind presence, offers us different gifts than a formal sitting practice does. It helps us give our lives back to ourselves.

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Let’s try a brief exercise in resting the mind. This is not a meditation exercise. In fact, it’s an exercise in “nonmeditation” or open awareness—a very old Buddhist practice that takes the pressure off thinking you have to achieve a goal or experience some sort of special state. In nonmeditation, we simply rest the mind without getting lost in thoughts or emotions. That is all there is to it.

First, assume a comfortable position in which your spine is straight, your body relaxed, and your eyes gently open. Once your body is positioned comfortably, allow your mind to simply rest for three minutes or so. Let your mind go, as though you’ve just finished a long and difficult task.

We’re not looking for a particular experience. We are simply resting. We are aware that we are resting. That is the key: resting in the knowing quality of awareness itself.

Just rest…

Just rest…

When the three minutes are up, ask yourself, how was that experience? Don’t judge it; don’t try to explain it. Just review what happened and how you felt. You might have experienced a brief taste of peace or openness. That’s good. Or you might have been aware of a million different thoughts, feelings, and sensations. That’s also good.

This is simple, but not easy. This is so familiar, so close, that it seems too simple to be meditation. This knowing quality of awareness is with us all the time. All we need to do is rest the mind to touch into it. Simply resting in this way is the experience of natural mind.

The only difference between nonmeditation and the ordinary, everyday process of thinking, feeling, and sensation is the application of the simple, open awareness that occurs when you allow your mind to rest simply as it is—without blocking anything, following thoughts, or becoming distracted by feelings or sensations.

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We can train ourselves to walk with reverence. Wherever we walk, whether it’s the railway station or the supermarket, we are walking on the earth and so we are in a holy sanctuary. If we remember to walk like that, we can be nourished and find solidity with each step.

To walk in this way, we have to notice each step. Each step made in mindfulness can bring us back to the here and the now. Go slowly. Mindfulness lights our way. We don’t rush. With each breath we may take just one step. We may have run all our life, but now we don’t have to run anymore. This is the time to stop running. To be grounded in the earth is to feel its solidity with each step and know that we are right where we are supposed to be.

Each mindful breath, each mindful step, reminds us that we are alive on this beautiful planet. We don’t need anything else. It is wonderful enough just to be alive, to breathe in, and to make one step. We have arrived at where real life is available—the present moment. If we breathe and walk in this way, we become as solid as a mountain.

There are those of us who have a comfortable house, but we don’t feel that we are at home. We don’t want for anything, and yet we don’t feel at home. All of us are looking for our solid ground, our true home. The earth is our true home and it is always there, beneath us and around us. Breathe, take a mindful step, and arrive. We are already at home.

Uniting Body and Mind

We can’t be grounded in our body if our mind is somewhere else. We each have a body that has been given us by the earth. This body is a wonder. In our daily lives, we may spend many hours forgetting the body. We get lost in our computer or in our worries, fear, or busyness. Walking meditation makes us whole again. Only when we are connected with our body are we truly alive. Healing is not possible without that connection. So walk and breathe in such a way that you can connect with your body deeply.

Walking meditation unites our body and our mind. We combine our breathing with our steps. When we breathe in, we may take two or three steps. When we breathe out, we may take three, four, or five steps. We pay attention to what is comfortable for our body.

Our breathing has the function of helping our body and mind to calm down. As we walk, we can say, Breathing in, I calm my body. Breathing out, I bring peace into my body. Calming the breath calms the body and reduces any pain and tension.

Walking meditation is first and foremost a practice to bring body and mind together peacefully.

When we walk like this, with our breath, we bring our body and our mind back together. Our body and our mind are two aspects of the same reality. If we remove our mind from our body, our body is dead. If we take our body out of our mind, our mind is dead. Don’t think that one can be if the other is not.

Walking meditation is first and foremost a practice to bring body and mind together peacefully. No matter what we do, the place to start is to calm down, because when our mind and our body have calmed down, we see more clearly. When we see our anger or sadness clearly, it dissipates. We begin to feel more compassion for ourselves and others. We can only feel this when body and mind are united.

Walking meditation should not be work. It is very pleasant, especially in the early morning when the air is still very fresh. When we walk mindfully, we see the beauty and the wonder of the earth around us, and we wake up. We see that we are living a very wonderful moment. If our mind is caught and preoccupied with our worries and suffering, we miss these things. We can value each step we take, and each step brings us happiness. When we look again at the earth and the sky, we see that the earth is a wonderful reality.

We Are Not Separate From the Earth

We think that the earth is the earth and we are something outside of the earth. But in fact we are inside of the earth. Imagine that the earth is the tree and we are a leaf. The earth is not the environment, something outside of us that we need to care for. The earth is us. Just as your parents, ancestors, and teachers are inside you, the earth is in you. Taking care of the earth, we take care of ourselves.

When we see that the earth is not just the environment, that the earth is in us, at that moment you can have real communion with the earth. But if we see the earth as only the environment, with ourselves in the center, then we only want to do something for the earth in order for us to survive. But that is not enough. That is a dualistic way of seeing.

We have to practice looking at our planet not just as matter, but as a living and sentient being. The universe, the sun, and the stars have contributed many elements to the earth, and when we look into the earth we see that it’s a very beautiful flower containing the presence of the whole universe. When we look into our own bodily formation, we are made of the same elements as the planet. It has made us. The earth and the universe are inside of us.

When we take mindful steps on the earth, our body and mind unite, and we unite with the earth. The earth gave birth to us and the earth will receive us again. Nothing is lost. Nothing is born. Nothing dies. We don’t need to wait until after our body has disintegrated to go back to Mother Earth. We are going back to Mother Earth at every moment. Whenever we breathe, whenever we step, we are returning to the earth. Even when we scratch ourselves, skin cells will fall and return to the earth.

Breathing in, I know Mother Earth is in me. Breathing out, I know Mother Earth is in me.

Earth includes the life sphere and the atmosphere. So you don’t have to wait until you die to go back to Mother Earth, because you are already in Mother Earth. We have to return to take refuge in our beautiful planet. I know that earth is my home. I don’t need to die in order to go back to Mother Earth. I am in Mother Earth right now, and Mother Earth is in me.

You may like to try this exercise while you walk: Breathing in, I know Mother Earth is in me. Breathing out, I know Mother Earth is in me.

Paul Tillich, the German theologian, said, “God is not a person but not less than a person.” This is true of the earth as well. It is more than a person. It has given birth to millions of species, including human beings. Many ancient cultures believed there was a deity that inhabited the sun, and they worshiped the sun. But when I do walking meditation and touching the earth, I do not have that kind of dualistic view. I am not worshiping the earth as a separate deity outside of myself.

I think of the earth as a bodhisattva, a great and compassionate being. A bodhisattva is a being who has awakening, understanding, and love. Any living being who has awakening, peace, understanding, and love can be called a bodhisattva, but a bodhisattva doesn’t have to be a human being. When we look into a tree, we see the tree is fresh, it nourishes life, and it offers shade and beauty. It’s a place of refuge for so many birds and other creatures. A bodhisattva is not something that is up in the clouds far away from us. Bodhisattvas are all around us. A young person who has love, who has freshness, who has understanding, who offers us a lot of happiness, is a bodhisattva. The pine standing in the garden gives us joy, offers us oxygen, and makes life more beautiful.

When we say that earth is a beautiful bodhisattva, this is not our imagination. It is a fact that the earth is giving life and she is very beautiful. The bodhisattva is not a separate spirit inhabiting the earth; we should transcend that idea. There are not two separate things—the earth, which is a material thing, and the spirit of the earth, a nonmaterial thing that inhabits the earth.

Our planet earth is itself a true, great bodhisattva. It embodies so many great virtues. The earth is solid—it can carry so many things. It is patient—it takes its time moving glaciers and carving rocks. The earth doesn’t discriminate. We can throw fragrant flowers on the earth, or we can throw urine and excrement on the earth, and the earth purifies it. The earth has a great capacity to endure, and it offers so much to nourish us—water, shelter, food, and air to breathe.

When we recognize the virtues, the talent, the beauty of the earth bodhisattva, love is born. You love the earth and the earth loves you. You would do anything for the well-being of the earth. And the earth will do anything for your well-being. That is the natural outcome of the real loving relationship. The earth is not just your environment, to be taken care of or worshiped; you are each other. Every mindful step can manifest that love.

With each step the earth heals us, and with each step we heal the earth.

Part of love is responsibility. In Buddhism, we speak of meditation as an act of awakening. To awaken is to be awake to something. We need to be awake to the fact that the earth is in danger and living species on earth are also in danger. When we walk mindfully, each step reminds us of our responsibility. We have to protect the earth with the same commitment we have to protect our family and ourselves. The earth can nourish and heal us but it suffers as well. With each step the earth heals us, and with each step we heal the earth.

When we walk mindfully on the face of the earth, we are grounded in her generosity and we cannot help but be grateful. All of the earth’s qualities of patience, stability, creativity, love, and nondiscrimination are available to us when we walk reverently, aware of our connection.

Let the Buddha Walk

I have a student named Sister Tri Hai who spent a long time in prison. She was a peace activist I knew since she was in middle school. She came to the United States to study English literature before going back to Vietnam and becoming a nun. When she was out in the streets advocating for peaceful change, she was arrested and put in prison.

During the day, the prison guards didn’t like her to sit in meditation. When they see someone sitting in a prison cell solidly and stably, it feels a bit threatening. So she waited until the lights had gone out, and she would sit like a person who has freedom. In outer appearance she was caught in the prison. But inside she was completely free. When you sit like that, the walls are not there. You’re in touch with the whole universe. You have more freedom than people outside who are imprisoning themselves in their agitation.

Sister Tri Hai also practiced walking meditation in her prison cell. It was very small—after seven steps she had to turn around and come back. Sitting and walking mindfully gave her space inside. She taught other prisoners in her cell how to sit and how to breathe so they would suffer less. They were in a cold cell, but through their walking meditation, they were grounded in the solid beauty of the earth.

Those of us who can walk on the earth, who can walk in freedom, should do it. If we rush from one place to another, without practicing walking meditation, it is such a waste. What is walking for? Walking is for nothing. It’s just for walking. That is our ultimate aim—walking in the spring breeze. We have to walk so that we have happiness, so that we can be a free person. We have to let go of everything, and not seek or long or search for anything. There is enough for us to be happy.

All the Buddhist stories tell us that the Buddha had a lot of happiness when he sat, when he walked, when he ate. We have some experience of this. We know there are moments when we’re walking or sitting that we are so happy. We also know that there are times, because of illness or physical disability or because our mind is caught elsewhere, when we cannot walk freely like the Buddha. There are those of us who do not have the use of our legs. There are those of us who are in prison, like Sister Tri Hai, and only have a few feet of space. But we can all invite the Buddha to walk for us. When we have difficulty, we can leave that difficulty behind and let the Buddha walk for us. In a while the solidity of the earth can help us return to ourselves.

If we sit mindfully, if we walk mindfully and reverently on the earth, we will generate the energies of mindfulness, of peace, and of compassion in both body and mind.

We are made of body and mind. Our body can radiate the energy of peace and compassion. Our mind also has energy. The energy of the mind can be powerful. If the energy of the mind is filled with fear and anger, it can be very destructive. But if we sit mindfully, if we walk mindfully and reverently on the earth, we will generate the energies of mindfulness, of peace, and of compassion in both body and mind. This kind of energy can heal and transform.

If you walk reverently on the earth with two other people, soaking in the earth’s solidity, you will all three radiate and benefit from the energy of peace and compassion. If three hundred people sit or walk like this, each one generates the energy of mindfulness, peace, and compassion, and everyone in the group receives that healing energy. The energy of peace and mindfulness does not come from elsewhere. It comes from us. It comes from our capacity to breathe, to walk, to sit mindfully and recognize the wonders of life.

When you walk reverently and solidly on this earth and I do the same, we send out waves of compassion and peace. It is this compassion that will heal ourselves, each other, and this beautiful green earth.

Meditation: Walking on the Earth

Walk slowly, in a relaxed way. When you practice this way, your steps are those of the most secure person on earth. Feel the gravity that makes every step attach to the earth. With each step, you are grounded on the earth.

One way to practice walking meditation is to breathe in and take one step, and focus all your attention on the sole of your foot. If you have not arrived fully, 100 percent in the here and the now, don’t take the next step. I’m sure you can take a step like that because there is buddhanature in you. Buddhanature is the capacity of being aware of what is going on. It is what allows you to recognize what you are doing in the current moment and to say to yourself, I am alive, I am taking a step. Anyone can do this. There is a buddha in every one of us, and we should allow the buddha to walk.

While walking, practice conscious breathing by counting steps. Notice each breath and the number of steps you take as you breathe in and as you breathe out. Don’t try to control your breathing. Allow your lungs as much time and air as they need, and simply notice how many steps you take as your lungs fill up and how many you take as they empty, mindful of both your breath and your steps. The link is the counting.

When you walk uphill or downhill, the number of steps per breath will change. Always follow the needs of your lungs. You may notice that your exhalation is longer than your inhalation. You might find that you take three steps during your in-breath and four steps during your out-breath, or two steps, then three steps. If this is comfortable for you, please enjoy practicing this way. You can also try making the in-breath and the out-breath the same length, so that you take three steps with your in-breath and three with your out-breath. Keep walking and you will find the natural connection between your breath and your steps.

Don’t forget to practice smiling. Your half-smile will bring calm and delight to your steps and your breath, and help sustain your attention. After practicing for half an hour or an hour, you will find that your breath, your steps, your counting, and your half-smile all blend together in a marvelous balance of mindfulness. Each step grounds us in the solidity of the earth. With each step we fully arrive in the present moment.

Walking Meditation Poem

I take refuge in Mother Earth.
Every breath, every step
manifests our love.
Every breath brings happiness.
Every step brings happiness.
I see the whole cosmos in the earth.

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Here, Ram Dass takes us on guided meditation journeys into awareness, the breath, and oneness with it all. 

Awareness Meditation

Sit quietly and be aware. Be aware of the sound. Be aware of the sun and the feeling of the warmth on your head and your skin. Be aware of the feelings in your body, of the children’s voices, the clear smell of the air. Be aware of this moment in history. Be aware of this in context—that it’s this day, this month, this year, and everything each one of those things implies.

Sitting here in your awareness, be aware of the earth upon which you sit and its age relative to our history. Know that the ocean and the land reach back to “in the beginning.” See that we are here among the generations. There are children, there are parents, and there are parents’ parents. Or looked at another way, there are people, their children, and their children’s children.

“For us to live in the moment means to have a quiet mind and an open heart.”

Be aware of your stage or point of incarnation—so many years passed, an unknown number yet to come. But see that in each moment, in this moment, is all of it. This moment contains all of us—those of us who are caught in hatred and violence, in fear, in loneliness, in hunger, in being the objects of prejudice. It’s all here right now.

For us to live in the moment means to have a quiet mind and an open heart—to honor the preciousness of a human birth, to treat our bodies as temples and take proper care of them without clinging to them when it is time to discard them like worn-out garments.

Be aware as you sit here of the senses in your body—the sun, the bird, the child. Be aware of it all.

Breath Meditation

Sit quietly and feel your way into this moment—sounds, sensations of the seat or the floor under your body, feeling the air on your skin, all the thoughts that are coming and going. Experience it all as if you’re on the bank of a river, watching the leaves float by on the water.

Thoughts come and go, and sensations come and go. Be mindful of each thing as it arises, not holding it or pushing it away. Pains, confusion, fear, planning, memories, tension in the body, sensations and sounds, smell, taste—be with each thing just as it is. Not pushing, not pulling.

Become aware of the breath. The breath is one of the things that just is. Be aware of the inbreath and the outbreath. Then imagine you have nostrils in the middle of your chest so the breath is going in and out of the chest. Imagine that as you draw the breath in through the chest, what you’re drawing in along with the air is an elixir, a soma—a moist, very sweet, soft light, a quality of light or sound. You draw it in and it fills your being. It goes up into your head, into your arms, to your legs and torso. It fills your being.

And as you let the breath out, the healing stuff that pours through your body is able to dislodge fear, tension, resistance. Let it go and then once again draw in light. The outbreath is almost like a sigh. You realize that what’s going out of your body is not what is—it’s the resistance against what is.

After you’ve done a few of those breaths and you’ve let go of what you can, turn it a little bit so that you’re breathing in that healing light and breathing that same healing light out into the universe. You are almost like a beacon, a conduit through which energy is passing and coming forth out of the heart—the outbreath as light, as love, as presence, as is-ness. C. S. Lewis said, “…there seems no centre because it is all centre.”

Your heart is the center of the entire universe. Imagine concentric circles around you, spreading as far as the mind can imagine—all human beings, all beings of all species, all beings of the past, all beings of the future, beings on other planes as well as on this one, as far as the mind can imagine—all these beings in every direction around you.

Now, from the middle of your heart, send out on the outbreath to those beings, to all beings everywhere, the blessing of your light.

Shanti. Shanti. Shanti.

Oneness Meditation

Imagine a tiny being, the size of your thumb, sitting on a lotus flower right in the middle of your chest. As you look upon this being, light is pouring forth from it. It is radiant, luminous, and just from looking upon this being, you get a sense of incredible peace. You look at its face and you feel infinite compassion within this being. Just being near this entity fills you with a feeling of love. It sits quietly, with perfect equanimity and great wisdom.

Now let that being grow in size till it fills your body—its head, your head; its torso, your torso; its legs, your legs; its arms, your arms. Feel its peace, feel its equanimity. Let yourself be filled with its love.

Now, with your eyes closed, you and the being expand in size until your head reaches the ceiling and all of us are within you and this voice is within you. Feel your hugeness. Now you break out of the building, your head going up into the sky. Your head is among the planets. You have grown in size till you are sitting in the middle of this galaxy, this universe. The earth is within your belly. Feel your hugeness at this moment. You are in the silence of the heavens.

Expand yet again until all of the planets, all of the stars, all of creation is within you. You are the One. You are the Ancient One. I am within you. Everything that ever was, is, or will be is part of the dance of your being. You are all of the universe, so you have infinite wisdom. You appreciate all of the feelings of the universe, so you have infinite compassion. Feel your immensity, your aloneness.

Now let the boundaries of your being disintegrate, and merge yourself into that which is beyond form. Sit for a moment in the formless. There is nothing but the One.

Gently reestablish the form of your being and very slowly reduce in size back through the universe. Smaller, smaller, until your head is at the roof of this building. Look down and find who you thought you were. Look at that being. Look at her or his life. Look at that being as a soul, living out another round. Look upon that being with compassion. See how it gets lost in its drama at this moment. Reach down from your vast height and gently touch that being in blessing on the top of its head. At this moment, you are that which blesses and you are that which is being blessed.

Now come down in size until you are back into your body, still with this radiant being filling you—this being of peace, love, passion, wisdom; this being who in its huge form fills the universe and who now fills your body. As this being, hold your right palm forward and allow yourself to become a vehicle for bringing those qualities out into the physical plane to all beings who suffer in the universe. Become a pure vehicle of that huge one. Let it pour through your hand. Feel it coming out of the palm of your right hand, and send blessings of peace and love to all beings who suffer, whether their suffering is physical, psychological, or spiritual.

If there are beings who are suffering, bring them to mind and surround their beings with light, with love, and with peace. At this moment, if there are beings toward whom you feel anger, bring them into your consciousness. See the soul that lies within that incarnation and bless that soul with love and peace and light. For as you go on this spiritual journey, you must accept the responsibility to share what you receive, for that is part of the harmony of God. You become an instrument for the manifestation of the will of God.

Now put your hand down and finally let that being become smaller and smaller until it is the size of a thumb once more, sitting in the middle of your heart. That is your inner guru. That is the inner voice that speaks truth because it is truth. That is the being who will guide you home. That is the being that is none other than your true self when you finish being who you think you are.

At any time, you can go inside and talk to and listen to that being—whether you call it Christ, Buddha, God, guru, or your true self.

Excerpted from “There Is No Other: The Way to Harmony and Wholeness” by Ram Dass and edited by Parvati Markus. Copyright © 2025 by Ram Dass. Excerpted with permission by HarperCollins.

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The word gatha is related to the Sanskrit term for “song” or “verse.” Gathas originated around 1300 BCE as metrical forms of Indo-Iranian religious poetry. Written by the Iranian poet and prophet Zoroaster, a text of hymns called Gathas was placed at the center of Zoroastrian scripture and tradition as a form of reflective spiritual practice. Scholars believe that as Buddhism spread eastward from India, it was influenced by Zoroastrian traditions, and gathas developed in various streams of Buddhism.

Gathas invite us into greater understanding and love through their practice.

The contemporary recitation of gathas has been popularized by Zen teacher Thich Nhat Hanh. In his tradition, a gatha is a verse recited, usually mentally, not aloud, in rhythm with the breath. This is a mindfulness practice we can perform in daily life, or as a part of formal meditation or meditative study. Rich with wordplay and intentional ambiguities, these gathas are intended to awaken the innate inner wisdom of the practitioner, spurring her toward enlightenment.

As a meditative tool, gathas have a close and parallel relative—mantra. A mantra is a sacred word or sound—usually in Sanskrit—that’s repeated, either aloud or in silence, to deepen one’s concentration in meditation. As such, a single mantra may be used while performing many different activities or as a form of meditation itself. Gathas distinguish themselves from mantras in that each gatha is deeply intertwined with a single activity, drawing the practitioner deeply into the flow and feel of the specific action being performed. Ultimately, both gathas and mantras invite us into greater understanding and love through their practice.

If we bring our sincere attention to it, any activity can cultivate awakening to our true nature, our basic goodness. That’s why gathas, which help us bring attention to the present moment, can be used when performing any type of activity—waking up in the morning, brushing our teeth, taking out the garbage, entering the meditation hall, or inviting the bell.

No matter what activity we’re engaging in, or the particular words of the gatha we’re reciting, the practice is always similar. To serve as an example, here’s how we can practice with a gatha for entering a garden—for the moment we cross the threshold from “inside” to “outside.” The crossing of this threshold gives us just enough space to come back to ourselves. We arrive.

Step One: Recite the Gatha

We stop at the threshold of the garden, becoming aware of the in-breath and the out-breath. We observe the beauty of the environment around us and create an internal pause by reciting—silently or out loud—the entire gatha:

Entering the garden,

I see my true nature.

In its reflection

My heart is at peace.

We allow the meaning to touch our awareness.

Step Two: Synchronize with the Breath

A gatha is intended to be practiced in alignment with the breath. Once we have a feel for the gatha, we can correlate each line with an in-breath or an out-breath.

As we say or think, “Entering the garden,” we breathe in, bringing our full awareness to the moment of our arrival.

Next, we say or think, “I see my true nature,” while we breathe out, entering a direct communion with all of nature and inviting a deeper understanding of our true self.

Then we say or think, “In its reflection,” as we breathe in, seeing the beauty and magnificence of nature as a mirror of our own beauty and connection with all of life.

Finally, as we say or think, “My heart is at peace,” we breathe out, peaceful and alive in the present moment.

Step Three: Shorten the Gatha

After we have practiced with the gatha a number of times and have internalized it, we can shorten it. For example, breathing in, we say or think, “Entering.” Breathing out, we say or think, “Nature.” Breathing in, we say or think, “Reflection,” and lastly, breathing out, we say or think, “Peace.” When we have truly internalized a gatha, just a few words will be enough to remind us of the whole.

Many wonderful gathas have been created by Buddhist teachers, and we can benefit from their wisdom. Thich Nhat Hanh’s gatha for greeting someone is “A lotus for you, a Buddha-to-be.” His gatha for washing our hands is “Water flows over these hands. May I use them skillfully to preserve our precious planet.” More gathas by Thich Nhat Hanh can be found in his book Chanting from the Heart: Buddhist Ceremonies and Daily Practices.

Touching what’s real and alive in each moment ultimately returns us to our authentic self.

To personalize our practice with gathas and nourish the expression of our true nature, we can compose our own gathas inspired by our daily experiences and observations. To do this, we choose an activity that we regularly perform, create and memorize a gatha for it, and recite the gatha each time we do that particular activity. The personal nature of gathas created from our own insights deepens our practice and has the potential not only to develop our mindfulness and compassion, but also to water the seeds of compassion and love in those with whom we come into contact.

As meditation in motion, gathas loosen the tangle of our thoughts, opening us to experience the present moment. They help us deepen our understanding of our connection and belonging with all of life as we mindfully engage in the activity before us. When the mind drops into the heart and joins in communion with the breath and our actions, we see life as it is and ourselves as an integral part of it. Touching what’s real and alive in each moment ultimately returns us to our authentic self. Grounded in our essential nature, we can offer our joy, peace, and love to all beings around us. This gift, the gift of our self when expressed in this way, is perhaps the greatest gift ever.

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Disappointed but resigned, the senior monks assume the lecture will bomb and Shantideva will leave the university out of embarrassment. To get ready, the monastery builds a golden throne high above the courtyard where Shantideva is to speak. In many tellings of this well-known story, there were no stairs up to the golden throne. The senior monks hope Shantideva, unable to climb to the high throne, will be humiliated and leave before ever starting to speak. 

“Practicing tonglen, we can imagine a world where we grow stronger together.”

When Shantideva enters the courtyard, he’s met by a large crowd of villagers and monks eager to hear him. No need for stairs, Shantideva leaps up onto the golden throne! The monks are astonished. He asks the audience if they want to hear classical teachings or something new. Something new, they respond. Without skipping a beat, Shantideva launches into a profound discourse on compassion and wisdom that is now known as The Way of the Bodhisattva. The monks are once again stunned. Shantideva’s talk offered insights they’d never heard before. 

His teaching was so profound that, as the story goes, Shantideva quite literally transcended the moment—rising high into the sky and eventually disappearing. What he left behind was his words and a shift in perspective that still resonates today.

Whether the story of its birth has been embellished or not, Shantideva’s The Way of the Bodhisattva is widely regarded as one of the most influential texts in the Mahayana—the Buddhist tradition that focuses on cultivating wisdom and compassion for the benefit of all beings. Through study and practice of The Way of the Bodhisattva, we recognize the many ways we’re interdependent and connected, and then, it only makes sense to focus not just on “me,” but also on “we.”

One of the most innovative aspects of this text occurs toward the end, in chapter eight, when Shantideva is speaking about meditation. There, he encourages us to “equalize” ourselves and others by reversing our innate tendency to put our needs and aspirations first. Equalizing means recognizing that our joys and sorrows are not unique to us. Just as we want to be happy, others do too. Just as we want to avoid suffering, so does everyone else. This is about more than feeling empathy, it’s about shifting the way we see ourselves in the world. Shantideva challenges us to rethink how we place ourselves at the center of everything. He writes: 

Strive at first to meditate upon the sameness of yourself and others. In joy and sorrow, all are equal. Thus, be the guardian of all, as of yourself. 

Later in the same chapter, Shantideva goes further than asking us to equalize ourselves and others and asks us to exchange ourselves for others—in other words, to share our happiness and take on other people’s suffering. A few verses later, he tells us why.

Seize this mind of self and wield it
to cut the knots of self-cherishing
and give yourself to others.

Self-cherishing isn’t the same as taking care of ourselves. It’s the voice in our heads that puts our happiness above others’. Ironically, elevating our happiness like this can make us feel less happy and more isolated. Self-cherishing is related to a survival mechanism we’re born with and habitually reinforce, so cutting “the knots” of self-cherishing is a tall order. Fortunately, there’s a tried-and-true practice to level the playing field and reverse the natural tendency to put ourselves first. It’s called tonglen, Tibetan for “taking and sending.”

Tonglen is the central practice of lojong, or “mind training,” which is a method of cultivating wisdom and compassion. Lojong was developed about two hundred years after Shantideva’s presentation at Nalanda when an Indian sage named Atisha synthesized the teachings he had learned from various Buddhist sources, including The Way of the Bodhisattva. 

In the practice of tonglen, we take in suffering and send out goodness, well-being, and health. The purpose is not to magically cure people of what ails them; it’s about shifting our perspective. The radical act of taking in pain and giving away happiness is the opposite of a zero-sum game. In most of the games we play, only one side can win. One player’s success depends on another player’s failure. Tonglen encourages a different approach. Instead of avoiding pain and pushing it away, we train ourselves to relax and stay with the discomfort. Rather than holding onto our happiness with a tight grip, we offer it to others. With time and patience, taking and sending undermines zero-sum thinking and develops the fortitude necessary for our hearts to grow stronger than our fears. 

A zero-sum mindset incentivizes us to push away suffering and guard our happiness. We keep painful emotions at a distance, so we don’t have to feel them. Or, if we do feel them, we clamp down to hold them in check. Meanwhile, we grasp onto happiness by tightening our grip, so we don’t lose it. Even the words we use to describe these automatic reactions to pleasure and pain—grasping, guarding, gripping tightly, clamping down—evoke a sense of contraction. Tonglen encourages us to do the opposite: to ease up and expand our perspectives.

This approach turns the way we relate to suffering and happiness on its head. As a result, our understanding of interdependence deepens. When we see that countless people around the globe are navigating the same painful emotions we are—right now—we sense that we aren’t alone. We aren’t separate from others’ suffering. Taking and sending helps us understand that sharing others’ burdens doesn’t need to come at our expense. Nor does sharing our good fortune lessen our happiness. Practicing tonglen, we can imagine a world where we grow stronger together.

Here’s how to practice tonglen:

Get Ready

Find a comfortable spot where you won’t be disturbed. Close your eyes and allow yourself to settle. Take your time. When you’re ready, notice the sensations in your body. Feel your face, neck, shoulders, arms, and hands, belly, legs, and feet. Then, rest in open awareness. You don’t have to do anything special. Just sit and know you’re sitting.

Breathe in Suffering, Breathe Out Ease

Think of the suffering of a particular person, group of people, or all beings. You can visualize the unpleasant feeling as thick smoke or a dense cloud. If visualization doesn’t come to you easily, that’s okay. Instead, focus on the emotions you’re working with and get in touch with how they feel. Make space for them; don’t push them away or try to change them. If there’s resistance, stay with the discomfort and let go of the narrative. Remember, countless people around the world are feeling emotions just like the ones you’re feeling. You’re not alone.

As you breathe out, think of something that feels good and imagine giving it away. You can picture your happiness as a clear, radiant light, but if visualization doesn’t come easily, don’t worry. Just imagine sharing any sense of peace, comfort, or well-being you feel with someone else.

Continue to breathe in what feels bad and breathe out what feels good for as long as you like.

What to Do with Your Resistance

Don’t be surprised or worried if you resist the whole practice; you can practice tonglen with your resistance, too. Breathe the resistance in and then breathe out empathy for yourself and everyone who feels the same way. In Buddhism, this is using poison as medicine, that is, transforming your so-called problem into the very thing that deepens your wisdom and compassion.

Another way to approach resistance to tonglen is to begin by practicing it for yourself. This is how Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche recommends that children begin, and it’s wise advice for anyone, regardless of age. So, think of something that’s challenging you right now, anything that feels bad, and breathe it in. Then breathe out relief.

Expand Your Practice

When you’re ready, extend your practice by imagining that everyone is content and free of suffering. Tonglen is an action-oriented practice, says Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche in Training the Mind and Cultivating Loving-Kindness: “We give as much as we can give, we expand as much as we can expand.” Take this instruction quite literally. What would a world look like where everyone is living with ease?

Taking and sending is not an armchair practice detached from day-to-day life. In fact, it can be especially powerful in hard times. I was reminded of this recently when a close friend received devastating news. I’ve always been someone who wants to “fix” things and make them better. (I’m working on that.) So, it was no surprise when I visited my friend that I desperately wanted to do something to ease her pain. Given my long history of trying to fix what can’t be fixed and having it backfire, or pushing discomfort away only to feel worse, I took a different approach. I practiced taking and sending.

Sitting next to her in the hospital waiting room, I imagined breathing in her pain—not to magically remove it but to be with her in it. I was grieving too and far from happy, yet when I dug deep I found some ease and spaciousness within. When I breathed out, I imagined giving it to her.

Eventually something shifted. Although I couldn’t change what had happened, the way I was relating to it changed. Tonglen gave me a way to stay grounded and connected to her without becoming overwhelmed, and I was more available to her than if I’d clung to a fix-it mentality.

You can practice taking and sending whenever you see suffering—and not just other people’s suffering. Taking and sending is also a way to take care of yourself. When strong, painful feelings show up, make space for whatever’s there as you breathe in. Breathing out, send yourself the qualities you need to be more open and resilient. This practice isn’t just for big emotional moments, though. Our practice grows stronger when we weave it into daily life.

If you’re walking or washing dishes and something is bothering you, breathe it in. Then, breathe out a sense of spaciousness and ease. If you’re in a frustrating conversation, tonglen can help you stay present and openhearted. If you notice you’re running on automatic pilot at home or work, interrupt what you’re doing to drop into tonglen. And you can even practice taking and sending with strangers who have no idea you’re thinking about them. Whatever quality you think they need, imagine giving them yours.

Like Shantideva floating into the sky at the end of his discourse, tonglen offers a way to rise above the old habits that keep us guarded. When we stop grasping at happiness and pushing away pain, we loosen the knots of self-cherishing that bind us to a narrow sense of “me.” Taking and sending asks us to stretch beyond ourselves, to open rather than contract. Then we see that compassion isn’t a burden—it’s what lifts us.

Through practice, we can recognize that suffering isn’t something to fear, nor is happiness something we must cling to. Both can move through us as our breath moves in and out. When we ease our grip on what we think we must hold onto, we discover a freedom that isn’t about changing, fixing, or getting rid of something but about a spaciousness that allows us to be more flexible, openminded, and resilient.

As the old story goes, after Shantideva gave his teaching, he became weightless and floated up off his golden throne. Perhaps the weight he really let go of was that of self-cherishing itself. Taking and sending reminds us that we, too, can lighten up—lifting ourselves and each other.

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1. Recognize

The first step in the RAIN process is to recognize what’s happening. Recognizing the present moment might seem simple, but anxiety has a way of hijacking our attention and flooding us with a deluge of thoughts and fears. Imagine that you’re at home watching a movie, completely absorbed in the story and feeling the emotions of the characters and plot. Then someone knocks on the door. The movie is still going, but you’re no longer enmeshed in it. The spell is broken. The recognition that comes with mindfulness allows us step out of our entanglement with anxiety. We take a step back from being in the midst of the experience to become aware that the experience is happening. This creates a small but meaningful distance between ourselves and the emotion, which is the first step toward greater emotional freedom. 

Recognition is not about trying to change or fix anything; it’s simply about becoming aware. Without clear awareness, we’re vulnerable to habituated, unhelpful coping strategies such as distraction, busyness, or unhealthy self-soothing with media, food, or other substances, which may provide temporary relief but do not address the root cause of our distress, leaving us trapped in a cycle of avoidance and suffering.

Without awareness, we may not even know what’s wrong other than a vague sense of unease that’s hard to pin down. You wouldn’t try to fix a car engine without looking at it and identifying the problem. Similarly, if we want to change our experience, identifying the difficult emotion is crucial.

2. Allow the Experience

Allowing means softening and opening to the experience of anxiety, just as it is. We might hear the gentle instruction, “Let it be.” This acceptance doesn’t mean we approve of or enjoy the feeling; it’s just acknowledging that it is true in this moment. This isn’t about resignation, but rather a wise recognition that resisting difficult emotions only amplifies their intensity. Often the most painful part of anxiety is when we want it to go away, yet it persists. It’s like trying to push against a wave; the pressure only builds. So, instead, we allow the wave to flow, observing its currents with patient awareness.

Allowing is recognizing that, as human beings, we’re bound to encounter a wide range of emotions, and that these emotions are part of the full spectrum of human experience. By allowing the emotion to be there for the moment and not struggling with it, it becomes easier to manage.

3. Investigate

Once we’ve recognized and relaxed our resistance to anxiety, the next step is to investigate. This involves looking more deeply into and deconstructing the experience with a sense of curiosity and openness. 

The triangle of awareness is a useful framework for investigation. The triangle of awareness refers to the three components of any experience: thoughts, emotions, and physical sensations. By examining the experience of anxiety from these three perspectives, we deconstruct anxiety in a way that makes the discomfort more tolerable and the overall experience more manageable. 

Beginning with thoughts, we notice the story that plays in the mind when anxiety is present. This story might be one in which we’re imagining the worst possible outcome in some situation. It could be a story of over-responsibility or self-blame or about how we “should” be or what we “should” have done. It could be a story filled with fear or dread. Whatever it is, we just get a sense of the story without getting bogged down or over-intellectualizing. 

Next, notice if there are other recognizable emotions in the midst of anxiety. Fear, anger, guilt, shame, frustration, loneliness, and many other emotions often coexist with and exacerbate the feeling of anxiety. Again, allow these emotions to be here and allow yourself to feel them, as best as you are able. 

Finally, focus on feeling the physical sensations associated with anxiety. The physical sensations of anxiety might include a tight chest, a racing heart, a knot in the stomach, a feeling of being too hot or too cold, tension in various parts of the body, vibration, pulsation, etc. While continuing to allow them, connect with these sensations, feel them, and become intimate with them. Notice where each experience resides in the body. Does it have a shape? What’s the texture or flavor of this experience? Is it solid and static, or is it changing? Where in the body does it feel difficult or unpleasant or painful? We can think of this curious exploration as data gathering.

When we practice resting in the felt sense of anxiety, allowing it to be just as it is, a remarkable transformation occurs over time. The familiar discomfort of anxiety loses some of its sting. We realize that anxiety, like any other sensation, is impermanent. It rises and falls, and we can tolerate it. In this acceptance, there’s a profound sense of freedom.

4. Nonidentification or Nurture

The final step in the RAIN process is nonidentification—not identifying with anxiety. This doesn’t mean denying it or pretending it doesn’t exist; it means realizing that anxiety is not who we are, but rather just something we experience.  

This shift in perspective often reveals itself in our language. Instead of saying, “I’m anxious,” we might observe, “I’m aware of anxiety.” This subtle change signifies a profound transformation in our consciousness. We begin to recognize that the awareness observing the anxiety is not itself anxious. This awareness is vast, tranquil, and unmoved by the fleeting tempests of emotion.

Although, as it was originally conceived, the “N” in RAIN stands for nonidentification, some have suggested that it can also stand for nurture. After we have recognized, allowed, and investigated our experience, we can offer ourselves some kindness and compassion. This nurturing might take the form of placing a hand on our heart, offering ourselves a gentle word of encouragement, or simply acknowledging that this is a difficult moment and that it’s okay to feel this way. Nurturing helps to soften the experience and bring a sense of warmth and care to our practice. It’s a reminder that mindfulness isn’t just about observing our experience, but also about relating to it with compassion. This compassionate stance can transform our relationship with difficult emotions, making them less threatening and more approachable.

The beauty of RAIN lies in its accessibility—it’s a tool you can use anytime, anyplace, and in any challenging situation. The more you practice, the more it becomes an instinctive response that transforms your relationship with anxiety and other difficult emotions. They cease to be overwhelming adversaries and instead become opportunities for growth, self-discovery, and even liberation. The gift of RAIN is not the elimination of life’s challenges, but the cultivation of ways to meet them with greater ease and grace.

The post 4 Steps to Transform Anxiety with RAIN appeared first on Lion’s Roar.

This is a moment of suffering
Suffering is a part of life.
May I be kind to myself in this moment.
May I give myself the compassion I need.

The first phrase, This is a moment of suffering, is designed to bring mindfulness to the fact that you’re in pain. Other possible wordings are I’m having a really tough time right now, This hurts, or anything that describes the suffering you are experiencing.

The second phrase, Suffering is a part of life, reminds you that imperfection is part of the shared human experience. Other possible wordings are Everyone feels this way sometimes, This is part of being human, etc.

The third phrase, May I be kind to myself in this moment, helps bring a sense of caring concern to your present-moment experience. Other possible wordings are May I love and support myself right now, May I accept myself as I am, etc.

The final phrase, May I give myself the compassion I need, firmly sets your intention to be self-compassionate. You might use other words such as May I remember that I am worthy of compassion, May I give myself the same compassion I would give to a good friend, etc.

Find the wordings for these four phrases that are the most comfortable for you and memorize them. Then, the next time you judge yourself or have a difficult experience, you can use these phrases as a way of reminding yourself to be self-compassionate. This practice is a handy tool to soothe and calm troubled states of mind.

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