Metta Meditation: Holding the Infant

I'd like to invite you into a Metta practice. Traditionally metta is a Buddhist practice of offering loving kindness. In this practice we will offer loving kindness to someone we love, ourselves, and eventually to someone we are having trouble finding love for. 

I invite you on this loving journey.

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Let's Begin

Find a comfortable seat. Let your spine rise gently, your shoulders soften, and your breath flow naturally. Notice your heartbeat.

Now, bring your arms into a cradling position, as if holding a newborn baby. You might let your hands cup one another, or rest in your lap in a soft curve. Let your body remember what it’s like to hold something small and precious.

Feel the weight of the baby in your arms. Imagine the gentle warmth of their body against yours. Maybe there’s a soft scent—milk, skin, warmth. Their breath, slow and even. Their face, small and trusting.

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1. Someone You Love

Now picture someone you love or care for deeply. Let their image arise naturally.

Imagine them now… as a newborn. A tiny, sleeping infant, resting in your arms.

Look at their little face. Imagine their fingers curling. Maybe they squirm a little, make a sound. Notice how lovable they are.

Breathe in, and offer them lovingkindness:

• May you be safe.

• May you be happy.

• May you be healthy.

• May you live with ease.

Feel the sincerity of the offering. Feel your arms around this beloved one, so small, so worthy of care.

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2. Yourself

Now imagine the infant in your arms becomes you.

You, as a newborn. Soft cheeks. Tiny hands. Fragile. Complete.

Take a moment to look at your own face—your infant face. This is you. You too were once this new, this open to love.

Feel the weight of your infant self in your arms. Your breath mingling. Your warmth surrounding them.

Offer yourself lovingkindness:

• May I be safe.

• May I be happy.

• May I be healthy.

• May I live with ease.

Let it be okay if that feels tender. Or unfamiliar. Notice that you keep breathing, your heart keeps beating.

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3. A Stranger

Now the baby in your arms shifts again. This time, you are holding a stranger—someone you don’t know personally.

Maybe someone you passed on the street. Someone from the news. Someone you barely noticed.

Now see them as a newborn. Their eyes closed. Their body curled up in your arms.

Feel the weight of them. The softness. The warmth. The shared humanity.

Even if you know nothing about them, you know this:
They were once a baby. And they are lovable.

Offer them lovingkindness:

• May you be safe.

• May you be happy.

• May you be healthy.

• May you live with ease.

Let yourself feel the connection, simple and real.

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4. Someone You Struggle With

Now imagine someone you struggle to appreciate. Someone who has hurt you. Or someone who brings up frustration, sadness, or anger.

And now, imagine them as an infant in your arms.

This might feel strange. That’s okay. Just see if it’s possible.

They are very small. They haven’t yet learned what life will teach them. They haven’t yet done what they will do.
They are just a baby, breathing in your arms.

You feel their weight. Their fragility. Their humanness.

And if you are able, gently, offer them lovingkindness:

• May you be safe.

• May you be happy.

• May you be healthy.

• May you live with ease.

You’re not excusing anything. You’re just witnessing their early humanity, their potential, their vulnerability.

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Closing

Now, let all of these infants rest in your awareness—your beloved, yourself, the stranger, and the difficult person.

All once newborns. All lovable. All worthy of care.

Let your cradle arms release gently now. Place your hands over your heart, or let them rest naturally.

Feel yourself expand into heart space. Feel the warmth you’ve cultivated. Notice if there is a shift in your body tension or felt sense of your completeness.

And as you move through the rest of your day, may this tenderness stay close.
A reminder that lovingkindness begins in the arms of compassion—and that we all began this way.

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Beloved, you are whole, holy, and worthy,

Rev. Amy

Kindness in a Time of Claws

Searching through the Rubble for Kindness

When layoffs were sweeping through my workplace many years ago, I watched people I had thought of as kind and decent become cruel. Colleagues who once smiled in the hallways began hoarding resources, undermining one another, and snapping at anyone they perceived as vulnerable. I was shocked—and to be honest, deeply disillusioned. It was one of my earliest adult encounters with how fear and scarcity can twist people.

I did some reading at the time, trying to understand. The answers were complicated—and they still are.

Image Credit: Bonsales, Shutterstock

I want to believe people are good. Some might call that Pollyanna-ish, especially when we’re surrounded by cruelty, bullying, or indifference. But even if some people lose their way, that doesn’t mean we should stop believing in goodness—or trying to practice it ourselves.

Recent research reveals that in disasters, many people do rise to the occasion. Sociologists studying natural disasters like hurricanes and earthquakes have found that people often show extraordinary generosity and cooperation—what some call catastrophe compassion. When the world collapses around us, many of us build communities rather than barricades.¹

But that’s not the only pattern. When people feel threatened—whether by job loss, cultural change, or political power shifts—they can also behave like trapped animals. They snap at the hands trying to feed them or free them. This isn’t just metaphor. Neuroscience tells us that when we perceive danger, our amygdala (the threat detector) overrides the parts of our brain responsible for empathy, reason, and long-term thinking. We go into survival mode.²

That’s where we find ourselves now. I see this in the MAGA faithful. I see it in those who are drawn to fascist ideologies—even those who would be targeted by such regimes. It’s disheartening. And infuriating. And painful.

But it may also be fear.

That doesn’t excuse hate. It doesn’t mean we don’t set boundaries. But it may mean that kindness—real kindness, the kind that is rooted in strength, courage, and healthy boundaries—has more power than we think. That gentleness is not weakness. That compassion doesn’t mean avoiding the truth, but facing it with dignity.

We can be good even when others are not.

And sometimes, people surprise us. Even those who’ve lashed out in pain may, someday, reach back in peace. I’ve seen it happen. It may not be everyone. But it might be someone.

What about bullies?

Bullying isn’t always about cruelty for its own sake. Psychologists point out that many bullies act out of a need for control, fear of being powerless, or a belief that harshness is the only way to be safe.³ In the same way that political extremism can become a hard shell around fear or shame, bullying can be a survival tactic that outlasts the original threat. But people can grow beyond it. What helps? Real relationships. Accountability. New narratives about who they are and what strength looks like. I’ve seen it happen. People can soften. People can change.

So let’s practice kindness—not just for them, but for ourselves. Let’s find refuge in our own integrity. Let’s be the kind of neighbor we’d want to search for in the rubble.

Try It: Reflecting on Courageous Kindness

• Recall a time when you felt backed into a corner. What helped you not lash out—or helped you return to kindness later?

• Is there someone you’re tempted to write off as “irredeemable”? What do you imagine they’re afraid of? (This doesn’t mean excusing harm, nor putting yourself in harm's way—but it might offer insight.)

• Practice one act of proactive kindness today—especially one that’s a bit uncomfortable. Kindness is easy when you think someone deserves it. Real courage shows up when kindness is not returned.

You might find grounding in this practice:

https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/04/metta-meditation-holding-infant.html

I'd love to receive your responses to this. It is a challenge to balance kindness with boundaries, a passion for justice with compassion. What's working (or not working) for you?

Beloved,

You are whole, holy, and worthy,

Rev. Amy