Ajahn Amaro, in “I’m Right, You’re Wrong”, says: “I once met a Wall Street lawyer who had started practicing meditation some half a dozen years previously. She said: ‘Until I started to meditate it was one conflict after another, and life was one ongoing struggle. But since I began meditating my relationships have become much more easeful, and my working situation is more relaxed, though I’m still working with the same company and I live with the same people.’ It was as if she thought: ‘This magical visitation has come into my life and taken all my troubles away!’ I said: ‘This isn’t really very magical. It’s more like: you used to get from one room to another by smashing yourself against the wall until you broke though it, and then suddenly you noticed that it’s much easier to go through the doorway. It’s not magic, it’s noticing where the gaps are and aiming for them, rather than just putting your head down and pounding with it until the wall breaks or you fall down unconscious.'”

Venerable Amaro has a direct style of teaching, and in the reported conversation above tries to counter some of the romantic or magical notions people may have about mindfulness. The real miracle is our ability to notice what’s going on around us without making every detail about ourselves. One of the effects of practicing with mettā (which depends on mindfulness) is that we are no longer the center of gravity in the universe; we become an equal partner in the dance of life. Our joy and pain are connected to the joy and pain of others. Our needs and wants are seen in the context of the needs and wants of others. One small but significant shift in our perception moves us from “It’s me against the world” to “Here we all are”.

The analogy of finding the gaps as we move through life is particularly apt. Rather than setting our hearts on unrealistic views or goals and then bashing away at them, we can look for where our current opportunities lie. We can keep still and notice subtle “invitations” from people or situations, or we can purposefully explore possibilities for development in work or service or ease or joy.

How often, when things are going well, do we attribute our good fortune to something external? How often, when things are difficult, do we blame the universe or specific people? Perhaps it’s a fine point, but we don’t gain anything by assigning credit or blame for what happens to us. We can be grateful for anything good that comes to us, and we can have patience with trials, regardless of their source. We can trust that by practicing mindfulness as continuously as possible, we are shifting things in a beneficial direction.

With mettā we accept conditions as they arise, and cultivate both gratitude and patience, as needed.