The Sutra of LoveIt’s Sunday August 3, 2025. Just now home, I am quietened, stilled, opened and filled with light and eternity as I write. It’s been raining heavily all weekend, with cold temperatures and thick mist rolling like smoke through the Blue Mountains Insight Meditation Centre, where I woke today at 5 am to enter the dharma hall before the 6:30 sitting. The pathway lights are out at this hour. I’ve surrendered to wearing thongs as my socks and boots got wet, so I edge my way carefully down the stone steps in the dark, cascading now with cold water over my feet.
The Buddha sits in the garden beneath an ancient cherry tree, wearing a coat of hanging lime lichen that curls like peeling skin around the gnarly boughs. Thick green moss hangs from the old branches, like a wooly overcoat dripping rain. Mist rolls in across the pine forest, and wind roars like the ocean in the high pines above.
It is the “Hour of God,” and I enter the darkened hall, alone and hidden except for the golden Buddha who sits backlit and elevated on a high platform in the left corner. I sit on my haunches as is the Burmese tradition and bring my hands to my thighs, then bend forwards touching my forehead to the floor, hands to the floor in front of me. I surrender to the Buddha. I do this three times to take refuge in dharma and sangha. Returning upright with palms together before my eyes, I settle into my cushion and drape the large brown shawl Claire has given me around my body. I breathe. “May I be well, May I be peaceful, May I be happy.” My mind calms down and silence consumes my dreams as I repeat this phrase. I love this time of day on retreat. It's the brahmamuhurta, the “Hour of God.” I drink in the deep silence and stillness of this very powerful dharma hall. I am surprised how quickly I drop into practice in these spaces, and over an hour later I am surprised to look up and see that the two teachers have taken their places. Venerable Ariyana’s traditional garb touches me: a maroon shawl is draped over her simple, long orange tunic, over which is a long white cotton top, with a golden sash across her left shoulder. She sits with a gentleness and surrender, the still centre of the storm upon the mountain. Tara sits beside her, my old friend and dharma inspiration; I bow to her clarity, gentleness and intensity. Last night they spoke of metta. How metta is both practice and protection. Tara described the story of the Metta Sutra, which I had never heard before. As the story goes, a group of monks were sent off into the forest for the annual rains retreat. They were unable to practice due to fear and anxiety, being harassed by asuras, or negative spirits and ghosts. So, they returned to the Buddha and described to him how they could not practice due to their fear and anxiety. He then gave the elegant teaching of the Metta Sutra, which goes something like this …. The Metta Sutra This is the work for those who are skilled and peaceful, who seek the good: May they be able and upright, straightforward, of gentle speech and not proud. May they be content and easily supported, unburdened with their senses calmed. May they be wise, not arrogant and without desire for the possessions of others. May they do nothing mean or that the wise would reprove.
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