# data[].attributes.body
Metta is very naturally present all the time. The other divine abidings are easily evoked when I look outwards.

# data[].attributes.body
I love doing collages and so this medium was an obvious choice. It was done in a couple of evenings, just with whatever came to hand and appealed to me, thinking about the Brahmaviharas and our conversations and contributions - which I enjoyed so much and got so much from. Thanks to all. Sadhu, sadhu, sadhu.

# data[].attributes.body
on this tetrahedron all brahmavihara's can be seen in their connections, with their close enemies, how to balance them...

# data[].attributes.body
Possibly I have overthought some of the symbolic aspects of this picture, and am still debating a range of elements within it…anyway, please enjoy / be provoked!

# data[].attributes.body
In May and June 2023 four groups met for 7 weeks to investigate the Brahmavihāras.  For the final session each person was asked to produce a creative contribution and this padlet contains some of those contributions plus some additional contributions.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Metta metta with added bojjhangas chant-

# data[].attributes.body
I seem to have a romantic attachment to an image in my mind - that of ancient India as a place full of disagreements and debates between learned masters and philosophers and theologians.
There is a very strong vein of mystic contemplation in Indian philosophy - which is partly why we're here - and I grew up in a country that is steeped in veneration of such masters. The exchange between Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism, Sikhism and Islam, along with their various schools, produces a vast and persistent hum in the background of my home culture.
In this vein, here are two poems by a Punjabi Sufi (Muslim) mystic named Bulleh Shah:

Bulleya Ki jaana main Kaun

Bulleya to me, I am not known

–

Na main momin vich maseetaan
Na main vich kufar diyan reetaan
Na main paakaan vich paleetaan
Na main moosa na firown

Not a believer inside the mosque, am I
Nor a pagan disciple of false rites
Not the pure amongst the impure
Neither Moses, nor the Pharoh

–

Bulleya Ki jaana main Kaun
Bulleya! to me, I am not known

Na main andar ved kitaabaan
Na vich bhangaan na sharaabaan
Na vich rindaan masat kharaabaan
Na vich jaagan na vich saun

Not in the holy Vedas, am I
Nor in opium, neither in wine
Not in the drunkard’s intoxicated craze
Neither awake, nor in a sleeping daze

–

Bulleya Ki jaana main Kaun
Bulleya! to me, I am not known

Na vich shaadi na ghamnaaki
Na main vich paleeti paaki
Na main aabi na main khaki
Na main aatish na main paun

In happiness nor in sorrow, am I
Neither clean, nor a filthy mire
Not from water, nor from earth
Neither fire, nor from air, is my birth

–

Bulleya Ki jaana main Kaun
Bulleya! to me, I am not known

Na main arabi na lahori
Na main hindi shehar nagauri
Na hindu na turak peshawri
Na main rehnda vich nadaun

Not an Arab, nor Lahori
Neither Hindi, nor Nagauri
Hindu, Turk, nor Peshawari
Nor do I live in Nadaun

–

Bulleya Ki jaana main Kaun
Bulleya! to me, I am not known

Na main bheth mazhab da paaya
Ne main aadam havva jaaya
Na main apna naam dharaaya
Na vich baitthan na vich bhaun

Secrets of religion, I have not known
From Adam and Eve, I am not born
I am not the name I assume
Not in stillness, nor on the move

–

Bulleya Ki jaana main Kaun
Bulleya! to me, I am not known

Avval aakhir aap nu jaana
Na koi dooja hor pehchaana
Maethon hor na koi siyaana
Bulla! ooh khadda hai kaun

I am the first, I am the last
None other, have I ever known
I am the wisest of them all
Bulleh! do I stand alone?

Bulleya Ki jaana main Kaun
Bulleya! to me, I am not known

Here is a rendition in an updated, yet still classical style of this poem:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOriUKHfnrs

Here is another poem from the same man, albeit with verses from another poet interspersed:
Parh parh ilm te faazil hoya
Te kaday apnay aap nu parhya ee na
You keep reading to become knowledgable,
But you never read yourself

Bhaj bhaj warna ay mandir maseeti
Te kaday mann apnay wich warya ee na
You keep running to mosques and temples,
But you never enter your own heart

Larna ay roz shaitaan de naal
Te kadi nafs apnay naal larya ee na
Everyday you fight the outer demons,
But you never confront your Ego

Bulleh Shah asmaani ud-deya pharonda ay
Te jera ghar baitha unoon pharya ee na
Bulleh Shah says, you keep reaching for birds in the sky,
Yet you never study that which sits within

Bas kareen o yaar
Ilm-oun bas kareen o yaar
Enough, my friend,
Enough seeking after worldly knowledge, my friend

Ik Alif teray darkaar
All that you need is The One

Bas kareen o yaar
Ilm-oun bas kareen o yaar
Enough, my friend,
Enough seeking after worldly knowledge, my friend

Allah Saiyaan, Allah Saiyaan
Allah my beloved, Allah my beloved

Nee main jaanaa Jogi de naal
I shall follow the way of the Jogi {seeker}

Jo naa jaane, Haqq ki taaqat
Rab naa devey us ko Himmat
To one who has not realised the power of Truth,
Even God cannot give courage

Hum Mann ke dariya mein doobey
Kaisi nayya, kya manjhdhaar…
I am immersed in the river of Self,
Why should I care for the boat or the waves

Bas kareen o yaar
Ilm-oun bas kareen o yaar
Enough, my friend,
Enough seeking after worldly knowledge, my friend

Allah Saiyaan, Allah Saiyaan
Allah my beloved, Allah my beloved

Here is an excellent rendition, also blending classical instruments with modern ones, with a modern metre:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ra5nTlty6CM

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Bulleya | Riaz Ali Khan | Season 2 | Coke Studio Pakistan

# data[].attributes.body
Lines written on realising years later than I should that we establish our samatha practice first in a heart of mettā and the other brahma-vihāras that grow out of it, and then on the cushion. Not the other way round. The “kindly doctor” alludes both to the teacher of the group I was fortunate to belong to over the last six weeks, and to an epithet of the Buddha.

So long to build a dharma house I tried

It looked askew, it wobbled side to side.

I thought: of course: we start it from the top,

No way could such a brilliant format flop.

The tow’ring jhāna roof, samādhi proud:

A lovely structure: no complaints allowed.

O silly me: I quite forgot the rule:

To make foundations first, egregious fool!

And so it fell. That really served me right.

A victory parade before I’d won the fight.

But think of gardens now, not buildings tall:

That lofty attitude won’t do at all.

The kindly doctor showed me what to do:

The best of gardens start their life with poo.

So dig the murky depths: let metta shine

On all those petty hatreds, theirs and mine.

The lines above came out with easy flow;

What next? I’ll stop. I don’t pretend to know.