The Open Hand (Metta)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
You, brass singing bowl from the Plum Village forge, 1997,
struck once at dawn, 5:00 AM, under Thich Nhat Hanh's gaze.
Your rim, cool to the touch at 18 degrees Celsius,
vibrates through my chest, a subtle tremor,
calling forth Metta, that open hand extended.
Siddhartha Gautama, born 563 BCE,
spoke of love ceasing hatred, eternal rule,
and here you hum it into being.

[Chorus]
Open hand, radiate to the neutral one,
the shopkeeper on the dirt path, unnamed,
then to the loved, the enemy, all beings.
Your sound waves, like neural pathways firing,
kindling loving-kindness in the brain's quiet folds.
Metta flows, impartial, through the cosmos.

[Verse 2]
In the forest monastery hall, bamboo mats worn smooth,
sandalwood incense curls, earthy and sweet,
you rest beside the small bronze Buddha statue.
Thich Nhat Hanh, died 2022, taught us to express love
for humanity, all beings, through one like you.
I strike you gently, feel the resonance build,
a synaptic spark in the twilight of mind.

[Bridge]
What gaps in the record, those unnamed women,
children practicing Metta in ancient shadows,
their reflections lost, but your hum carries them.
Visuddhimagga, chapter IX, 5th century CE,
speaks of purification, yet you, simple bowl,
hold the lived truth, the improbable glow.

[Verse 3]
After the session, rice and lentil dahl shared,
silent communion, your echo lingering.
From Sri Lanka's dawn, circa 483 BCE,
to France's retreats, you bridge the unseen cords.
Open hand, Metta's neuroscience, rewiring fear
into boundless care, one vibration at a time.

[Outro]
Through you, I love the whole.