A shared practice
Start Where the Heart Says Yes
S
Guided bySean Fargo
A first doorway into loving-kindness: begin with someone effortless to love — a child, a friend, a pet — and let the warmth arise on its own.
Narrated by Rhea10 min
ShareSave card
Read along — the full script
Somewhere in your life there is a being your heart says yes to without being asked — a person, a child, even an animal. This practice starts there. But first, taking a moment just to arrive. There's nothing to get right in these next few minutes, and nothing to produce.
5s of stillness
If you like, finding a posture that feels both settled and awake — sitting, lying down, whatever supports your body today. Your eyes can be closed, or softly open toward the floor. Either is fine, and you can change your mind at any point.
And one more freedom, named now so it's yours the whole way through: you're free to open your eyes, take a break, or stop this practice altogether at any point. Stopping is allowed, and it doesn't undo anything that's happened here.
10s of stillness
Letting your attention rest somewhere simple to begin. That might be the movement of the breath in your chest or belly. It might be the sounds in the room around you. It might be the feeling of your hands resting where they are, or the weight of your body meeting the chair or the floor. Choosing whichever of these feels easiest right now — there's no wrong door in, and you're welcome to move between them at any time.
10s of stillness
Resting there for a few moments. Letting the body settle around your attention, the way water goes still when nothing stirs it.
15s of stillness
And when you're ready, inviting to mind someone who is easy to love. Not the most important person in your life, necessarily — just the easiest. A dear friend. A child. A grandparent. It might even be a pet. Someone whose face, when you picture it, brings a small softening without any effort.
10s of stillness
If more than one comes to mind, you might simply pick one for today. And if no one comes easily, that's genuinely okay — you could rest instead with the memory of any moment of simple kindness, given or received. A door held. A meal made. A hand on a shoulder.
10s of stillness
Imagining this being in front of you, or simply sensing their presence. You might picture them in an ordinary moment — laughing at something small, or absorbed in whatever they love doing. Noticing what happens in your body as you do. Maybe warmth in the chest, maybe a slight smile, maybe nothing in particular. All of it fine.
15s of stillness
And now, if you're willing, offering them a few quiet wishes. You can use these words, or any words that feel more like yours.
May you be safe.
10s of stillness
May you be happy.
10s of stillness
May you be healthy and strong.
10s of stillness
May your life unfold with ease.
15s of stillness
Letting the phrases be unhurried, like placing small stones in water, one at a time. There's no need to feel anything special when you say them. The words are the practice; whatever feelings come or don't come are just weather.
10s of stillness
Once more, at your own pace — may you be safe. May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you live with ease.
15s of stillness
If your mind has wandered off somewhere — planning, remembering, drifting — that's not a problem. Noticing the wandering is the practice working, right on schedule. You might simply return to the image of this person, or to your breath or the sounds in the room, and begin the phrases again. Every return counts as practice, not as repair.
15s of stillness
If you like, trying one more round with this being, letting the phrases ride on the breath — a wish gathering with the in-breath, traveling toward them on the out-breath. May you be safe. May you be happy.
20s of stillness
Now, if it feels alright, seeing whether some of this warmth might turn toward you. This can feel awkward for many of us, so there's no pressure here, and no deadline. One way in: imagining how this person you love might look at you. The particular softness in their face when you walk into the room. What they might wish for you, without your ever asking.
15s of stillness
And borrowing their voice, if that helps — may you be safe. May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you live with ease.
25s of stillness
If the words land, letting them land. If they bounce, that's honest too. Kindness toward ourselves is often the slowest to grow, and it grows anyway — quietly, underneath the awkwardness, each time it's offered.
15s of stillness
If directing kindness toward yourself feels like too much today, you're welcome to simply return to your easy person, or to rest with the breath, or with your feet on the floor. Nothing is being skipped. The practice meets you where you are.
15s of stillness
And in these last moments, if you like, letting the circle widen just a little — including anyone else who happens to drift into mind. A neighbor. A stranger from your day. The person who made your coffee, or waited beside you at the crossing. Wishing them well in passing, lightly, the way you might nod to someone on a walk.
20s of stillness
May we all be safe. May we all be happy. May we all live with ease.
15s of stillness
Beginning now to let the phrases go, and returning to something simple — the feeling of your body where it rests, the sounds around you, the breath moving on its own. Maybe noticing the ground beneath you, still doing its quiet work of holding you up.
15s of stillness
Kindness like this doesn't stay on the cushion. It tends to leak, quietly, into how we answer an email, how we wait in line, how we speak to ourselves when we drop something. You don't have to make that happen. Just noticing, later today, if a little of it shows up on its own.
10s of stillness
When you're ready, letting your eyes open if they were closed, taking in the light and shapes of the room. Maybe moving your fingers, or taking one fuller breath.
10s of stillness
Thank you for practicing. Carrying on with your day, exactly as you are.