Even as a mother protects with her life
Her child, her only child,
So with a boundless heart
Should one cherish all living beings;
Radiating kindness over the entire world:
Spreading upward to the skies,
And downward to the depths;
Outward and unbounded,
Freed from hatred and ill-will

— the Buddha, Metta Sutta

In “Book I: Italy” of her best-selling memoir Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert becomes infatuated with the Italian phrase “Attraversiamo,” which Giovanni, her Tandem Exchange Partner, utters as they are crossing the street one evening. Claiming that it is the perfect blend of Italian sounds (72), Gilbert uses the phrase continuously to the humorous exasperation of her friends. Though Gilbert comments on her love for the word, she does not mention that the act of crossing over is very much at the core of her—or really anyone’s—exploration, whether that exploration is personal, spiritual, cultural, or psychological. If we ever want to grow or change or improve, we will inevitably need to cross the metaphorical “street” and take our chances on the other side. And, conveniently enough, this crossing over is at the heart of Gilbert’s memoir along with the very notion of Buddhist pedagogy, thereby making them complementary subjects for this essay. More specifically, this article investigates how teaching can be a form of metta, how metta can inform teaching, and how Eat, Pray, Love serves as an effective teaching tool for engaging Buddhist pedagogy through insights gleaned by teaching the book in my own women writers course.

Part 1: Buddhist Pedagogy and the Academic Bodhisattva

Most of us are familiar with the story of Gautama (Shakyamuni) Buddha’s moment of enlightenment and his instantaneous realization that “this (what he had just realized) cannot be taught.” Thank goodness Brahmā Sahampati talked some sense into Buddha by appearing to him and agreeing that sure, there are some people who will never get “it” and there are some people who already do, but then there are those people in the middle — teach to those people. With great compassion for those of us in the middle, Buddha decided that he would develop a means to teach people that came from diverse backgrounds and held dissimilar worldviews. As John Schroeder explains, “He knew that if he wanted to help others he would need to be sensitive to the karmic differences of human beings and mold teachings to their level” (2). After failing at his first attempt to teach, the Buddha realized that teaching — especially something as difficult as the path to enlightenment — was going to require some skill. Therefore, rather than teach via one rote method, Buddha adapted his teachings to his different audiences, a practice that is known as upaya, or skillful means. According to Schroeder, “upaya refers to the different pedagogical styles, meditation techniques, and religious practices that help people overcome attachments, and to the ways in which Buddhism is communicated to others” (3). Therefore, pedagogy, or the art of teaching, is the root of Buddhism as we know it today. Schroeder even goes so far as to insist that privileging “what the Buddha said over how he said it... kills what is most distinctive about the Buddha’s teachings: his compassion” (13). There were many Buddhas before Shakyamuni, but he was so very special because he not only wanted to teach the Dharma, he did so. In fact, “the early Mahayanists tell us that in order to fully appreciate the Buddha’s philosophy we need to listen to how he communicates, how he teaches, and how he responds to others” (Schroder 10). Therefore, situating the Buddha at the center of a discussion about pedagogy and using his work as an example of effective pedagogy is fitting.

The final chapter of Eve Sedgwick’s Touching, Feeling: Affect, Pedagogy and Performativity (2003) is entitled “Pedagogy of Buddhism.” I wrongly interpreted the title of this chapter when I started my inquiry into writings on Buddhist pedagogy; I excitedly assumed that Sedgwick — ever on the forefront of academic innovation — had written a piece about applying Buddhist philosophy to teaching. However, I came to find out that I had been insensitive to Sedgwick’s very careful (as always) ordering of words: Pedagogy of Buddhism, or the pedagogical nature of Buddhism. Written after her diagnosis of metastatic cancer (which led her to read Tibetan Buddhist philosophy), this chapter would more appropriately have been entitled “The Pedagogy of Buddhism in regards to Illness and Dying,” for this is the locus of her discussion in the chapter. What is most applicable to my discussion of Buddhist pedagogy is Sedgwick’s thoughtful relation of the bodhisattva to education. As Sedgwick explains, “a bodhisattva defers entering nirvana until after all other sentient beings have learned to do so” (160, emphasis mine). In doing so, the bodhisattva commits him or herself to a life of service to others — service in the form of education. This parallels the life of anyone who chooses teaching as a profession, for many of us who do so genuinely feel that until our students learn, our task is incomplete. More often than not, we delay our own tasks (by choice or necessity) until our teacherly duties are fulfilled. The image of the bodhisattva is indeed an inspiring one for educators; the bodhisattva delays his or her own arrival at nirvana for the benefit of the student. In that context, the extra thirty minutes that I surrender in order to meet with the student who feels completely lost seems... miniscule. As Sedgwick notes, the bodhisattva “is defined almost simply as a being whose commitment to pedagogical rationality approached the horizon of eternity” (161). If the Buddhist bodhisattva’s commitment to rational teaching is eternal, what characterizes the Academic Bodhisattva’s commitment? A discussion of Thich Nhat Hanh’s concept of “Engaged Buddhism” as well as bell hooks’ “Engaged Pedagogy” sheds light on the behavior of such a figure.

At the core of Thich Nhat Hanh’s Interbeing: Fourteen Guidelines for Engaged Buddhism is the sincere injunction to use Buddhist philosophy in a social context, or to become “engaged” in Buddhist practice by “engaging” in the world. In Thich Nhat Hanh’s view, “When we discover our true mind [through Buddhist practice], we are filled with understanding and compassion, which nourishes us and those around us as well” (3). As a result of this realization, “Overflowing with understanding and compassion, we can appreciate the wonders of life, and, at the same time, act with firm resolve to alleviate the suffering” (4) This firm resolve results, ideally, in any form of positive social activism. While some see this as antithetical to the internal “nature” of Buddhist philosophy, Thich Nhat Hanh avows that, “Too many people distinguish between the inner world of our mind and the world outside, but these worlds are not separate. They belong to the same reality” (4).

Inspired by reading Thich Nhat Hanh’s work, bell hooks applied his concept of Engaged Buddhism to the relationship between the teacher and the student in the classroom. In her groundbreaking Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom, hooks contends that the classroom is a “location of possibility” and, as a result, “we have the opportunity to labor for freedom, to demand of ourselves and our comrades, an openness of mind and heart that allows us to face reality even as we collectively imagine ways to move beyond boundaries, to transgress” (206). In hooks’ vision, “our work is not merely to share information but to share in the intellectual and spiritual growth of our students. To teach in a manner that respects and cares for the souls of our students is essential if we are to provide the necessary conditions where learning can most deeply and intimately begin” (13). As one can see, hooks calls for a radical revision of the traditional teacher/student relationship that characterizes the teacher as dispenser of knowledge and the student as vessel. Instead, “engaged pedagogy” is “progressive, holistic education.” The benefit of this approach is not reserved for the students, as hooks clarifies that “any classroom that employs a holistic model of learning will also be a place where teachers grow, and are empowered by the process. That empowerment cannot happen if we refuse to be vulnerable while encouraging students to take risks” (21). In essence, to be an “engaged” teacher means “being wholly present in mind, body, and spirit” (21).

Similar to hooks, Deborah Orr, in her article “The Uses of Mindfulness in Anti-oppressive Pedagogies: Philosophy and Praxis,” avers that “the mindfulness practices that have been developed by the yoga traditions to address binaristic thinking can be usefully integrated into critical pedagogy” (480). Orr goes on to say that, “These techniques can be used to address oppressive ideologies and practices in the lives of students and thereby foster change not only on the intellectual level of a student’s learning but also on the levels of body, emotion, and spirit, the levels where the most insidious and resistant formations of oppression are often lodged” (480). Note how hooks and Orr suggest that teaching influenced by Buddhist thought can be transformational, or, to refer back to the title of this article, can be the key in helping students and teachers “cross over” from one level of knowledge and understanding to another more highly-developed plane. This goal, in essence, is the goal of the bodhisattva and, by extension, the goal of the Academic Bodhisattva.

Part 2: Metta/Maitri and Eat, Pray, Love

According to a survey conducted by the Chronicle of Higher Education, Eat, Pray, Love was the third most popular book being read on college campuses in 2008. Her memoir also sat on the New York Times paperback nonfiction bestseller list for 155 weeks. Similarly, the February 15, 2008 Library Journal list of “most borrowed books in U.S. Libraries,” ranked Eat, Pray, Love number one in the non-fiction category. And yet she is not without her detractors, who call her book “disastrous” and “cloying” and spoof her title in opinion pieces entitled “Eat, Pray, Loathe” (Memmott). Maureen Callahan, who wrote said piece, bemoaned what she assumes to be a fact that “readers are using Eat, Pray, Love as a shortcut to finding a spiritual ‘truth’... as an excuse to have that extra glass of wine, and as a license to abandon all critical thinking” (qtd. in Memmott). It is intriguing that in a time when spiritual shortcuts are the norm (and in some ways, haven’t they always been?) and people don’t even need an excuse to drink an extra glass of wine (as “deserving it” has become the cornerstone of our advertising), that Callahan would launch such accusations at Gilbert and her text. I think, however, that the last bit — about abandoning critical thinking — is the part that chafes the most. After reading the text numerous times, analyzing it from many viewpoints, and teaching it, I am consistently amazed at Gilbert’s reflective and critical insights in a text that she lovingly constructed. So, what is it that draws me and millions of other people to this book? A single concept: metta (maitri in Sanskrit).

Or at least, this is what I think.

Metta/maitri is most often defined as loving-kindness, but one also finds words such as sympathy, benevolence, and friendship associated with the concept. Metta/maitri blazes at the very center of most Buddhist practices as it is essential to cultivating compassion. In When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times, Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön explains that the “core of maitri” is “[b]eing able to appreciate, being able to look closely, being able to open our minds” (30). Sharon Salzburg, in her popular Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness, echoes this openness when she asserts that “the spirit of metta is unconditional: open and unobstructed. Like water poured from one vessel to another, metta flows freely, taking the shape of each situation without changing its essence” (19). Clearly, loving-kindness is “openness,” and when something is open, it permits one’s passage, thereby harkening back to the idea of crossing-over as heralded by the phrase attraversiamo! At a very fundamental level, Eat, Pray, Love is about overcoming one’s fear of openness and of becoming open — truly open. In doing so, one develops loving-kindness toward oneself, one’s compatriots, one’s enemies, and all the other people who do not fall into either category.

There exists a metta meditation based on chapter nine of Buddhaghosa’s fifth century CE text, the Path to Purification (Visuddhimagga) that has become popularized in the West. In this meditation one cultivates loving-kindness for the following, in this particular order: oneself, a friend, a neutral person, a difficult person, all four equally, and then the entire universe. Though Gilbert is not actually pursuing a strictly Buddhist spiritual path in the memoir (she is following a Hindu-based yogic path which has many similar qualities to Buddhism but, unlike the latter, sanctions the concept of a divine being), this meditation structure in many ways mirrors her personal evolution throughout her journey in the book. Almost the entire Italy section is devoted to cultivating loving-kindness for herself; from her petition to God to end the pain of her pre-divorce limbo to her decision to learn Italian for no reason other than her enjoyment of the language to her delight in eating anything that comes her way, Gilbert is learning to make friends with herself. Also sprinkled throughout the section are stories depicting her growing appreciation and metta towards her sister, mother, and friends old and new. When we arrive in India, we see Gilbert developing metta for “neutral” people who visit the Ashram on their own spiritual quests when she admits, “I love all these people, automatically and unconditionally. I even love the pain-in-the-ass ones” (195). She even asks God to dedicate any blessings he may have saved up for her to their benefit (198). Also while at the Ashram she comes to terms with her “difficult persons”: her ex-husband and David, her ex-lover. Finally able to release her attachment to both of these men, Gilbert is able to feel genuine loving-kindness toward them, and in doing so, is able to set them and her attachment to them free. Of course the last two stages noted above are most likely material for a life-long spiritual journey. Nonetheless, one can see that Gilbert is very much on the path for the last book, entitled “Love,” that tells the story of many forms of selfless love beyond the popularized romantic narrative in this section, such as her friendship and service to Ketut Liyer and her friends’ generous assistance in purchasing a home for Wayan and her three daughters.

In many ways, Gilbert’s memoir is about love in both its destructive and beneficial forms. The greater part of Gilbert’s journey is learning to identify and nurture forms of love that are advantageous to herself and others. In the beginning of the memoir, Gilbert very honestly describes the negative forms of love that characterized her early romantic relationships. She explains that she had trouble with boundary control (between herself and her romantic partners) and that this type of struggle “exhausts” and “depletes” her (65). She describes her relationship with David as one of “desperate love,” and she clarifies that in this type of love “we always invent the characters of our partners, demanding that they be what we need of them, and then feeling devastated when they refuse to perform the role created in the first place” (18-19). Hand-in-hand with this form of love is infatuation, the “final destination” of which is “the complete and merciless devaluation of the self” (21). Because her “self” has been so devalued after a string of harmful love relationships, Gilbert has to learn to apply metta to herself in order to understand and make peace with herself. When she moves into her first apartment alone, only then does she begin to ask herself: “What do you want to do, Liz?” (23), which is the beginning of her efforts at self-care. In answer to this question, she decides to pursue a spiritual practice and to learn Italian. This path leads her to four months of PG-rated pleasure in Italy, where she recuperates from her divorce and love affair. She closes Book I with the reflection that she leaves Italy “with the hope that the expansion of one person — the magnificence of one life — is indeed an act of worth in this world” (116). The self that was once “devalued” has become exceedingly precious. This reversal illustrates the importance of metta/maitri to facilitating the beginning stages of Gilbert’s spiritual quest.

The majority of characters that appear in Gilbert’s life buttress her journey with messages of love, thereby further broadening her understanding of the transformative power of love in its ideal form. For example, during the period following her divorce, Gilbert goes to visit Ketut Liyer, the Balinese medicine man, during an assignment about yoga vacations. She asks him how she can remain in the world but still have a lasting experience with God. He answers that she needs to “stop looking at the world through [her] head” and must “look through [her] heart, instead” (27). This concept then becomes a catalyst for Gilbert’s new metta-infused approach to life. In Italy, when Gilbert becomes frustrated with herself while trying to speak Italian, her foreign-language exchange friend, Giovanni, delicately her tells that “you must be very polite with yourself when you learn something new” (56). Like Ketut’s message, this one resonates throughout the text, as well. Gilbert must learn to have compassion for herself while she is “crossing over” and moving out of her comfort zone and into some new experience. When Gilbert is struggling with meditation, another friend suggests that, “Instead of trying to forcefully take thoughts out of your mind, give your mind something better to play with.” She asks him, “Like what?” he answers: “Like love . . . Like pure divine love.” (141). Gilbert takes this advice to heart and reports, “I asked my heart if it could please infuse my soul with a more generous perspective on my mind’s workings. Instead of thinking that I was a failure, could I perhaps accept that I am only a human being — and a normal one, at that?” (157). This is the most obvious moment of metta toward the self in the text and it is rewarded by her powerful inner voice, which bellows at her nagging thoughts: “YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW STRONG MY LOVE IS!” (158). This voice, in fact, functions as a character itself. The voice that appears here is the same voice that speaks to Gilbert when she journals during dark and frightening times. In each instance that she engages the support of her journal, the voice communicates messages of love, patience, and acceptance to her, which, like the other characters, bolsters her efforts. In wonderfully circular fashion, upon her return to Bali, Ketut Liyer will be an advocate of love, as he informs Gilbert that while heaven is love, so is hell (263). In other words, that everything is, inherently, love.

I believe that throughout the course of the book Gilbert lives Chödrön’s injunction that, “We can’t attain enlightenment, let alone feel contentment and joy, without seeing who we are and what we do, without seeing our patterns and our habits.” And, conveniently, “This is called maitri — developing loving-kindness and an unconditional friendship with ourselves” (26). Salzburg clearly agrees: “the practice of metta, uncovering the force of love that can uproot fear, anger, and guilt, begins with befriending ourselves” (25).

Part 3: Eat, Pray, Love in the Classroom

Every now and then we teachers have that class that restores our faith in the profession of teaching and in the inherent worth and heart of students. For me, that class was a seminar on Women Writers in Spring 2008 in which the primary focus was women’s journey narratives. As we surveyed the literature, our guiding question was: how is mobility related to women’s agency? This thread, and its attendant complexities, tied all the writers — Jane Austen, Harriet Jacobs, Kate Chopin, Edith Wharton, Nella Larsen, Zora Neale Hurston, Sylvia Plath, Maxine Hong Kingston, Angela Carter, Christina Garcia, among others — and their narratives together. One of the commonalities among almost all the material we read was that, more often than not the endings were not just unhappy, they were awful. After reading Wharton’s The House of Mirth, one student slouched over her desk and melodramatically beseeched: “Can’t we PLEASE read something happy?” A grumbling of assent arose from her classmates. I knew this demand would come, for I had felt it myself. Why in almost all the literature I loved did the heroine have to die, fail, or live only a shadow of a life at the end of her journey? And then I came across Eat, Pray, Love; and I knew it had to be our final text in the course.

After we finished reading the memoir, I asked the students the very question that troubled me: how can Gilbert “succeed” when so many of the women before her had failed? One student, who was a bit suspicious of the book, proposed that it was because Gilbert had access to money, which had become a major theme in the course. If the heroine had access to money, this usually facilitated her quest, but when the money ran dry, her travels were over. Many of the students seemed to agree with this reading and one even referenced Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own, which we had read earlier in the semester. This student connected that Gilbert had, essentially, accomplished what Woolf could only imagine, or begin to imagine, in her socio-historical context of the late 1920s. So, I asked the class to consider: could Gilbert’s quest “succeed” because she was a benefactor of the women’s rights movement? Luckily, the students saw the promise of the reading, but still held on to Gilbert’s privilege as the major influence on her mobility. I agreed that, yes, Gilbert’s journey was sensational, but does one really need to drag oneself all over three continents to discover the very basic (though extremely important) things Gilbert discovered about herself? And this is where the conversation became really interesting.

Our conversation turned to how the students thought about applying the relationship between mobility and agency to their lives. One noted that she had always dreamt of going to India and was now contemplating a study abroad because of the book. She had always told herself that going to India was a silly thing to do, but the desire never went away. Other students were less specific about their plans, but they agreed that the book had encouraged them to reexamine ideas they once dismissed as “fantasy” or “useless” because there is nothing “useless” about pursuing one’s happiness. Another student, a woman in her thirties with a family, said that during and after reading the book, she chose a bubble bath as her escape. She couldn’t get away physically to another country, but she could get away in her mind and reclaim some happy time to herself. But the most startling response was a student who described herself as a “good Southern girl” that rarely traveled anywhere without her father, a date, or a chaperone. The morning she finished reading the book, she picked up her car keys and drove an hour and forty-five minutes to Charleston, SC. She didn’t tell anyone that she was going. She parked downtown and walked — for a while she just walked. And then she stopped and ate some ice cream. And then she walked some more. And then, for the first time in her life, she ate dinner at a restaurant by herself. And then she drove home. And now — she told us, her face aglow with possibility — she knew that she could do anything on her own. And this had opened up an entirely new world to her. Such a simple story, but so full of truth that the class was quiet for a moment; we were all completely moved by her narrative.

In addition to our very honest responses to the memoir, I had the students experiment with some creative writing techniques employed by Gilbert. After reading Book I, I assigned them to write a Petition to God (or what/whoever they felt comfortable writing to) and to imagine who would sign it. The petitions were heartbreaking, from family strife to blown-apart hearts to physical ailments. The yearnings that came out in these petitions were completely transformative to me as a teacher — I suddenly, in a big way, “crossed over” from one rather simplified view of my students to a deeply engaged view of them as full and complicated human beings. Everything changed when they let me into their personal experiences. Ever since that assignment, I have vowed to cherish each student as an individual. When I become bitter and resentful, I think of those hand-written petitions and I generate compassion for my current students. In addition to the messages in the petitions, the signatures also were interesting. A number of the students had God sign their petition, which I thought was pretty subversive; that’s one way to cut out the middle-man, so to speak: petition requested and... granted. I also saw Bill Clinton, Ani DiFranco, Oprah Winfrey, and Virginia Woolf sign their names. A number of the students had Elizabeth Gilbert sign their petition. Before I handed back their petitions, I made sure to sign my name, as well. My only regret with regards to this activity is that I did not follow hooks’ advice to allow myself to be as vulnerable and open as I had required my students to be. If I could go back, I would share with them some of my own stomach-crushing heartache that all-too-closely resembled Gilbert’s experiences.

My reticence to return the investment and authenticity I required of my students resulted in the one activity that left me feeling disappointed. In the first book, Gilbert and her Italian friend have a discussion about everything having a particular word that encapsulates it. Gilbert does not find her word until Book II, when she is studying at the Ashram. Her word, which she fittingly discovers in a book, is “Antevasin,” or border-dweller. Finding one’s word is not an easy task, but I thought it would be a fun conversation starter. Seated in our circle, I was surprised by the blank stares and I laughed, egging them on. Many of them tried writing a few things down. When we progressed around the circle, I heard words like Prayer, Mother, Tired, Duty, Patience, Awkward, and Work. There was no Fun, no Love, no Metta toward the self suggested by these words. And lots of students had opted out of the activity because they just couldn’t think of a word. And then — the blessing and the curse of a circle — the prompt came ‘round to me and the students peered at me, expectantly. I started to open a new discussion until the students insisted: “What is your word?” I stammered and blinked and looked around the circle. I hadn’t even thought of my own word; honestly, I didn’t think anyone would care or think to ask. Usually, the teacher inquires about the student; rarely does the opposite occur. But more importantly, why didn’t I even think to ask myself what my word was? Even as a reader of the book, this was something that I had glossed over. And yet as a teacher teaching the book, I felt that there was something pedagogically useful about the concept. I was stumped and the student appeared to be disappointed. I tried to teach my way of out the slump, but I don’t recall it really working. Luckily, I was able to distract us with updates about our upcoming visit from a local meditation instructor.

I had asked the students if they would like for me to arrange for the teacher at the local Buddhist center to come give a little talk and introduction to meditation. The students were, to my surprise, completely unanimous in their interest. Michelle, who was my first meditation teacher, took the helm while I sat with the students and observed as they asked questions in response to her lecture. I remember being impressed with their difficult questions — some of which had been inspired by the book and some of which had been inspired by Michelle’s talk. Michelle seemed impressed, as well. A talented teacher, Michelle complimented them on their insight. And then they did to her what they had done to me in the class before: they began asking her questions about herself. I saw that it knocked her off her game a bit, as it had done to me. But she answered their questions and they ate it up. They wanted to know how she — a tall, thin, pretty white girl — had gotten into Buddhism and meditation. And how had she become a teacher? And where had she been? And what had she been doing before she became a teacher? As always, Michelle fielded their questions with honesty and grace. Afterward, she told me that what surprised her most was their interest in her, which she had never really experienced before. When they were satiated, Michelle drew them toward the meditation portion of the session and taught them basic skills. Then we had snacks, and I proud to say that pretty much all of us ate like pigs. Later on, the students would tell me that the meditation instruction was actually very useful — especially at the end of the semester.

In their final papers, several of my students made striking correlations between the insights of Eat, Pray, Love and works such as Chopin’s The Awakening and Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God. Afterwards, one student remarked that the revolutionary power of the book was, to her, its universality: “While I read the book, as well as after, I actually felt quite peaceful realizing that everyone could feel as consumed by their own problems as I did. I also felt peace knowing that I could find the strength to face my own issues, just as Gilbert did.” I asked her if the book had any lasting influence on her, and she replied: “I have started to pursue my own quest for happiness. I reconnected with an old boyfriend, traveled to Europe, and started facing the issues that bother me that I had previously tried to ignore.” She notes that, “Things aren’t perfect, but I’m slowly working towards becoming a happier person. I do think the book had a lasting influence on me. It made me realize that we can control a lot of what happens in our lives, even through the biggest struggles, both internal and external.”

The Extra Bead on the Mala

Eat, Pray, Love can make room for contemporary women’s internal revolutions not only in the lives of individuals like myself, but in the collective spaces of a classroom. In a country that has benefitted from the many waves of the women’s rights movement, much of the pressure to keep families together, to make everyone happy, to maintain the status quo, to do well, to succeed continues to be placed on women. Recently, I discussed the book (and this article) at a dinner with a group of women academics in various disciplines. They all enjoyed the book and seemed to appreciate the narrative’s renewed challenge for women to liberate themselves on a deeper level. If we are ever going to be genuinely happy, we need to understand and realize our selves independent of mainstream social expectations. And that’s what Gilbert’s book helps many of her readers to do; she provides a template and each person who reads it fills in their own blanks. Hence, the power of Eat, Pray, Love.

In the Metta Sutta quoted at the beginning of this article, Buddha declares a goal of “radiating kindness over the entire world.” If my own conversations about this book are any indication, Gilbert’s book, which has been translated into thirty-two languages, has lit a lamp in people’s hearts all over the world. In Teaching to Transgress, hooks asserts that her book is an “intervention” (10) intended to disrupt the status quo and to improve our academic environment. I would argue that Eat, Pray, Love can also operate as an intervention in the lives of people who read it. Both Gilbert and hooks, authors from radically different contexts and upbringings, grappled with Eastern philosophy (one Hindu yoga, one Buddhism) and came out with the same message. Make a commitment to practice loving-kindness toward yourself and others and watch the revolution happen. With them, I exclaim: “Attraversiamo! Let’s cross over!”

Works Cited

• “The books most borrowed in U.S. libraries” Library Journal. 15 February 2008: 148.
• Chödrön, Pema. When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times. Boston: Shambala, 2000.
• Gilbert, Elizabeth. Eat, Pray, Love. New York: Penguin, 2006.
• hooks, bell. Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom. New York: Routledge, 1994.
• Memmott, Carol. “Is she, pray tell, self-absorbed or true seeker?” USA Today. 7 February 2008: 01d.
• Orr, Deborah. “The Uses of Mindfulness in Anti-oppressive Pedagogies: Philosophy and Praxis.” Canadian Journal of Education. 27.4 (2002): 477-90.
• Salzburg, Sharon. Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness. Boston: Shambala, 2002.
• Schroeder, John. Skillful Means: The Heart of Buddhist Compassion. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2001.
• Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky. Touching, Feeling: Affect, Pedagogy and Performativity. Chapel Hill: Duke UP, 2003.
• Thich Nhat Hanh. Interbeing: Fourteen Guidelines for Engaged Buddhism. Berkeley, CA: Parallax P, 1998.
• “What They’re Reading on College Campuses.” Chronicle of Higher Education. 28 March2008: A7. Online.