“How is your heart?” I recently asked a friend going through a trying period of overwork and romantic tumult, circling the event horizon of burnout while trying to bring a colossal labor of love to life. His answer, beautiful and heartbreaking, came swiftly, unreservedly, the way words leave children’s lips simple, sincere, and poetic, before adulthood has learned to complicate them out of the poetry and the sincerity with considerations of reason and self-consciousness: “My heart is too busy to be a heart,” he replied.
How does the human heart- that ancient beast, whose roars and purrs have inspired sonnets and ballads and wars, defied myriad labels too small to hold its pulses, and laid lovers and empires at its altar- unbusy itself from self-consciousness and learn to be a heart?
the rhythm of the heart…..the beating of wings……the passing of clouds…..
inquiry for today~ what it is like to speak from the heart? to live from the heart? to listen from the heart? what is lovingkindness like in your world?
My heart is a window,
My heart is a slide.
My heart can be closed
or opened up wide.
Some days it’s a puddle.
Some days it’s a stain.
Some days it is cloudy
and heavy with rain.