Heart

    The path without heart is meaningless; and useless; and trivial.  How do you get there?  Such a short distance but leagues away.  So easy to acquiesce; to avoid; to distract.  To run and hide.  Years of experience and pain stand sentinel against the journey.   How do you feel again?  Why does it have to be so despairing?  The artist points the way, but it is the ultimate road less traveled.  Why bother?  What's the use?  Can't I live without the attachment of emotion?  It hurts.  To feel makes things so messy and complicated.  Strive for control, it's all I have.  The grip loosens.  To many objects to suspend at the same time; impossible to move fast enough.  No amount of agility will succeed.  It all comes crashing down.  Pieces here and there.  I have picked them up and started the whole charade over again for years.  Always arriving at the same place with more confusion, angst, and bewilderment than before.  At some point the primal drive to wholeness attacks the isolation of thought.   It pursues, like a tireless hound, the constant, insistent shadow.   Decide!!  I can't do it.  I'll have to give up too much.  I need delusions.  Reality too bright.   If only just to think and it would all be ok.  The mind makes rational the hearts upheaval; amazing ability to veil and obscure all truth.  Safe now.  No need to engage; no need to be involved.  Go quickly to the warm exile, running to the emptiness, hearing the constant echos of cymbals;  the vacancy and imprisonment, the false security, the musty and fetid air of intellect.  Fantasy flourishes. The self cleaves, the heart forgotten, finally discarded forever.  The irrational becomes commonplace as true madness sets in. 

     The heart glows; a perfect orb of universal energy.  Talking softly; vibrating, humming.  It speaks in its own language only its likeness can hear.  It emanates on all sides gently but constantly.  It confronts in a silken touch.  Straining the ear is futile.  If you want to hear, listen.  Its words are not sounds but impression and sensation.  It uses awareness and epiphany to arouse.  Its favorite tactic is irony and coincidence.   Its voice is beauty personified, like children singing.  It touches all simultaneously, everywhere; a totality.   Its a flood of energy, that washes and cleanses.  Once experienced, never to be the same again.  It calls to an amoral purity, one without judgment.  Analysis and critique are meaningless.   The mind pursues logic and categorization, the heart laughs, not out of disdain, but as a father would laugh at a son who tries to push back the sea or move the clouds in the sky.   Why should I listen?  I get along fine without it.  It confuses me in its certainty.  It confounds me in its perfection.  It mocks my beliefs and makes trivial my thoughts and desires.   It exposes the charade of independence.  It unsettles all plans.  It makes obvious all manipulation.  Its gaze strips me naked of all contrivance.  Its honesty, too glaring.   But pay attention and heed its call, you must, for this is Gods messanger.  For in its vibrancy is the universe of expression and the fulfillment of wholeness.   Its direction is guidance without error.  To know it is to know love in all its forms.  To know it is to know you.  To know it is to know God.  Come home;  you have been waiting for you for a long time.   We have all been waiting for you.