The Little Heart

Once upon a time,

I was taking a walk, listening to music and trying to escape from something. Maybe it was responsibilities. Maybe it was silence. Maybe it was time itself. There was an endless hollow ache inside.

I walked by something lying on the ground. It was covered with a blanket. Whatever it was, it was gasping for air. I could hear the muffled rhythms of inhales and exhales.

I lifted back the blanket and saw a heart lying there. It was not vibrant or even red as you might expect. It was pale pink, white in patches, and bruised purple in places.

“Little Heart!” I said, “what happened?”

And in response it could only cry out a feeble wail, “I’m cold and have no home. Take me with you!”

And so I did. I bundled it up and held it close. For days and nights, I whispered to it sweet lullabies and patient love. And day after day, it grew stronger.

“Teach me to walk,” it said. And so I took it by the hand and taught it to walk.

“Teach me to smile,” it said, but I found this request difficult. “Teach me to laugh,” it said and again it was difficult. “Let’s stick to walking,” I said.

And so the little heart grew stronger until it was strong enough to run and play on its own. It taught itself to smile and laugh. Sometimes it would look over at me. It saw how hard I worked, how little I smiled, how little I laughed. I frightened it and so it kept its distance from me. Until we grew to become strangers living in the same house.

I had a terrible dream one night. I dreamt I was the only one in the whole world who didn’t have a heart. I cried out in my sleep and the little heart, which had now grown so big, vibrant, and strong ran to me and, without hesitation, leapt inside me.

A great wave of warmth flooded through me and I felt calm and less alone.

“Little heart, is that you?” I asked.

“Yes, it is. I thought you didn’t like me,” it said, “I didn’t know you were so sad.  Let me stay here with you.”

“I’m sorry,” I told my heart. “I covered you…something had covered you in a blanket and left you a long time ago. Please stay.”

And I learned to smile and to laugh again.

And to this day my heart is still stitching itself back inside me, each day threading itself to my soul until one day it will have a secure enough hold that no injury will be too harmful, no heartbreak will be too painful to prevent it from beating on and on where it belongs.

The End

Bodh Gaya, India

February 3, 2013
The World Peace Ceremony.

As things often do, it comes down to the people. Religion has always been more about people than Gods or Buddhas.

Where time does not exist there is a devotion to the human experience.

Spirituality–really witnessing and experiencing it–happens when there is a transcending quality of energy among or surrounding or integrated into the world of normality.

The World Peace Ceremony is the ultimate spiritual high. And I think I’m addicted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Working for the Wedding Store

July 01, 2015

Today has been a bit of an odd, weird day. First: It’s Wednesday (good name for a movie…present self says, “Not really. Try again.”) and I normally do not work on Wednesdays, but the District Manager (DM)…we’ll call her Bee was going to show up today and so they needed a Stylist to open the store since  Bee and the Manager would be busy discussing things.

Bee reminded me of someone who is overly intense and overly serious–in other words a “professional.”

She was all smiles and buddy-buddy, but I could tell she had a heart of ice. She was so icy. I felt mentally numbed and my creativity and freedom sucked out of me.

An Athena in flesh–ready to defend the Patriarchy and Corporate means and goals–a business soldier sent out to give her opinion and for her opinion to be taken seriously.

Sorry, lady Bee, you’re going to have to earn my loyalty.

I wanted to ask her about the sweat shops in China making our wedding dresses.

When the wedding store refers to China: See here, it’s made in China, but that doesn’t mean the quality is poor. (At least that’s what they might as well say.)

She says to me so serious, “I see here not every bride purchases a veil. Why doesn’t every bride have a veil? Why doesn’t everyone apply for a credit card?!?! We should be doing our best…!”

Our best to what?

MAKE MONEY!

Bee had drank way too much cool-aid.

If the bride doesn’t want a veil, what do you want me to do about it?

Find out why she doesn’t want it, of course. Pry your nose into every detail of their lives–get to know them so you can take their money!!!

Credit? Debit? No problem.

We want numbers so that the store is quantitatively measurable. And then we will make quality judgements based on the data.

Get Happy! Life is about to be simplified and reduced to below, average, or above a pre-defined goal!

Yay!!! Life is so easy to fix!!!!

I wanted to laugh in her face and tell her that her job is a joke. While she was talking, I stared in amazement. Is she for real?

She probably thinks fun means roasting a salmon and eating on fancy fucking China plates.

She makes me want to rebel.

Dammit. I can’t find my weed.