A True Gift of Heart. . . .

The Greatest Love Affair. . .

If you are a front line worker, a miracle worker to all of us, and you are driving home at the end of the day, you begin to talk in the silence of your car.  You vent and cry with fatigue, with sadness, with curses and finally end your discourse as you turn down the street where you stay either with others or by your Self somewhere.

Or you are a worker, stocking shelves nearby your home or making change for the nitties that are crucial to the sanity of those who are in need and your mask is making your face itch and you wish for a shower away from lines of other itchy peoples.

But you are walking home in the rain and loudly talking.  You cry and the words are not elite nor sorted, just a wrench from a heart pressed for various reasons.  None of which speak to the fairness of anything.  No one notices your tears because in the rain everyone you pass seems to be crying.

But to whom are we talking?  For almost my 90 years I have held conversations in mind that were company for who I am.  And for only slightly more than 6 decades have seen my words of mind printed at first on paper and by self discipline on the monitors.  When did I become conscious of the argues of an Other and the solace of a companion mind in Conference?

It is what I call the greatest love affair ever we engage in.    

For when we reach the highest and best that we know,  that bar set for the highest mountain we can climb in our human skin, when we succumb to the intensity that has us roaring and venting, cursing and in great fatigue exposing our hearts in bas relief, that we are answered in like intensity by the Divine Within.

No respecter of social classes, but great respecter of caliber of effort,  of ethics, of belief that the Each is of supreme value regardless what is held to be the worth of the day.  The intensity of purpose will reveal the Who of who we are and we are assured to be more than the disheveled one we appear.

It is then we have knowledge born to be ours.  That we are companioned and never abandoned though this was lost to us.  The night embraces us but in the morning we take our posts to be accountable.  We never have the language to describe this affair of heart which only is alive in mind.

But we know now it is another pearl of great price.

Concordance. . .

The heart reaches out
in mute acceptance to that which is given.
It answers only that which
it perceives at its Source.

Its depth is mirrored by the very essence
of the soul’s reflections.

It wanders not among possibilities
but perceives also

the very essence of the mind’s abstractions. . . . .


(artwork by Claudia Hallissey)


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