The Journey of the Heart, by Anders

Time seems like a funny thing here in Spain. The last week or so I have felt like writing a blog. I have not been sure of what to write other than in some way conveying my experience here to the words you are now reading. What really makes time so weird is trying to connect the outer events of shifting forms with the inner journey of the heart. It feels like trying to explain the movements of the ocean by the flicker of a light bulb. Still I notice how my mind goes to this sense of wanting to tell the people of my past my present stories here, to collect them to correct the past. As if the events must be categorized with the worldly cause and effect so that their value can come to some undefined important use. “This happened and led to this where I did this and they did that.” Every time my mind goes there, I end up feeling confused and anxious and finally thinking, “Who would I even tell and why?”. Then I let go and reenter the present moment.

The journey of the heart is really the only thing that has ever made any sense. This is where my authenticity dwells, the part of my being where lies can enter not. In this space I know my choices with brutal honesty, all the hurt, the love and longing. My heart cannot lie and I guess that is why I am so afraid of going there. Yet this is the closest thing I get to feeling at home. Naked and in a softness that seems so fragile that I hardly dare let it be seen in the world, or by my self. And this is the greatest treachery, the hiding. Like a scared child pleading not to be left alone, I close off my heart and return to trying to make sense of the world and play by its rules. When pain once again gets too high, I remember that I have a choice. Quietly I listen and slowly it dawns on me that the crying child is me, and a sense of loss so great I cannot bear it flushes through me. I can but weep.

You might think that there must be some incomprehensible tragedy or reason to think some help or comfort is needed. The truth is that I am beginning to feel that the happiness and joy are real. This is what really scares me. For so long I have felt that I had to protect myself from hoping this was possible. This, even without knowing that was how I felt. Something trembles in me, like an innocence wrapped in guilt suddenly exposed by a grand force saying, “This is not so!” A power beyond me tearing through all my meaningless understandings with one intent: letting my heart cave in to its magnitude. And yet it does not force me. It waits steadfast and without wavering for me to say “Lord, I am ready”.

This is what I feel is really going on. I do waver and I am afraid, but the hands I get to hold here in Spain tell me everything is going to be alright and I need not worry. My heart is opening and my wavering will have an end. The rest is beyond my control, and gratitude fills my soul that this is so. Thank you my dear friends. Let me be true to your heart as to mine in knowing they are joined even beyond this world. Thank you.