Heart Felt Questions



Our heart pumps life through our veins, and poets wax about it's vital part of our emotions. It goes on its business of keeping us going, literally and figuratively.




We discuss what is on our heart, in our heart of hearts, and look to seek our heart's content.  When things are going well, when the world's troubles are lifted from our psyche, our hearts are light. Spiritual things brings one to lift up your heart to the maker of your understanding. 


Our hearts ache when dealing with sadness or loss. Hearts have been stolen, most likely because they were worn on a sleeve.  When something is heart wrenching, it is as though it has been ripped from our being.


Oh, and lest we forget, heartbreak ~ there is actually medical proof that a heart feels those emotions of pain, like the one we experience when that first significant other decides that we no longer fulfill their needs, wants or desires, or we have been left behind by the one that we love so unconditionally.


If a heart could talk, speak to you directly, what would yours tell you?  Would it ask for you to be a bit more careful, or would it ask for freedom?


Would you have a Grinch-like issue, one of too small; or perhaps filled with blackness and hate, filled from absorbing all of the negatives in life?


Could you see your heart, pouring out all it had to give, invested in this life, the one you've been living all along?


Icy cold, after being conditioned to no longer feel, or is there a fire that burns deep, one that smolders, just waiting for oxygen to bring it full?


Is there something you could have done to safe guard it from the pain your decisions inflicted upon it, or was it guiding you all the way through your journey in this life?


If you were to ask your heart what it wants from you, would it be able to answer, to be true?

My Happy Place

A dear, close friend asked me an interesting question the other day: 'Is there any place in the world that you would be happy?'


The comment was spawned, I believe, by my bite of sarcasm, my tear apart of what ever domicile address that I have had.  I have lived in rural locales, small cities, larger ones, cold weather climes, and a sub tropical location.  Now, looking to foster my passions, I look to other places, once again.


To answer my dearest, sweetest friend: Yes. There are places that I have been happy. It is not necessarily the location, but the frame of mind, the state of being, that I have visited. 

The ski slope on a cold winter's night, ablaze with torches, lighting up individual snow flakes like ever so many tiny diamonds; the frigid air biting at my face. 

The moonlit horseback ride through the outback of saw grass and palmetto, where the steady trod of the horses hoof could put a soul into a trance, as the melody of frogs and crickets played simultaneously as a musical accompaniment.

A walk, on an early spring day, where the last vestige of autumn blooms cling resiliently to the edges of its branches.  Spanish moss hanging loosely over the arms and limbs of old southern oak trees, swaying ever so slightly in the air, and catching sail in the afternoon breeze that kisses my cheek.

Walking on sugar sand, along with my daughter, listening to the waves rolling into the shoreline. Sun caressing my skin, warming my bones with its intense touch. Speaking of nothing in particular, but discussing of what is on our hearts at that moment in time.

The ride along winding country roads, littered with the last colors of autumn's paint.  Leaves swirling  in tiny cyclones as I drive past them, listening to my music, singing along to familiar tunes.

Sitting at Nubble Light, or Hammond's Castle. Walking on Bayshore Boulevard, or dinner with a view of the Custom House.  Pancakes at a sugar shack, the  Ottauquechee running beside me. Dancing in a venue to a musical group, singing to the top of my lungs.


A moment, my dearest sweetest, not a place, and more often than not, a stolen moment in time. That is where I am most happy.

A Slice of Pie and a Slim Jim

Went to "Pie Night" at the local Village Inn.... it's a little tradition that some of my friends and I have created over the past few years. Just a little time to hang out, vent about the week, grab a bite to eat, and laugh at the things we'd rather cry about.  It's a hodge podge of folks, and it suits us fine. 


I ordered only coffee tonight, as I had already eaten dinner with the kids at home. The coffee came, the conversations ebbed and flowed with the pour of the dark liquid. There were discussions of what our kids were doing, the Dubai races and political state of affairs there, the celebration of a friend's personal victory.  As usual, there's always the moment of 'If I only knew then, what I know now" comments, and a chuckle from all, recognizing that we all learn from our life adventures.  We go for pie, more for the moral and emotional support, the food's a bonus.  As we delve into the theoretical discussion of what love is, agape, the different stages, and how age and opportunity factors into one's perception of 'true love', if there truly is such a thing, the conversation slows and our evening winds down.


Goodbyes being said, one by one, each of us left the tables where our group had been seated.  A dear friend, who is old enough to be my father, was the last to leave along with me.  Thinking that most of our friends had left already, we walked out the door to find a group of our friends still standing out front.  Hovered around a white SUV donning tags from Texas, our friends seemed quite interested in what was inside the vehicle.


Three women, a mother and her college age girls, were hovering with the group. A miniature Scottish Terrier, dressed in a sparkly warm dress and a rhinestone collar, danced around the front of the vehicle, yipping away at the people wandering around her territory. She was ferocious.... in a cute way.  Made certain that everyone knew that she had owners, they were right there, and as small as she was, SHE was in control. 


The tiny terrier had been guarding her territory while her Mistresses were inside, getting a quick bite to eat. Apparently, in the excitement of people walking near to the vehicle, she jumped onto the armrest of a door, inadvertently hitting the electric lock switch.  It probably would not have been an issue, if it were not for the small detail that the SUV was left running, you know, keys in the ignition kind of running.... with the other set of keys hanging uselessly in a suburban home somewhere in the Houston area.


As the locksmith promised no less than an hour or more wait, the local authorities informed the women that nothing could be done on their behalf, unless it was a child, and if it WAS a child, there might be legal ramifications.


Don't ask me why, 'cause I  didn't ask why he had one, (OK, I did ask, but he wouldn't tell), but a sweet young man from our crew of comrades came forward with a slim jim.  Working first on the front passenger window, he tried valiantly for almost 15 minutes to work the lock, then took a short break. The little dog, running back and forth, began jumping onto the arm rests of the door once again.  Walking up to the passenger door, I tapped ever so lightly on the front portion of the window, calling to her.


The whirling sound of electronically mechanized locks came, not just once, but at least 5 times within a few moments of each paw hit. The delicate pads, hitting on the lock portion, again and again.  Each time, I grabbed for the door handle, pulling, hoping that the sound signified the doors unlocking. The women, all standing on the sidewalk, as strangers tried to break into their SUV, ever more frustrated over their dilemma.


I backed away and joined the women, trying to reassure them that it would be just a minor inconvenience, and that there would be a great story of their trip to Tampa and their canine catastrophe that waylaid them from an extra two hours of sleep.  In the meantime, my dear buddy was back at it again, using the jimmy on the rear passenger door window.


Eventually, without much ceremony, and with two county sheriffs looking on, the back window rolled down, and my dear friend unlocked the vehicle for the travelling souls.  We clapped, cheered a little, gave him hugs, and then proceeded to say goodbye to our new acquaintances from the Lone Star State. 


As we walked to our own vehicles, calling out to one another, saying our weekly goodbyes, the younger of the 'rescued' women came running up to the young man that liberated their pooch. She handed him a white bag, filled with slices of pie, a thank you gesture. Being the gentleman that he is, he smiled, accepted the pastry, and hopped into his old truck.  As his truck engine came to life, the young woman ran back again, this time with cash in her hand, a smile, and another thanks.


It wasn't a really eventful night, but, I can assure you that those ladies from Houston, who thanked us just because we stayed with them, assured them, will have a story to tell.  My buddy has gas money tonight, three women are grateful for the persistence and caring hearts of some strangers, and I have warm memories of a caring soul who wasn't going to give up until he found a solution.


None of us will probably be able to think of or see a piece of pie again, not without thinking about a dog and a slim jim.

At the Intersection of Atlanta and Cosmic

Travel is an amazing thing. To be able to transport yourself from one locale to another, interact with places and people, to touch what was only seen in a photo at one point. Perspective shifts, lives meld, and the world keeps moving. Each of us with our own little world, our little world that intersects with other little worlds.

On a flight from Albany, NY, I had the opportunity to meet a young soul. Her name is Faith.
I had been wheeled onto the airplane, given priority, as the 'boot' I was wearing afforded me a wheel chair and handicap 'priority'. I waited at my window seat on the plane, wondering who would be occupying the space next to me. A 20 year old dirty blonde with dread locks stood staring at me, then said, "I guess this is 20B," to which I replied, "You have found your spot in this world! Have a seat."

It was quicksilver. The moment that two strangers can decide that circumstance has set the best situation out for you. Small talk ensued, as we asked about one another's reason for the flight.

She was 'home' visiting her mom and working on living that dream of travelling on the road. The little bus that her mother purchased and painted purple, well, it broke down. Faith had other plans that included her boyfriend in Florida, not stuck in upstate New York with a broken down bus.  The boyfriend purchased a ticket for her to fly back, so that they could be together. There was a band, a job offer for the boyfriend, and music. When you're 20, sometimes that's all you need in this world.

We discussed life, anxiety, growing up in a small town, small minds, and small people. Then we went large. The cosmos, the Great Maker, Butterfly effect. The note that we all suffer, in one way or another, the fear of being 'less than', of missing out on the 'dream' or the chance to change. The fear of change, the fear of the unknown, the exhilaration that every new step brings one closer to a new reality. Living in the moment, for the moment, not the past, nor the future. Higher thinking, mental, emotional, and physical well being. The opportunity to experience life on life's terms, accepting it all, and creating our own sense of belonging.

Our 2 1/2 hour flight became a theoretical discussion worthy of most 600 level Philosophy courses. A young girl, who had lived a bit, but not experienced enough... comparatively speaking. We shared our love of music and travel. Commiserated on our distaste of small minded busy bodies, judgmental souls, and the restraints of the world.  Our flight ended with warm wishes for safe and soulful travels, not just for that day, but for the rest of our lives. We had connected, shared, and then took a small part of one another's lives, dreams, souls. Touched another human. Intersected our lives and created a new reality and perspective.

Our encounters in life, as 'spontaneous' as they seem, are moments of dreams, snippets of wishes, handfuls of hope, stitched together to create our new reality and perspective.

Overload

I yearn to feed my own understanding of this world, an understanding that I so desperately yearn for.

There are so many things out there that scream for attention. We willingly add more information into our minds through surfing the internet, watching the evening news, interacting with others. It is a daily onslaught, and one that I crave too often. My mantra, 'Sapere Aude,', taken from the philosopher Kant, doesn't help either.  I live my life wanting more information, seeking out others' ideas, yearning to understand what makes things work, why people act and interact the way that they do. I'm certain that I am not alone in this, however, I'm also certain that not everyone's mind runs this way on a regular basis.

I can't get enough. I see the world as inextricably linked. One thing feeding off of another, feeding into another. A flow that when interrupted, changed, re-directed,  creates some incredibly profound changes. Some of those changes are not necessarily discernible to everyone, but in my mind's eye, I see the shift 'in the force'.  There is a moment of no return. That time in which the slightest shift takes on a whole new meaning, a new divergent course that creates a new reality.

To be able to find the nuances of a soul's intent, is difficult at best, and is the thing that I guess I will never understand. Fragile things, souls are...  breakable. Broken. Just remember, as you walk through out this life, try not to harm, try not to hurt.