Lately, my mind has been quiet and my heart has been loud.
This is quite a shift in my normal way of being, and it has taken some time to adjust.
It has resulted in me being largely wordless, which often makes me feel lost and overwhelmed and voiceless.
And I do feel lost, and a little overwhelmed, but not at all voiceless, because I have been speaking—probably much louder than I usually do, as a matter of fact—it has just been a kind of speaking I am not particularly familiar with.
I have been speaking with my heart.
I have been letting her take the reins and she has thrown me every which way I could be thrown and I am bruised and uncertain and a little bit afraid.
But I am feeling.
I am living.
I am experiencing.
Our minds don’t allow us to live the way our hearts do—passionately and fearlessly and blindly.
They are too jaded, too guarded, too quick to analyze and weigh the pros and cons and convince us that we are better off living safely, quietly, inwardly.
Sometimes, we need that.
But when we get stuck in that world, the world inside of us, we become distant.
Distant from the feeling of a blanket of sunshine around our shoulders.
Distant from the beating and warmth and radiating love from other human hearts.
Distant from looking into a pair of eyes that leave us inexplicably smiling, and also from the pairs of eyes that leave us inexplicably sad—both of which are equally important.
Our heart world is different. It craves closeness to these things.
It craves closeness to them even if the closeness is fleeting, or dangerous, or runs the risk of being rejected.
Since the day my heart became louder than my mind I have gotten close to each of those things, and then some. Some encounters were fleeting, some were dangerous, and some were rejected. Some left me elated and others utterly defeated. I have laughed. And cried. And felt angry. I have regretted and accepted and forgiven and began again.
When my heart is the quiet one and my mind is loud, I simply don’t feel these things.
I am even-keeled. Timid. Full of thoughts that come out on paper but not on the Earth. I am careful and controlled. I am slightly more productive, but slightly less enthralled.
I am me, unmoved.
But we are made to be moved, and our loud hearts need us to be moved, and our lives are waiting to be dizzied by the currents of these movements.
Our minds will always be there to remind us of the times we fell too hard and the paths we don’t need to get lost down again. They will always be there to talk some stifling sense into us when we may have crossed a line or two. They will always be there to sit down with and contemplate and problem-solve and give us some time to emotionally recharge.
Our minds aren’t going anywhere, so why not let our hearts lead the way for a while?
It is worth it to get a little lost sometimes.
It is worth it to feel with a heaviness and a heightened-ness.
It is worth it to be moved.
It is worth it to leave our hearts wide open, even when it hurts.
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Editor: Renée Picard
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