WHERE MY HEART WOULD FIND ITS SECRET RHYME
Where does my heart belong? What is it made of? Whose is the blood that flows through it in truth? Should I wait until I die to find out or can I know now? Certainly my heart lies within a casket already, the casket of my body. Therefore what will hold it after my death? My love and faith will hold it. Living is a kind of charity, a sacrifice which gives the heart to time. But in its own being where would it most like to be? Where my heart would find its secret rhyme.
In a sense my heart is where my body can grow most thin. On the one hand it’s a doorway into the world I live in, the mortal world. On the other hand it’s a threshold into the eternal. My feelings, my longings, my needs come by nature to that doorway. After all it is the centre of the living. Do our needs and feelings vanish when we die? Are we not still connected to people and experiences? Is it not reasonable to believe that the dead come to that threshold too, and reach out with their questions, just as we do? In the name of Love I can make my heart a meeting-place or room for the souls on both sides.
Yet too often life creates a pool of blood in the heart which can’t find its own way out. A well of suffering which Love has not yet made its own. When this happens life can’t pay the price for releasing what it has itself created. Real pain arises. There is another chambered heart, just a beat and yet a universe away. The Being within it takes pity on that blood and breaks apart the wall that keeps Love’s splendor from our day.
Rhyme
But distant as my dying may be, or near,
there still will be a casket for my heart.
My body is that casket while I’m here,
my love and faith will hold it when I part.
Thus living is the sweetest charity,
a sacrifice which gives my heart to time,
but if you ask where I would rather be,
it’s where my heart would find its secret rhyme.
Meeting-Place
My heart is where my body grows most thin,
a space which only heaven can provide,
a mortal doorway to the world I’m in,
eternal entrance to the land inside.
The dead come to that threshold, living too,
and ask each other’s help across the gloom.
So in the name of Love I’d wander through,
and make my heart a meeting-place or room.
Love’s Splendor
Yet blood may gather in the heart, and stay,
a pool that Love has not yet made its own,
a well of suffering, where life can’t pay
the price for letting go what it has grown.
The Being within the other-chambered heart,
a second and a universe away,
takes pity on that blood and breaks apart
the wall that keeps Love’s splendor from our day.
Best wishes, today,
Landar
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