language of the heart

The heart is like the tree of knowledge.

I've been considering my heart a great deal recently. I wake up thinking: "ok, dear one, how are we feeling?"

Over the last few months, it has given me all sorts of feedback, from the most sublime exhilaration to staggering uncertainty, from the subtle to gross physical input.

Interestingly, my head has been deferring to it. Though my mind has certain ideas, it knows the heart has an infinitely stronger grasp on things. So it asks. But it's not always easy to get the answer.

The heart has its own vocabulary. It does not communicate with the efficacy of the brain, which sends minute-by-minute memos, detailed reports and--on many occasions--entire dissertations. It does not argue--especially not with itself. It does not rally for a debate.

Instead, it sits quiet, but knowing. To tap into it, to understand what it understands, I have to feel it.

I am, however, an imperfect reader--I suspect that I am not alone in this. I associate feelings to memories, concepts, prejudices. So sometimes the messages of the heart get lost in the minefield of the mind.

Other times, I am contrary, sometimes even belligerent. I do not like what it has to say. So I ignore it. Or fight it. And in those times, I am in conflict with my true self, making myself feel crazy because I've wedged a brick wall between me and my deep internal wisdom.

So, I am trying to chip at this well-constructed wall. Taking it down, one brick at the time, slowly clearing the way for a healthier dialogue with my heart.

We are in talks, my heart and I, though I still have difficulty listening. I am trying to understand its language, which, though straightforward, gets muddled in the processing. I am struck at how far removed I am from my own feelings, which I feel but do not always fully comprehend.