one’s heart is still,
hanging like a breath waiting to be taken
a nut, after it’s cracked
if, when the wind calls from high in the trees,
the heart moves not
listening, instead, for the jumpstart from within
it hovers, the tick awaiting its tock
how does one follow?
when a life’s elbowing from one direction to every other becomes
the unanswered song of a bird
silenced by its own call
when discipline lays down like an old dog after
a hot walk
when the last thought has settled, as in a drawer collecting odd things
that, over time, signify little
how, then, does one follow one’s heart?
when one’s heart is no longer clamouring for attention
no longer seized by emotion
when its shocks have soothed
its aches smoothed over
its poundings dulled
when it just
an angel on a baby’s first breath
an idea stricken from form
when Being becomes the heart’s only agreement
which direction is forward?
judith cockman august 11, 2014
3 Comments on follow your heart, he said
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Beautiful, Judith! I’m glad I found it.
thank you elaine!
This is beautiful.
Sometimes being is enough.