Heart problem.
When the eyes of the heart open, we can see the inner realities hidden behind the outer forms of the world. When the ears of the heart open, we can hear what is hidden behind the words; we can hear the truth.
Opening the heart means coming closer to God. God said, through Muhammad, “I who cannot be fit into universes upon universes, fit into the heart of the sincere believer.” The heart is a temple that can house God. To open our hearts is to allow in the divine presence.
The heart of hearts in each of us houses a spark of the Divine. This is the meaning of the biblical and Koranic quote, “And God breathed the breath of life into Adam,” also translated, “And God breathed divine spirit into Adam” As our hearts open, we come more in touch with the wisdom, love, joy, and inspiration from the divine spark within.
All wisdom is already within us; all love is already within us, all joy. Yet they are hidden within us until the heart opens.
I would like help with my heart problem. I have diagrams of the heart. I know the direction the blood is pumped, some of the control mechanisms and have seen open heart operations. The problem is, that although I understand the above passage from ‘Essential Sufism’ Chap 9, the image of ‘heart’ gives me biological images and as a metaphor it’s not quite working for me.
posted by johnthebarman at 6:43 am
35 Comments:
Interesting mind trap. Open Heart: the flow of truth and its tie-in to an unknowable situation through the heart is one thing, I think quite removed from the mechanics of blood flow to and through the heart. But I am just an interested observer in all this.
Trust John . Know he will find the answer he is looking for.
g'day to you Sir. Indeed.
Heart Attack
Beverly VanBuren
It beats with rhythm
racing, pounding
aching, breaking
loves astounding
Every beat against my will
Would that it might just
be still.
Dear John,
Matters of the heart have been pondered even blamed on poets. How many of them have longed to still the very beating? How many beatings can such a loving thing endure? Whether brave or lonely or chambers of true horror, each of us has one. We are never truly alone. If I knew the answers, they would do you no good.
Thanks for breathing new life into the image. The Heart is closely associated with Life. "We all have one. We are never truly alone"
Ponder possibilities. Perhaps, you can hear the drums of your soul crying for its lost pieces. Bring them together and unite them with simplicity of love. I love you. Don't doubt it, feel it.
that breathe of life given to Adam is mercy within mercy within mercy.
A dearly departed partner and friend used to insist that he had no breakable heart and so he tried to make that his truth. Love and I still captured that lost heart and it knew love for its reality and simplicity. He wondered why since he wasn't able to love me back but his heart spoke through his denial. Now? Now he waits across the greatest divide to begin again. Soon, she croons to the moon as it ripples a path across the tides.
Thanks midnight for those lovely images. I am painfully prosaic. At least your partner new the meaning of 'heart'. I do have a genuine problem with the metaphor but what words could we use. 'Heart' has served us well. And it really does beat faster with the rippling moon.
I think heart means source. What pumps us up better than a heart attack for another chance to get it right? My heart is the source of my deepest pain since it is where I hide my deepest fears. I dug them out and dealt with them. I tamed my dragons and heard her whisper and wail like the BANshe that she claims is she. She has nothing to prove. She simply exists whether in your imagination or for reality but not for TV. Online, I am never as old as I feel or look since I remember when better than most so I can be a kid or a seductress. I can be anything I can imagine anywhere.
John said: CHD. A blog. was crawling round the seabed when most academics didn't realise the continents were drifting.
And I replied: never know where to add to the conversation, and on any given day, am ahead or behind the curve of interest.
I write a combination of blogs, knowing it takes a certain background and understanding to connect with the one2-many/force field. Not universal, and Seedrum/schizo-pal-Stoney-blogger is a composite creation, that like radiation and plutonium, might not be stable, or like you said, continental drift and I was interested, before time began, or more to the point, before those who should know, the academics, were able to give fresh and original input.
And so we become old, and obsolete, but not really. A blog like CHD-IMB-SEE-LIFE is more like an accumulation of things I would like to build on in community, but the truth is: Continental Drift and some of us are Worlds Apart. Not your normal cup of tea. And yet. Am allowed to continue. A daily blog. His way and style and background and thoughts. Mixing old with new. Hoping to maintain a continuity.
Am aware John likes verifiable issues, and those with history and a path we can trace and accept, from there to here, or even: here to there, going backward to figure out we missed, the first time around. Ageless topics, and endless revision, what is in vogue. I don't write for any one reader, but like I say: capture the interest of just one on any given day, and it is like somebody putting a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and making it accessible.
Good to see you John. As you know, my style of blogging is not for everybody, and making a perfect score is not possible, as the audience is not one we can spoon-feed. Just by luck and tolerance, do I have a group of people, like you who say. Best One Yet.
Appreciate the feedback. And John. Am aware. Its not how many blogs one writes, but rather: if there is significant content, and does it encourage or support significant interest, on the part of those, too busy for non-sense.
G'day John. Good to see you. 7/17/2012. Good to see you.
Thanks See. No need to justify what you do. I enjoy it. Bless You.
Just so's you fellas know, this luna tick (moon bug?) looks forward to sharing times and tides between those drifts. Whether I fly on the wings of a dragon or a butterfly or swim with the whales or walk in the rain, I see and feel those lonely souls and send them my love wherever they are. I am SHE and all men matter to me. They weren't born cynical or defeated. So much depends on a nurturing woman. A man who respects his daughters because he loves their mother will never want for the love of a younger woman. His daughters will love him long after he passes.
Thanks midnite moon bug. We shared full moon, me in a remote bothy by a peat fire. No one for miles around, unless it wasn't the wind rattling the door. Next day at sunrise I visited a remote lighthouse. Alone all day. Also the place where a fairy race lived in underground houses now overgrown by ferns and little visited. More later...
Ah, the wee folk
in their places,
scurrying, hurrying,
chasing shadows
across moonlit pastures
and craggy tors
laughing with derision
at towering beacons
by the sea,
singing drunkenly,
to granite cliffs,
"Stave Ho!"
climbing
tickling flesh,
daring the swats
of lonely giants
who watch
and moan alone.
I would open your heart
to kindle a fire.
I would take the silence
of the h in ache
and create such a hearth
that its warmth,
its cheery whispers
consuming wood
might sizzle your soul.
Hearts are made of flesh
but they burn as easily as wood
equally consumed
by flames
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A spark was how it started
a tiny flame that grew
spread by stolen chances
of giving me to you.
Giving in defeats me,
giving back is shared.
Giving up is quitting,
giving must be dared.
Stunning stuff Midnite but can't stay just now...
You ought to picture me in white satin or black lace in the moonlight with silver in my hair and twinkles everywhere. Twinkle, twinkle.
My second X used to say, "That's what she said when the bed broke." He always mumbled it when I was nagging him. I began to listen so closely that I can now hear spirits. I also hear moans in the wind on any shore. Sure as there's a heaven in Hell in my arms, but they remain empty as log cabins in Maine winters until you can get away. Your my heart's inspiration though I would never own you nor wish to. I know you are committed. I am committing to ME. I am that good so I deserve the best. I think I get yours.
They are playing my song on the radio. I used to dance to this even if I am the shortest sister. Long Cool Woman In A Black Dress. How about a short hot woman in a red dress? The response to that is why I didn't give the second x a second chance to break my heart again. Disrespect is my pet peeve.
I can dance to that. In a Maine log cabin by the moaning sea. "In these shoes?"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pjvaqVAFuLI
First time I ever heard that song but I love the lyrics which I read while the song was playing. I hear mumbles and cries of ecstasy but no shoes on these feet. I need to feel my way to the edge of those nights. They're cliff hangers so I'm hanging ten on that granite. I don't care to dive, thank you but if you fly as high west as I fly east,, we might pass each other some night and enjoy our journey with a bit of dream weaving.
You make me feel good. Fly over this morning you'll see me weeding my beans and marrows but thinking about other shores.
As she, it is what I was created to do dear John. Thank you for acknowledging my success in my life. Perhaps the distance is what adds to the mystique. No tethers or dies. Isn't it interesting that moaning spirits are often depicted carrying chains? You are an early riser and I love homegrown everything. I also love my gardeners. I was born in Gardiner, Maine. There are no coincidences, only clues. Its up to each of us to figure out the meanings in our lives. I've been meaning to share love with all that allow me to be their best choice. You are proof of my abilities. I thank you from the depths of my heart and my despairing. My heart is that granite, hit it hard enough and cut it down to whatever size you need and it polishes into solid monuments to my mission. My epitaph could be, Here lies the bones of contention. The soul escaped to join its Celtic/Indian origins. Fantasy is as beautiful as the dream walkers choose to create.
Soon I am working for rest of day. A friend asked which Indian tribe you are rooted in. Let me know and I'll do some research. I would have liked to listen to some of your Indian music but my internet is slow x
Just found this one. What do you think of it?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AOwaSjco_s&feature=related
I know that song and like to listen to it. I have been called a wannabe or a sycamore which means the white rubs off by those Indians of purer blood than mine but its all just prejudice. My father was proud enough to tell me that we were from the Chicobee tribe, a river band of northeastern Wabanaki which means people of the dawn because Maine is the first to see the sunrise in America. He tried to settle in Rhode Island so I suspect he may have felt drawn to that area just as I feel drawn to Merrymeeting Bay where the Androscoggin meets the Kennebec. These two rivers feel like home to me. Maine was very harsh for my father's ancestors. They were hunted and killed like wolves for their scalps as bounty. This happened to all ages of my people. Extermination was the goal so mixing with white became a matter of survival. My father chose a British bloodline for his wife, hence my fair skin and auburn hair. His maternal grandfather was a Harrington who married an Indian from North Carolina. Patrick Harrington was a sea captain who sailed the colonies and ports along the Eastern seaboard. Here is one you will enjoy tomorrow morning. It means " I am of the great spirit. It is so." You certainly are. http://youtu.be/TChazq0npVQ. I love Rita Coolidge. I imagine my ancestor from North Carolina was Cherokee. My sister married a half blood Choctaw. My sister didn't believe we were Indian at all since my fathers sisters denied it and he had no brothers. Denial was a means of survival. In 1926, Maine was still treating Indians as vermin. My father was a very gentle and wise man who preferred the woods like Thoreau. Warriors did not enjoy making war. They did not enjoy waste of any species of living being. My father enjoyed watching things grow for useful purposes.He planted his seed to flourish and tended them with love.
"We're All Alone"
We play near the edge of flight.
Then with instant power she soars to her peak,
Staying as long as the wind blows.
And with exquisite sensitivity to my every touch.
She falls delicate as a rose petal.
She wears bright clothes,
Curves within curves, flexing her body in the wind.
Her body is spirit.
She is the wind. She is my lover.
She plays me in the wind
whispers of baited breath
blowing in my ears
but I must leave
as she senses,
she wails
and drowns
in the ocean of her tears.
Ocean of Tears
Dream of Icarus
Icarus Dialogue
"Listen!"
tis only the wind
echoing the seagulls cries
"I thought..."
you were dreaming
"I was drowning"
you're sobbing wet
and you've melted your wings.
Blue, this planet of tears
containing its passions
of tragedy
and love, lee
gardens of beauty
sheltered
from wailing winds
lie until led
to their beds.
I particularly liked your ' Icarus Dialog' I can't keep flying, my wings melt, my hands are soft washing dishes, my house needs cleaning but here is a quote.
My soul wants to fly away
When your Presence calls it so sweetly.
My soul wants to take flight
When you whisper, “Arise.”
O soul, leave this world of separation
and come with us to the world of union.
Behold the countless ways this body has entrapped you!
Break its deadly hold.
Rise up, lift your head clear of this delusion.
God said to the mind, “Return from where you came.”....
Take all the treasure you can carry
and cry no more.” -Rumi
Where shall we be found
when our cliffs tremble
and become lost
to this sea of humanity
We, the eternal
longing for the end
of longing.
Ever beseeching,
always beseeking
beginnings.- Beverly VanBuren
Brilliant!
My star is rising and it is brilliant. Thank you for believing in it. Your inspirational faith in me as a bard
(are they ever she?) is truly a gift of your appreciation. Many do not appreciate me.
I love that there seems little difference in our shores except that mighty ocean and crossing it. You truly would love Maine and Nova Scotia or Newfoundland. Maine has vast acres of wild, untamed forests and wilderness though it has all the modern amenities closer to ports.
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