The heart is a space of transformation where receiving and giving, humanity and nature, the moment and eternity, come together. It often acts more quickly than the mind, allowing us to experience that love and compassion speak a language that connects all living things.
Faster Than I Can Think
Shopping at the Kö-Bogen in Düsseldorf. That’s where I realize my cell phone has disappeared. Where did I lose it? My thoughts race through the possibilities. There? No. There? No. Then it hits me: the restaurant! I run back; the waiter sees me, smiles, nods, and hands the phone to me with a gesture that silences any further thanks from me. What a relief! Outside, out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman rummaging through a trash can for returnable bottles. Faster than I can think, my heart leads my feet toward her. Faster than I can think, the 20 Euro note in my hand is in her grasp. And faster than I can think, my brief explanation: “I just got incredibly lucky!” Faster than I can think, I step away from her and take ten steps, to spare her any potential awkwardness. And faster than I can think, I turn around once more from a safe distance. For a moment, time stands still. I see her beautiful, astonished face and hear her question, which makes me feel so much more blessed: “Is that for me?”—Wolfgang Held
Where Nature Listens
“Does a tree have a heart?” my little friend asks. We’re sitting in the shade of a Hazel. I’ve been showing her how to feel our heartbeat in our wrists. Well, a tree has a pulse: sap rises and falls, wood expands and shrinks in measurable rhythms. And water flows through trees, into air, and back to soil as rain. I realize: a tree’s “circulatory system” is the whole environment! But where is the heart? Maybe “where” isn’t the right word. Her question doesn’t ask for a mechanical solution, but something more heartfelt. What does it mean for a human heart to reach out and feel the heart of nature? Our own hearts contain a continuous transformation of our blood that I find miraculous. But that’s not the explanation for a 7-year-old. And it’s not what we usually think about when we think of our hearts. Just look at our language: kindhearted, heartbroken, heartless, heartwarming, sweetheart. These aren’t attributes of a physical heart. The noblest qualities of soul—kindness, courage, honesty, compassion—these we assign to the heart. Most of all, love belongs to the heart. Maybe out of this, a picture is possible. I think of blood carrying impulses from the heart to be enacted by the limbs. And blood full of sense impressions to be taken in and evaluated, returning to the heart. And virtues, our highest impulses—not created by our heart but initiated there—flowing into our actions and then being refreshed by consideration, in our hearts, of what comes back to us. I think of Mary, of the Divine Mother, listening and pondering all in her heart. The heart, then, is not a place or a thing. It is the gentle, unassuming holding space for transformation—without it transformation can’t happen. Ever receptive, ever giving. Endless love. I look around at nature’s beauty and abundance—freely, lovingly, and continuously offered to me. “Maybe the Earth is the heart of the tree,” I tell my little friend. She reaches out and tenderly holds a Hazel leaf, as if taking someone’s hand.—Laura Liska
Language of the Heart
“What really matters to you?” was the question. At the end of a windy but golden afternoon, six words hovered over the garden table. The white tablecloth billowed like a sail at times. Love. Humans. Healing. The world. Sacred Earth. I matter to me. Six different answers—for today. Or rather, six perspectives—or even roots—from which a person sets out. Or that guide their gaze. Or that serve as a compass for their actions. Or that are their longing. Spoken from the heart into a heartspace. Each one nestled safely within the other. But we didn’t notice this quiet truth until later. What truly matters to me, strangely enough, matters to everyone. I find me in everyone and everyone finds themselves in me—including animals, plants, the river, the rain. I suspect that the language of the heart does not have 8.3 billion words. Its vocabulary shapes, encompasses, and enables a very specific kind of life. In it, gestures express themselves, along with places where they take place, and beings who recognize them as they unfold. The language of the heart is warm, for heaven and earth form its grammar. It connects time with eternity. And it enables us to stand freely without losing sight of the other. The language of the heart is and creates a space for life. And it is the original language of humankind.—Gilda Bartel
Translation Laura Liska
