The Vitality of an Awakened Heart

Do you crave ‘something more’, but find yourself clueless as to where to begin? Or do you begin, only to realize you have lost interest in all your self-imposed ‘shoulds’? Does it seem too difficult to reach for, too painful to admit, too disruptive to announce even to yourself? Do you tell yourself you are too old to change or that this is the bed you made and now you have no choice but to sleep in it? Does your negative self-talk kill all the dreams before they even fully form?

I hear you.

You aren’t alone.

I am right here.

And I get it.

Come with me. Take my hand. Not for a day or even an hour, just for a few minutes. Let me be your friend, trust me from afar to hear you, to see you, to feel that beautiful essence that is you, the real you.

We are sitting on my couch with the fan whirring overhead. You prop up a pillow behind your back, I do the same. You realize suddenly how tropical the setting is. You see the lush flowering plants through the opened windows. You hear the birds sing their varied tunes. You breathe in ginger and gardenia and of course, the scent of the sea. A smile emerges on your face. Your eyes twinkle. You barely know me but somehow, with a twist of delighted curiosity, you already feel at home.

I invited you here because I care. I want to get to know you. Something in me tells me that yours is a bright and beautiful heart and that somewhere along the way, it went into hiding, only emerging when ‘appropriate’. Something tells me that the time is ripe for this beautiful heart of yours to reclaim its place of honor.

I invite you to speak. You don’t know where to start so you laugh a bit uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. I sense that and decide to ask you questions, questions to gently reawaken your heart.

I want to know what dream keeps coming back to you day after day, year after year. Do you remember what was important to you when you were a child? Before everything got so busy and responsible. Did you grow up to be who you wanted to be? Have you given up too many dreams? Is there one that you keep very tight, close to your heart, afraid it too, might get away?

And then I ask you if you have ever been in love. I want to hear all about it.

I want to know what your perfect day is like. From beginning to end. And to hear if you could do anything, anything at all, what it would be. What would you taste, see, feel with your finger tips and toes? What would your tummy say and how would your beating heart react?

What, I would ask, could you begin that inspires you? I would remind you that it doesn’t have to be something grand. Tiny is just fine if it feels thrilling, exciting, right for that bright and beautiful heart of yours.

What makes you smile? What makes you angry? What gives you hope? What makes you scared? What can you say to yourself next time negative thoughts try to make a home in your heart?

And as I ask you these questions that burn in my heart, I also ask them of myself. I invite myself to live my way toward my answers, and then invite you to do the same. For when we try to live our way to our answers, we begin to reacquaint ourselves with our hearts and as we do, we release a sacred elixir, the vitality of an awakened heart.

Dream, and the Dream Will Follow...in Time.

Five years ago I stumbled upon a magic Mexican casita. Now, at first glance, I doubt anyone would have thought it magical. The crumbling square box was alternately surrounded by overgrown weeds and clods of dirt, oh, and don’t let me forget the dog poop, strutting roosters and decaying garbage. Its windows were hanging off their hinges and the few that weren’t, were sealed shut. The floor was raw cement, rough enough to feel like gravel underfoot. The bathroom had a drain in the middle of the floor and remnants of more roaches than I care to remember. But the ceiling was pretty, even if the fans hung off to one side and the location was great. And best of all, I felt the little house’s magic spirit and saw her amazing potential. At that moment, I knew she was exactly what I needed in my life.

So I made an offer, took a conscious step toward my dream.

But the owners said I was too late. A French couple beat me to it. I was crushed. I went back to my apartment and cried. And then, between bouts, I put my hands together, asking the universe to bring my casita back to me. If she is meant for me, I said, then please, oh please let her come back to me. I do so need her. She does so need me. Please, I begged. Please?

Three days later, I saw a dear friend in town who knew my plight. Hey Brynne, he said, the casita is still for sale. What? I exclaimed, someone must have listened, someone must have heard me! Within minutes I was making another offer, an offer they couldn’t refuse.

Five years have passed since that day and now the casita no longer has the space that my daughter and I need. Her vine covered garden wall, her lush tropical gardens and spirited bubbling fountain, her pottery and sculpture and shelves packed with sultry Latino novels, even her chandelier in the bathroom, the one that brought me so much joy—all of her delights will soon belong to someone else. Someone else I already know and love.

It all happened a few weeks ago when I was introduced to Shaheen, a friend of a friend I had been told I needed to meet for years. Over dinner Shaheen told me she was dreaming of living in our little Mexican town one day. Why not buy my casita, I said enthusiastically! When can I see it, she asked, mirroring my enthusiasm.

Later, sitting on the couch and staring out at the casita’s gardens, I told Shaheen the story of how the casita came to me. I looked up to see her covering her mouth. Are you alright? I asked. Can I get you some water? She shook her head, then spoke. Brynne, she said, we were the French couple who was going to buy this house five years ago. I didn’t understand until now why my husband kept dragging his feet, why he didn’t just give them the money, why he kept saying we needed to wait. I can’t believe this, but my husband heard you, Brynne. We didn’t buy the casita back then because you needed it more than we did. (I think this was when we both started to cry through our smiles) And now, its our turn, Brynne. Now we need her more than you do. Not only that, you have fixed her up to be what we dreamed for her, for us. Brynne, she said with tears making her eyes sparkle with joy, we helped you create your dream and you helped us, create ours.

A Magic We All Possess

"...when you throw a stone into the water, it finds the quickest way to the bottom of the water. It is the same when Siddhartha has an aim, a goal. Siddhartha does nothing; he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he goes through the affairs of the world like the stone through water, without doing anything, without bestirring himself; he is drawn and lets himself fall. He is drawn by his goal, for he does not allow anything to enter his mind which opposes his goal. That is what Siddhartha learned from the Samanas. It is what fools call magic and what they think is caused by demons. Nothing is caused by demons; there are no demons. Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goal, if he can think, wait and fast." from Siddhartha, by Hermann Hesse

The power of symbols

If you truly hold a stone,

you can feel the mountain it came from.

--Mark Nepo

As a girl, I remember visiting my grandparent's house. They had a map of the world on their wall with red pushpins marking every place they had visited. It was a magical treasure to me. No matter how hard I tried, there was always another place to learn about, another story to be heard, another adventure to imagine. Its been many years since they died and now when hope escapes me, I close my eyes and revisit that pushpin-ed map.

And I feel better.

Its not illusion or escapism but rather using my grandparent's map as a living symbol that can call into my moment of sadness a deeper sense of hope and possibility that is always there, just not always accessible.

Symbols, those things that call into being all that lives within us and around us, can help us if we allow them to. If we give them meaning, entrust them with the magic they once gave us, our lives suddenly take on a deeper sheen. A leaf in the shape of a heart found when you first realized you were in love, a feather dropped at your doorstep when you forgot you had wings, a sentence on the computer screen that spoke to your gnawing question---first we have to see them, then we have to hold tight.

lucky or unlucky?

Sitting at my computer working on my novel when I feel a drip, drip, drip on my head. I think my imagination is really getting good. Oh... is it raining in my book because it certainly isnt raining here. I touch my head. Wow. Its wet! I look up. Its too dark to see anything. I start to panic. Maybe I'm losing it. I rub my fingers together to be sure they are still wet, that I didn't dream it all up. No...my fingers are still wet! I get my new flashlight. Click and scan skyward. I can't see anything and then....I see it. A GECKO!!!! I decide to call Mom. "Hi Mom. Sorry to call so late but I had to tell someone." "What Honey, what's wrong?" "A gecko just peed on my head!!" SIlence. And then...."I hate to tell you this, Brynne, but gecko's don't just pee." Ahh....the presence of magic.

Caroline Myss on The Mystical Experience

Sivan Garr Presents - I Love You

I love you, too.

All In This Together - Ben Lee

Enjoy Being

The rain still smelled of ozone, its fresh scent arriving just in time for my hurried drive up North. I turn on to the freeway, the on ramp already black-wet, my wipers rushing as fast as they can back and forth, back and forth. ‘We’re trying, we’re trying’, they seem to be saying. But they aren’t good enough. Nothing is.

Where did all the traffic come from? Why can’t they get out of my way? Isn’t anyone going to let me in? What is wrong with people? Where did all the nice ones go? My face furrows. My body tenses. My mood turns thoroughly irritated.

Damn. I hate being behind cars bigger than mine. But I need to get over. That one, the one I have to get behind, he will probably be WAY too slow, too. All hippies are. And surely a hippie is driving. It’s a VW bus after all.

Then, there it is. Right there on the VW bus in front of me.

Enjoy Being.

And just like that, a simple script-written bumper sticker pierces me through the heart. Wake up. Enjoy being. Traffic? Costing you joy? What? I stare, shocked. What was I doing? I shake my head as if to shuffle it all away.

I roll my window down. Rain mixed with wind massages my face and shoulders, even my lap gets drizzled with the juice. My cheeks turn pink. I can feel the cold air on my teeth. Because I’m smiling. I want to thank the driver. He saved me from an ugly day. I put on my blinker and someone slows to let me in. I wave my arm out the window. I see a lone weed on the side of the road. It’s flowering. And beautiful. ‘I almost missed you,’ I sing out to it. I’m coming up next to the VW driver. He, too, has his window down. He is smiling. Enormously. His hair is completely soaked. He turns to me as I near. We smile at each other.

I want to tell him what he did for me. But I see he already knows. He looks at me with a knowing, a deep heart-centered knowing. Your heart is driving you, too?, his smile says to mine.

Are those tears on my cheeks or is it rain juice, showering my day with joy?

Don't forget to dance today!

The world can be as intimate and spirited as we want it to be!