I was doing a bit of browsing on some of my favorite blog sites this morning (three of which are posted on the left for your own browsing pleasure) and came across this one from Jen Lemen:
Why should I listen to my heart?
Because you will never again be able to keep it quiet. Even if you pretend not to have heard what it tells you, it will always be there inside of you, repeating to you what you’re thinking about life and about the world.
You mean I should listen, even if it’s treasonous?
Treason is a blow that comes unexpectedly. If you know your heart well, it will never be able to do that to you. Because you’ll know its dreams and wishes, and will know how to deal with them.
You will never be able to escape from your heart. So it’s better to listen to what it has to say. That way, you’ll never have to fear an unanticipated blow.
The boy continued to listen to his heart as they crossed the desert. He came to understand its dodges and tricks, and to accept it as it was. He lost his fear, and forgot about his need to go back to the oasis, because, one afternoon his heart told him it was happy. (From The Alchemist)
Isn’t that beautiful? I so want to be able to listen to and trust my heart, to lose all fear, to forget about my need to go back to seeming-safety. As I read those words through a couple of times, I remembered a page I’d tabbed yesterday in the book I was reading and wondered how they’d juxtapose themselves to one another.
It was my fault, she sobbed, and it was true, no one could deny it, but it is also true, if this brings her any consolation, that if, before every action, we were to begin by weighing up the consequences, thinking about them in earnest, first the immediate consequences, then the probable, then the possible, then the imaginable ones, we should never move beyond the point where our first thought brought us to a halt. The good and evil resulting from our words and deeds go on apportioning themselves, one assumes in a reasonably uniform and balanced way, throughout all the days to follow, including those endless days, when we shall not be here to find out, to congratulate ourselves or ask for pardon, indeed there are those who claim that this is the much-talked-of immortality. (From Blindness by Jose Saramago)
The rhythm and affect between these two passages is striking. So different from one another. One that offers rest and hope almost instantly; the other that feels so much more frantic. Eventually it offers me rest, as well…it just takes longer to get there. And rest is what I want – in rhythm, in affect, in praxis, in my head, in my heart.
Here’s my segue to (potential) meaning and application. There are lots of ways we make decisions. Often we are more like Saramago’s text: swimming in words and consequences and ramifications and overwhelming thoughts. No rest. Because of such, we may not make a decision at all. And we feel like the paragraph above – frantic, afraid, consumed with consequences and/or remorse. I think Saramago is saying that we just can’t spend our time (or our lives) worrying about (or feeling guilty about) everything we’ve ever done. Were we to weigh every possible outcome of every action, every word, we’d be totally immobile. There’s something incredibly important about trusting our guts, about just doing and being and saying, and letting the resulting actions, feelings, and responses/ramifications just be as well.
We make decisions over and over again each and every day. Most of them are unconscious, or at least subconscious. Of course, there are some over which we deliberate, consider well, and often obsess. In either/both do we trust ourselves and our hearts? Do we second-guess. And maybe even more important, do we look back on past decisions with regret or rest? I want the latter. I want the boy from The Alchemist to be me. I want to listen to my heart, not be nearly so consumed with decision-making, or the possible consequences. I want freedom and life and no fear.
She continued to listen to her heart as she crossed the desert. She came to understand its dodges and tricks, and to accept it as it was. She lost her fear, and forgot about her need to go back to the oasis, because, one afternoon her heart told her it was happy.
Mmmm. May it be so: no regret, freedom, life, a heart at rest.
Are you tired? Worn out? …Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace…Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. (Matthew 11:28-30, The Message)
There’s something about trusting – ourselves and maybe even God, about listening to our hearts – and maybe even God’s, that makes the whole decision-making/consequence thing seem a little less all-consuming. That’s a better way of being. And that does offer me rest.
