My head and heart often seem to be at odds. Not in any clear obvious way, not like the Greek tragedies we studied in college with a tragic hero/heroine (me) at the center, who must choose between love and duty. However dramatic I may seem, my life is pretty plain.
How are things “supposed” to be?
I wrestle with the thought – wrangle it, watch it, fear it…
with uneasiness, with open curiosity, steeped in judgement, in compassion. Yes.
Welcome to my headspace – you can do all of that in the same space and in the same
timeframe.
I stare some more at the question. I am brave enough to take
it out of my head, out of its assimilated state mixed in with the other stuff, stale
beliefs, etc. I squint. I gaze. I walk around it in wonder. I stare some more.
With curiosity. With puzzlement.
My head acts like the boss. It knows. Facts are facts. That’s
the way things are supposed to be. That’s the path of safety and security. It
is the policeman who knows its job is to keep me safe.
My heart is not quite convinced. It wanders around it with puzzlement
and open curiosity. Once the head is a little removed, it can hear its own
beating. And all it feels is puzzlement. It has many questions. Like my child who
would flood me with endless “But why??”. Only for my every very logical response
to be faced with another never-ending, never-satisfied “But why??”.
I could never tell if it was a game to her or if it was genuine
perplexity. In the case of my heart, I know. It is perplexity. A lot of it.
From many years ago.
Who made the rules, it wants to know. And why? My heart looks
at my head in askance. Why do you give so much importance to so many things
that you don’t really care about. Okay correction, that I (heart) really don’t
care about. Is it because others value it? Because society values it? Because
you were told so? Because you feared you would be nothing without it? Like my
child, all my heart wants to say to my head is “But why??”.
Small things, big things, programmed things, acquired things.
Tiny little metal boxes of inflexible beliefs and fears, sticking out, poking
at us, waiting possibly to simply gather rust. They may be valuable to society
or a greater belief system. Do they add luminosity to our life and being? Or do
they weigh us down?
Really, I’m not asking us to break all the rules. Please return
your library books on time and stop at the traffic light. I’m questioning the
expectations and tiny rules we make for ourselves. Those that seem to matter to
us when they really may not matter to us very much. The strictness we may introduce
into our lives, which may be the result of lives led, past experiences, how we
were raised, the list is endless…
The heart knows if something matters to us. And different
things matter to different people. All the heart may want is a little more
freedom, to breathe, to be. To be itself, and not be dragged about.
Maybe, all it wants is for the rhythm of its beating to be acknowledged.
For its “But Why??” to be heard.
