Widening the heart's window

on the spiral of breaking and opening

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A song I’m loving:

An ideal seat, 35mm film

What do you say in a world that is so impossibly heartbreaking and heart-opening at the same time? What do you say when there is a constant hum of grief amid the most astounding beauty, the deepest orange sunset you’ve ever seen, the wordless love of your people? What do you say when you are experiencing your own personal momentum amid collective chaos? What do you say when you face a climate catastrophe alongside the bright dreams of joy and presence for your and every child’s future? What do you say when Othering seems more common than Belonging? What do you say when your “leaders” cannot lead with heart? What do you say when you remember your own wholeness, and then forget, and then remember, repeat? What do you say when you know all of this will end someday? What do you say when you want to remember the lushness of this world, even as it is intertwined with unimaginable cruelty? What do you say?

I say my god, this is a lot to be with.

I say I want to move at a snail’s pace, at the tempo of a plum ripening, at the speed of the shadows dancing on the wall at golden hour, even now.

I say grief is the only natural response, and love is the only natural response, and the way our bodies can house all of it never ceases to be a miracle to me.

I say my body knows the way when I slow down enough to listen to it, to really hear it. The flush of heat tells me something; the need to fall to the floor tells me something; the desire for togetherness tells me something; the strong back tells me something.

I say the belief that any of this is mine to do alone reveals the individualism that seeped into the culture I grew up in. I say I want less me and more we. I say it’s okay that we feels scary sometimes when aloneness has felt so, so safe.

I say keeping my heart open is the only way I want to face it all.

I say a wide-open heart still feels unfamiliar in some ways.

I say please, heart, keep breaking open instead of closing.

Seeing beyond, 35mm film

I say I am finally learning how to fully feel and it is changing me in ways I don’t yet have the words for, probably because words are often insufficient.

I say there are so many people helping, dreaming, scheming, making, building, dismantling, praying, collaborating, loving, listening, surrendering, moving, healing, nourishing, pouring, caregiving, creating, offering, tending, forgiving, trying.

I say I want to turn toward those people more than I turn toward the people who are afraid of letting their hearts fully open.

I say I want to be one of those people, doing things that truly matter, no matter how small or quiet or private or subtle.

I say it’s so important to be on good terms with yourself, to know your own heart, to trust your integrity, to believe your own knowing, to let yourself live your beliefs out loud, even when it’s scary or wobbly or painful to be in the practice of doing just that.

I say nature is my greatest teacher, these valleys and rivers and oceans and forests and long, still, quiet roads forever reminding me of what is most true about human nature.

I say the salt in my tears is like the salt in the ocean, that my body is not so far from the places I turn to for nourishment, that we are made of the very spaces and places we hold such deep reverence for, that perhaps we can hold ourselves the same way, as vast and mysterious and miraculous as the sea itself.

Through, 35mm film

I say it is so much easier to see the sacredness in another when I refuse to turn away from it in myself — it is so much easier to see the humanity in another when I choose to honor and cultivate and allow my own full range of aliveness to exist.

I say not everyone will understand your heart, and what an aching relief it is to let them misunderstand you — to do no more convincing.

I say there are one thousand ways to practice loving, even in the face of what feels like the opposite of love, the opposite of life... maybe especially there. I say starting with even just one of those ways is usually a good idea.

I say it takes so much willingness to keep turning toward love within the systems that convince us doing otherwise will make us more powerful.

I say I want nothing to do with power lacking in love, in reverence.

I say we each have our unique gifts and contributions, some that may seem larger or more grand and impactful than others but all that matter, all that are needed, all that are worth pursuing in the ways we’re able to.

I say I’m tired when I’m tired. I say I’m joyful when I’m joyful. I say I’m mad when I’m mad. I say what’s true and I let myself feel what’s true. I stay with what’s true.

I say I want to linger in all the goodness that is here, in all the pleasure and vibrancy and surprise and ease and connection that exists in between everything else.

I say it isn’t an act of care to minimize goodness; ignoring beauty to only stay with pain helps no one; bypassing joy isn’t an act of compassion.

I say dreaming isn’t naive — imagining isn’t naive — keeping possibility alive in one’s heart isn’t naive. It might be the most human thing, this dreaming.

Toward the water, 35mm film

I say being willing to look directly at reality is courageous.

I say needing to look away sometimes — needing to retreat and turn inward, set aside and set down… is so deeply human.

I say I can validate myself far better than anyone else can validate me.

I say there is such a wide difference between ignoring and intentionally taking space, between bypassing and making room for more, between pretending and consciously creating the room necessary to truly be present with all of it, the hurt and the magic.

I say caring for our world is a deeply reciprocal act; look at how much it gives.

I say thank goodness for music and art and good food and laughter and water and blooming yarrow and rest and friendship and privacy garden hangs and imaginary play with toddlers and backroads and local farms and linen and generosity and books and partnership and awe and wonder, even now, especially now.

I say the world I envision for all of us — every single one — is so much more beautiful than this; at the same time, there is such an endless amount of beauty already here when I am patient enough to just look for it. It is right here. It is right here.

I say keep looking. Keep trying.

I say I could very well be wrong about all of this, but something tells me I’m not.

I say I will keep saying the same things over and over, the things that are my heart’s offering to the world. I say I will stay with it all. I say how willing I am to forever forget and forever remember as a way of being a living spiral, a living contradiction. I say keeping my heart open is my life’s work. I say I’ll continue sharing what I discover by practicing doing so, by failing at it sometimes, by feeling my grief and my gratitude simultaneously, by turning toward as often as I can. I say I am doing my best to not let the world turn my heart cold or hard. I say it can be so hard to not turn cold and hard when I look at the news, or the way people treat one another, how easily we dispose of the humanity of others. I say I try anyway. I say my heart has been broken since it was built and I am finally recognizing the beauty in that, the wholeness in that. I say I see your humanity wrapped up in my own. I say I see the beauty in all of us continuing, somehow, widening the window of our hearts, somehow, staying with it all, somehow.

Writing this widened my heart. There is always a way.

As always, thank you for being here.

△ How people are making friendship work

△ Really looking forward to Rachel’s book, Slowing

△ The gift of privacy

△ Why to write

△ On not making your home look like a magazine

△ All the conversations surrounding Where Olive Trees Weep

△ A forever re-read, with new wisdom each time

△ A few recent delights —

First yarrow bloom, perfect thrift store find, & nature’s abundance.

With care,
Lisa