When a book is closed, there is no way we can learn what is written inside. We can only anticipate, dream, fantasize.
The same is true with the heart -- when the heart is closed, its voice cannot be heard, nor the echo felt inside. The heart is not a hot potato that you toss around in your mouth waiting for it to cool; once burned, it may not open again. To hear the voice of your heart, the heart itself must be open.
My heart, too, tends to close up ... from too many passersby wanting to look inside, each one wanting to take something or leave something behind.
To the unselfish recipient, I enjoy giving without stopping to consider whether I should ask for something in return. But sometimes you need to ask, because you may not get what you want unless you ask for it. More importantly, you must understand what it is that you want -- and before that -- what you don't want.
To realize this, the heart must be kept wide open, because the heart's voice is the only one speaking. And it speaks when your eyes, ears, and heart are open ... open just for you. A conversation with your heart's voice is like the barely discernible heartbeat of spring snowdrops in the sun-drenched clearing near your house, or the first emerging ray of sun on a summer morning as it gently caresses the drop of dew that clings to a still slumbering flower petal.
To the inexperienced, the heart's voice is a newborn child; to those with experience, it is the wisdom of life. How wonderful it is to acknowledge that my heart is open, while a mechanical time counter -- like a metronome keeping life's pace -- ticks away unheard somewhere outside.
Half one's life can go by before one understands it, and even a complete lifetime can be too short to appreciate its true worth.
Love opens the mind and the heart, but it is life's wisdom that holds the truth as to whether the door remains open or closed.
(Excerpt from her upcoming book "Life colors in fairy-tales for adults and kids")
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