Now that the light is in Leo season, it has illuminated what my heart has been up to this year. It’s as if it jumped into a sailboat in January and I’ve been watching it move its sails with the wind, its ventricles when feelings change. I have felt like an observer on the shoreline, curious, but ultimately no influence over the weather or the moves this muscle would make.
After 13 trips, my heart has returned to the boathouse that is my chest, where it pumps story after story to my mind: adventure, boundaries and dead ends, friendship, loneliness, gratitude, disappointment, excitement, irritation, homesickness, surrender, and the spark of something so powerful, it has felt fragile.
To watch the heart work is to observe how you love and how you spend your time. In many ways, the heart is like a clock, measuring what is infinite: the sun, or desire. And for the first time in my water bearing life, my mind is able to hold those emotions without the need to articulate what it means, choosing instead to trust what the heart already knows and follow that.
Upon listening more closely, my primary care physician confirmed this doesn’t sound like the leaky valve we used to know at 18. Either my heart was misdiagnosed or has healed at 35, outgrowing its (perceived) insecurity.
It’s possible that both are true.
Inspired Scribble 