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There once was a man with a very big heart. It
was so heavy. He struggled to know what to do with
it. No one in his village understood what he was
talking about when he spoke of his heavy heart.
As he grew older, he was led to discover that his
heart was heavy because it contained so much love.
That confused him. How could love be so heavy?
He had always thought that love was light. Over
the long years, he had given of that love to as
many people in his village as would receive it.
He gave of that love to his wife and to his children.
But, sadly, his wife had been afraid of his love.
Somehow it was too heavy. Whenever he placed some
of it in her hands, as much as she said she wanted
his love, she would quickly say that it was too
much and let it drop out of her hands. He would
gather up the bruised love and carry it. Of course
his heart became that much heavier. “You
just can’t leave love broken on the floor
even if your heart is breaking,” he thought
to himself.
Yet when he gave of his love to his children,
it was never too heavy for them. In fact, they
then went about their daily life lighthearted and
so did he for a while. But something was missing.
He did not have someone his own size to lighten
his heart. And besides, he had noticed that his
children’s hearts were becoming heavier.
After many years, he could no longer bear the
weight of his ever heavier heart. He had to find
someone who would help him unburden his heavy
heart; who would help it feel light as a heart
is meant to feel. His wife had grown angry at
his love and did not want their children to grow
into people with large heavy hearts like their
father’s. And so, desperate and not knowing
what else to do, she stole the children away
from their father and sent the local constable
to arrest him for having given his children hearts
heavy with love.
A man was not supposed to have such a big heavy
heart; and therefore, the townspeople shunned him.
They even laughed at his tears. They even believed
that he wanted to do them harm. His love threatened
them. With much love to give and no one to receive
it, the man with a very big heart was exiled into
the forest. He became a stranger to everyone, even
to his children. The pain of separation and loss
nearly broke his heart apart.
As time went by, his heart grew larger and heavier
still, because he was now alone with no one to
receive any of his love. He soon felt near despair.
Days followed days and nights followed nights for
weeks, months and years. Grief stricken, he longed
desperately for his children. He wanted to die
and he did not want to give up hope, caught as
he was between the two.
One evening, as the sun lengthened the shadows
behind him, he chanced upon an ancient tree hidden
deep in the darkest region of the forest. He leaned
against it and wished desperately for sleep. He
could hardly see the tree branches touching the
ground before him. In fact, he yearned to fall
asleep for a very long time, maybe forever. A voice
inside him said it was enough that it was time
to give up. As he shut his eyes with a last sigh,
he said good bye to each one of his children as
their sweet faces paraded across a stage in front
of his closed eyes. He mumbled a prayer wondering
if anyone would care to listen. “Please do
not let me wake to my heavy loved-filled heart.
Please, no more tomorrows like today.”
Perhaps he fell asleep. Perhaps it was a dream?
Perhaps it was real? He was never quite sure of
it; not even years later when his hair had turned
pure white and his beard showed the last traces
of grey.
The tree had disappeared when he found himself
in the cool shade looking up at the canopy of an
immense mushroom. He could feel the touch of soft
hands on his face. A huge heart was beating loudly
against his back inviting his heart to beat to
the same rhythm A sweet breath warmed his chilled
neck against the damp night air. He lay there still
and quiet. He felt at peace for the first time
since he had been condemned to the forest without
his children. He could tell that the heart behind
him was a heart that understood him and was not
afraid of his heavy heart. Yet, he did not turn
to take a look for fear that the spell would be
broken. He waited. He just took in the warmth and
listened to the beat of another’s huge heart
that did not feel heavy. He noticed that his heart
did not feel so heavy as he let himself be lulled
into a strange stillness. He shut his eyes for
the longest time. Perhaps he slept. He never knew
for sure.
A crow had seen the pre-dawn light from its perch
atop a hospitable hemlock and woke the wanderer
lying on the bed of light green and grey moss below.
He remembered that he had once been told by a good
witch that the crow was his totem animal; and that
he ought to pay attention. Startled, he rubbed
his eyes and held his breath. Before him stood
a short round-bellied old woman with immense pendulant
breasts. She smelled of the moist earth and was
covered with silvery moss. “Find her”,
she said. “Go find her. That is all there
is to it.” The man did not know what to make
of this apparition. He took a deep breath and eased
into a deep sleep.
Years later, this was his story.
***
The sunlight had now reached the forest floor.
I stirred and woke along with the other woodland
animals. It seemed that they were greeting me.
I reached
out and they did not run away when I touched them with my love-filled heart.
When I touched the skittish rabbits, I felt the remaining heaviness of
my heart grow lighter. I began to smile. I laughed
aloud because the more the animals
received my love, the baby raccoons, the mice, the young wolf pups, even
the grazing deer, the more love I had to give,
the bigger my heart became. What
pleased me the most, in all of this, was that my heart was growing lighter
and lighter. How could a heart get bigger and lighter at the same time?
I rose and ambled deeper into the woods. I had
no plan. There was no trail to follow but somehow,
now, the forest opened itself up to me. Breathing
easily and deeply, I found a path on my way beyond
a boulder, around a tree, along side a bush, by
a marsh, at the edge of a lake. I took note of
this but did not give it much thought at the time;
just smiled more broadly for the joy within me
dispelled the familiar grief. I became less and
less concerned about where I was going, what I
was doing, whether I was ever going to find the
one I had been instructed to seek; especially since
I did not have a clue. Perhaps I had found her
already and did not even know it. A silly thought
at the time.
Later in the forenoon, waves of heaviness, full of the faces of my children,
returned to weigh down my once lighten heart. As night drew near, the sadness
was more than I could bear. I cried until the ground around me became a muddy
pool reflecting the shimmering light of the moon through the night. I cried
all night, through the dawn of the next day, and into the late morning when,
mercifully, I finally ran out of tears.
***
The noon day sun glistened on the surface
of the lake water chasing the water bugs to the
shade
of the water lilies near shore. The pillow-puffed
clouds
reminded the man of his long journey. He had walked for countless days, in
and out of many calendars, called forward by the voiceless command of the mushroom
lady. “Go find her.”
***
Now at the lake’s edge, I slid into
the water to rinse my soul as well as my body.
It was
time to dive into deep refreshing waters and wash
away the
blood, sweat and tears of the years. I remembered a dream in which, as a young
man, I had discovered what I had long ignored and then rejected: my inner companion,
my Anima, my Soul. Was she the one I was seeking? Would I find her both within
and on the outside as well?
***
Refreshed, he lay down to dry on a grassy
knoll under a gnarled and weathered apple tree.
He felt at one with nature. He remembered the Mushroom
lady. He
recognized the earth as his mother; how she had nurtured and taught him well
during the time served in the forest.
***
No sooner had I rested his head in my cupped
hands the scene changed. I was now in another place
and time. Nothing was familiar to me. I was a
stranger
in a new land. The skills that had served me well, I thought, in my life
back before my exile were useless to me now. I saw myself discarding my tools,
my
work jacket, my Sunday suit: everything that gave me an identity was gone.
I was a stranger in strange land: no longer tired and dirty, but still tattered
and torn. I was just my self: no more, no less. I was surprisingly light
on my feet.
***
He walked into this strange town holding on
to his fear and comforted by his inner calm. An
old man appeared saying, “He who enters
here must bring nothing but his plight.” The
traveler knew that his heavy heart had been his
plight. The old man spoke again. “He who
enters here must know what plight he brings.” The
traveler rejoiced because he knew what sort of
plight he had carried for so long. The old man spoke again. “He who
enters here must come with open empty hands.” The traveler had nothing
in his hands. He had nothing at all. All that was precious to him had been
taken
away;
and the rest, he had left behind. He recognized himself as a truly poor man,
rich with his emptiness.
Strangely, the wanderer felt welcomed. He had
met all of the old man’s conditions for entry
into a town that appeared to be a small medieval
city. Standing in the center of the dusty road
he could see from outside the thick stone walls,
a town square of sorts, with a stone fountain in
the middle. Encouraged by the old man’s nod,
he walked through the shadows of the eastern gate.
No sooner had he set foot into this new unknown
world, a young boy, not much older than three,
ran by, chasing a silver ball down the cobblestone
street from the west end of the square. Without
looking up, he said to the man, “He who enters
here with love will find his lady.” Memories
of the mushroom woman returned. He wondered what
she had to do with all of this. Was the boy’s
lady the one for whom he longed? Was she the one
he had seen in a dream, the one he was to find?
When the man looked up, the boy had disappeared
but the silver ball was still visible shining brightly
in the distance at the slope of the street under
the golden rays of the late afternoon sun slowly
rolling to the fountain’s edge and stopping
at the feet of the one who would become his medieval
queen.
***
Many more years later, the man recognized the
symbols of his journey in a sixteenth century etching
of the Immersion in the Bath of the King and
the Queen sitting
naked in a fountain, holding hands and two flowers, with the dove above witnessing
the union of opposites in love; in William Blake’s drawing, The Reunion
of the Soul and the Body; and in the alchemical silver and gold sphere of the
SELF.
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