Simplicity turns the key that unlocks the heart. Oh, the intellect allows for a good rousing discussion now and then, but the heart retires early from such a tavern, as Rumi might say. The real wine cannot be decanted.

The intellect may ride around on a motorcycle inside a wire cage at the circus but the heart remains at home.

The brain may fizz with excitement over the latest craze but the heart flies solo over the fingernail moon.

My own heart gets worked up about the simplest things. It averts its face from the complex issues that unfold within the head.

It needs a good cry now and then about the state of the world. It is not a do-gooder by any means, however.

It understands the concept of wholeness simply by being whole.

My writer’s heart loves the blank screen so it can sing and rhyme and mess with time.

The brain goes off on so many tangents, all presenting themselves as real.

But the heart knows how to feel.

I tuck my heart in at night with the music of Leonard Cohen. Now there’s a man who knows the futility of the mind’s passage through the universe.

I am learning to leap through the loopholes with Leonard. Such fun we are having. Do come along for the ride.

I have never met Leonard. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know me, either. And yet, and yet….

Who knows anything for sure, really?

Vicki Woodyard
Author of Life With A Hole In It: That’s How The Light Gets In