The Beautiful One
“The Beautiful One” is inspired by Rumi's poem called “Open the Window of Your Heart” in company with the profundity of “being held” by a horse during an equine leadership program on a ranch in West Marin, California.
Do not worry if our harp breaks
Thousands more will appear.
We have fallen in the arms of love where all is music
If all the harps in the world were burned down,
Still inside the heart
There will be hidden music playing.
Do not worry if all the candles in the world flicker and die
We have sparks that start the fire.
The songs we sing
Are like foam on the surface of the sea of being
While the precious gems lie deep beneath.
But the tenderness in our songs
Is a reflection of what is hidden in the depths.
Stop the flow of your words,
Open the window of your heart and
Let the spirit speak.
This is what you told me that hot, dry summer day with the eyes of others upon us, gently holding us with their gaze of attention and care. Both human and animal alike. When it comes to matters of the heart every living creature is involved, understanding the pulls, the twists, the hopes, aspirations and longings that remain in motion deep within the recesses of the heart.
I lay my head upon your body. I could feel your slow and even inhalation and exhalation. They say that all time can stand still. And now I truly believe it. And I understood then that time not only stands still but time expands and contracts, just as the slow, steady pace of your breathing. And within every inhale arises worlds remembered, forgotten, and with every exhale the release of worlds wishing to be gently placed into the larger space of what holds us all in our beloved universe.
With all those who have come and gone, with all those I have known through the chambers of my heart, they seemed to have been with us that hot, dry summer day. When I lay my head on the side of your body where your enormous heart resides, I surrendered. You held me in such a way that I knew I could melt, could open to the tenderness of my song which is your song which is all of earth’s song, all of this world’s song, all of the beauty and suffering that we all know so horribly and wonderfully.
And after I cried an eternity of tears, you were still here, still present. And you placed your head on my shoulder, nuzzling me, moving around my face and over to my other shoulder, as if I were your colt, your young one. And I too felt this way. Young and innocent.
And then and there, I thanked you. I thanked you for your graciousness and strength.
And I carry the openness of my own heart into places that are deserving. No more. No less. Can it be this simple? This falling into love where all is music.