True Heart Volume 3 :: Issue 2

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Find your rhythm and rhyme. Hear your inner knowing. Let the heartsong be your guide.


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Inherit the Wind

by Dixie Landis Bradley

Oil on canvas . 30″ x 24″

Shall I Drive You to The Red Tent?

by DeAnna L’am

Imagine your girl coming home from school. She feels tired. She is actually crabby, and the sullen look on her face warns you to keep your distance. Throwing her backpack on the floor she runs into her room, not interested in answering any of your questions about her day. Her shoes fly off her feet, one at a time, on her way up the stairs, and land randomly on the floor. Her door is slammed shut, and you are not welcomed inside. You want to ask her about her feelings, to understand what is going on, but the door’s message is clear, and you know it will not open for a while…

Imagine, though, that you had a magical key to this closed door…

Imagine softly knocking and whispering to your girl: “Shall I drive you to the Red Tent?”

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Even Comets Sing

by JoAnne Dodgson

Comets sing! The audio recording made when a space probe landed on a comet has gone viral. While the world seems to be falling apart, with ceaseless news reports of wars, heartache and destruction, something else is capturing our attention.

The very songs of life.

And the beautiful thing is — we’re listening.

We all have a Song, a unique vibration, a dynamic energy field existing within our physical bodies and rippling out beyond. Though audible sounds may not be detectable by our human ears, there are countless ways we can feel, sense and experience our own and others’ Songs — whether we’re connecting with another human, with the trees or a mountain, with a river, coyote, comet or star.

Each and every one’s Song is unique. Full of aliveness and knowing. Ancient and vast. With particular purposes for existence. Beautiful and loving. Curious and aware.

Remarkable scientific genius was poured into hours and hours of innovative construction of the spacecraft that landed on the comet. Interestingly, the mission was not about finding the song. The song of the comet was an entirely unexpected discovery which has opened doorways into new territory, stretching the mind, awakening the heart about what is and can

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The Knitter

by K. Chavez

I’m bound by your hands.
The ugly parts of my soul
Slowly have unraveled.
You’ve recreated those memories
With a unique new pattern.
And with your needle,
Methodically,
Wrapped yourself around my heart
And knitted yourself into my life.

The Way of the Heart

by Trishuwa

I saw a coyote.
He moved so swiftly his body
stretched across the earth and the sky.
I watched him travel and followed.
Coyote laughed with me.
He laughed with the whole universe.
My eyes changed.
They became like the stars, bright and shiny.

I lost the way back to
before I saw Coyote.
I was never to return.
Sometimes I wonder if I should have
marked the trail.
You see I thought that someone would find me.
Take me back to before.
Once in a while someone does comes along,
but the same thing happens to them.
They never return to the before time.

They are the ones with eyes of stars,
laughter that vibrates with the universe,
and bodies that stretch
across the earth and into the sky.

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Into the FIRE

by Tanya Sheikh

My love affair with fire was born one day to the next, or so it seems.

In a magical woods, just beyond our doorstep we created a place of fire, intending a sacred space that would allow us to transform, be, become and journey into the unknown to be unleashed.

With the trees as silent sentinels, we lit the flame and sent out our prayers. We gifted ourselves to the elements, sitting in silence with that blazing light for hours, what seemed like eternity.

After the last spark extinguished, we left with prayers of gratitude and open-eyed wonder. Back inside our home, I cocooned on the sofa, allowing the experience to find its place. My body started to violently tremble. So much had been gifted and so much received that I knew not who I was — resting in liminal space with the new as yet unborn.

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Buckskin

by Brooke Medicine Eagle

This piece is made of deer buckskin my partner and I hand-tanned and smoked to make a soft and easy-to-work ‘fabric’. It will be fully completed when I wet and twist all the fringes to give it a more old-time feel (this was done originally to let the water drip off the fringes and dry better). The shoulders were joined with

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Close to Home

Home is Where the Heart Is

by Barbara Heile

“It is critical that we feel worthy.” — Flora Aube


The Heart is a Portal for Beauty and Light

And the heart is a portal for truth!
Now, I understand the truth and power of this word: critical.

It is absolutely critical that we feel worthy.

I did not feel worthy for many, many, many years.
I was too critical, of myself.
And yet I painted and I showed paintings.
I ping ponged between feeling the best and the worst.
I could not bear to see what I painted for long.
And I destroyed a lot of paintings.
The painting on this postcard is from a small exhibit of my work at Lord Fairfax Community College, some time before 2006.

The name of the exhibit was “Close to Home.”
I destroyed the painting, let it go to hold another painting,
because no one “wanted” it.

It is clear for me that I could not own it myself.

The woman standing at her home is me.

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Seeds of a Grandmother

by Marie-Ève Bonneau

At first there was just one and I could see it only if the light caught its reflection at just the right angle. The appearance of the first was followed by a second and a third. I’m not sure why we call them grey — they’re actually anything but grey. In my eyes, they’re silver and shiny and more luminous than all the other strands of hair.

I had a dream about these silver strands many moons ago before the first one appeared. I was living in the jungle, near the ocean, and dreamt one balmy night that I had a crown of silver hair. In the dream I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it before.

There are only a few now but I see more and more by the day. At first this came as a surprise, even a bit of a shock…it’s as though I thought that I alone would be spared the aging process. After my surprise, came a feeling of slight worry and various thoughts about my mortality and how temporary this form really is.

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Sorceress

by Joyce Thornburg

I always felt another presence in the room with Granny.

She looked straight through me — 
her eyes fixed on some invisible thing.

Seventy pounds of pure spirit, I felt her love with the force of ten thousands hammers.

Her snuff-stained apron as holy as a nun’s habit.

She wrapped a string around a wart on my finger, mumbled incomprehensible words — then buried the string.

In three days, my wart was gone.

Heartfelt

by Wendy Mitchell, Judy Zehr and Scott Lockhart

“What happens when people open their hearts?”…

“They get better.”

— Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood


As the Dalai Lama advises, we can spend too much time developing our mind over our heart. Research suggests that it’s actually our heart that directs our action and is in charge of our survival. Let’s develop the heart.

Doing something heartfelt is easy — take someone to lunch, buy a bunch of flowers for a friend, make a home-cooked meal to share, send a card, offer to do an errand, babysit. When we open our hearts we all feel better.

Wonderwoman

by Dwora Fried

At first glance, my boxes look like miniature dollhouse rooms but this latest series has a lot of personal meaning for me.

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Legacy

by Susan Korsnick

My heart is devoted to finding the divine in nature and each of us.

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