Letters to the Universe

Following Your Heart

Philosophy | January 27, 2010

It's a daunting task, isn't it?

Letting this wild animal out into the crowds, this foolish beast into the sudden, brutal, beautiful world...

I say, it must be done.

Days go by. we lose touch, gain ground, go off, get off, dream. Stop and go. Ride and drive. Hide and seek. Spin and unwind. A constant whirl of doubt and hope, always so easy to contradict our true nature, to avoid the inevitable.

I'm writing this as the late morning sun takes its appropriate place above the river. I'm face down looking into the keyboard as I feel the slight tickle, something waking from the inside of me, pushing, pawing to get out.

Thump thump bang bang tap tap....

I wonder what it's saying, what it wants, where it's going to go when it escapes from me, outruns me, where I'm going to have to follow it to. I certainly can't live without it. I most definetly have tried to tell it to simmer down.

"Simmer down, Heart! You only get me into trouble!"

But to no avail. She writhes around under my rib cage. She curses me that there's not enough space to move around, that although I have moments of letting her take the reigns, I also silence her by hearing only the noise of the day to day doldrums of the world. I get her drunk on whiskey and talk in circles when she questions me. I introduce her to everyone I meet, but don't let her get a word in. It's a battle. I try to break it off, telling her it's just not going to work out, that we are moving in separate directions. And she laughs a simple laugh and watches me wipe my sweaty palms against the thighs of my jeans. -Oh, you silly girl, I'll bring the woman out of you yet, you'll see-

I can't escape the echo of it. The voice ocaissionally a shout, but more often a soft subtle hum. The kind you hear when you go outside for a smoke and there's nothing there between you and the stunning, silver moon, only her song, mine, ours.

And then I listen. Not only because I have no choice, but because it's the clearest sound in all the world, the universe, even as the stars chime down into me, I know it is not only an ethereal gesture. It comes from my own body, solid as the granite ridge, fleshy as the earthen banks of this river, breathes on its own as the wind spins, stills, and picks itself up again. And I surrender in the last battle, at the eleventh hour, to all she wants. My heart, that demanding beast, gracefully unyielding, to life.

I say, it must be done.

I tell her to give me a list of her demands. I will write them down and follow the instructions carefully, intelligently, truthfully. Although we are outlaws and I'm not sure if the world is ready for us. She laughs and says its not the world we should be afraid of, but the coward it can bring out in us, the fear of the big-ness of it all. I smile. Listening to her- Thump thump bang bang tap tap...

and we urge each other on into the day.


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About Patricia Lowden

Mix one part words. Add coffee. Stir. Throw in some highways, jungles, moonlight, food made with love, laughter, good beer, scribbled on napkins, and a seemingly constant dialogue with the universe, and there you have it, me.
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Words to live by....

'This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must ", then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse' -Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters To A Young Poet

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