|Silence Of The Heart|
BY MADISYN TAYLOR
It takes a sensitive ear to tune in to the silence of the heart, but it is there in each one of us.
We spend a lot of time attempting to put the feelings in our hearts into words, to communicate to others our passions, our emotions, and our love. Often we are so busy trying to translate our heart’s roar into language that we miss the most profound experience the heart has to offer, which is silence. Every poem arises from this silence and returns to it. When all the songs have been sung, the soliloquies delivered, the emotions expressed, silence is what remains. As each wave of feeling rises and falls back into the silence, we have an opportunity to connect with the vast, open, powerfully healing wisdom at the soundless center of our hearts.
Our hearts may seem noisy and tumultuous so much of the time that we do not even associate them with silence. It takes a sensitive ear to tune in to the silence of the heart, but it is there in each one of us, so close and so large that we do not even notice it. We can begin to become aware of it in the same way we become aware of the negative space in a still life, the background of a photograph, or the open sky that contains the sun, clouds, moon, and stars. We are accustomed to tuning in to objects and sounds that are one-pointed, solid, and three-dimensional. Seeing and hearing the apparently empty space that contains these sounds and objects takes a little practice.
We can bring our awareness into our hearts by simply breathing into the general area of our heart. The first thing we may notice is feelings like joy or sadness and physical sensations like tightness or tenderness. We acknowledge these as we continue to breathe and focus, listening attentively. We surround these feelings and sensations with breath and recognize that they are contained and held in an immeasurable substance like water or air, intangible, ineffable, but utterly real. This is the silence of the heart, and the more we listen for it, return to it, and accept it, the more we bathe and purify ourselves in the soundless center of our being.
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The Thanksgiving blog from this awesome lady.
Drawing of my husband with his eyes closed – November 2019
I had a dream that I was normal and didn’t have Alzheimer’s. I saw myself walking normally, happy, laughing, and not at all impaired. Just the woman I used to be. Sociable, gregarious, not agitated, not depressed. In the dream, I was in a large festive bar and met a man, a robust fellow, who was very enthusiastic, friendly and full of life. I looked for my cousin Joyce to introduce him to, and found her and invited her over. She was just like I always remembered her to be, full of life, cracking jokes. She was glad to meet him. The only strange thing was that as he spoke to her, she started to levitate. He was very tall and she is short, and somehow his gaze made her rise up to meet his height, so they were…
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I feel it is important to preserve this woman’s blog
Self portrait with Guinea hen feathers – Dec 2019
I began writing this on the last day of 2019, the last day of the decade. It’s obvious that it will be 2020 when I’m able to complete it. It doesn’t matter. The date has nothing to do with this ongoing battle. I remain truthful about the unraveling of my brain. Can’t hide the truth.
Inspiration and imagination have been hard to come by so this drawing surprised me. It’s not one of my best, but it showed that I could still be imaginative. The inspiration was a mixed media sculpture I made 40 years ago. It was a birdhouse I crafted out of wood, and covered it in green and black polka dot astroturf. The top looked like a house with it’s gabled roof flung open. On the wall near the sculpture, I glued guinea hen feathers in an arrangement…
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One of my favourite characters of the 1066 story is the Norwegian king Harald Hardrada. Harald led a fascinating life, even before his ill-fated attempt on the English throne; exiled in Kiev at 15, while seeking his fortune in the east he became captain of the famous Varangian Guard before returning to his native Norway to become king.
When I started writing Silk and the Sword: The Women of the Norman Conquest I discovered that there were several Kievan links to the story of 1066. The baby sons of England’s short-lived king, Edmund II Ironside, who reigned and died in 1016, were given sanctuary and protection in Kiev, saving them from the clutches of Edmund’s successor, King Cnut. And after the Conquest, Harold II Godwinson’s own daughter, Gytha, would make her life in Kiev as the wife of Vladimir II Monomakh; she was the mother of Mstislav…
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I know it’s been quite a long while since my last blog post but I had a lot of things going on in 2019. Please excuse my absence but know, my posts will now be more frequent.
As Jimmy Buffett sings, “It’s those changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes
nothing remains quite the same.”
When you stay in one place too long (or maybe I should say, when “I”stay in a place for too long,” it’s time for a change.
I spent the first 30 years of my life in New Orleans, LA. It was a great place to grow up. Mardi Gras, Saints, food, friends, phenomenal music, food, family, fun, food . . . (did I mention FOOD?) I mention food because it was a huge part of my life . . . 285lbs of huge and probably the cause of my Type2 Diabetes and Heart Disease, but…
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