The Heart of Man is baked on a cushion.
There, it holds seeds and landscapes of Nature,
When the Heart appreciates beauty
Without saying a word,
Man ripens, slightly.
Then, the fruits appear and the bread is shared
In the silence of wisdom.
©FJ May 2022 —
Groupe de Pratique
Recueils — Participations
Merci à tous
Another term I try to avoid.
I have a lot of them, I know. But I have reason also. These are terms to imprecise to avoid easy abuse.
So, I would, perhaps, say « the consciousness », or even « the inner [deeper?] consciousness ».
But let us not argue over terminology. at this point.
Instead, i wonder aloud…
Is not that which you call the heart always silent? Is it not the surface of the mind the foams with noisy thought?
Is, then, not this « heart » always rooted in wisdom? In the knowledge that defies full expression?
I wonder, and ask, because I do not know the answer.
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