When we move from the heart (and how is it that this is so easy to forget?), then there’s never a question, never a fork in the path we can’t navigate, rarely a choice that doesn’t come easily.
It’s a matter of moving the habitual center of thought (perched way up there, tottering on the top of a tired and overworked spine) down into the heart center. Into the center. Into the airy chamber of ribs and heat, blood and pattern. This is the space of knowing, of known, of remembering.
That top part, the part with all the cold seeing, hearing, thin air, well that’s still good for some things. Math. Verb conjugations. Grammar.
Amy Holt 