I went walking and found
hearts everywhere.
They were laying on the ground
holding last night's raindrops,
hanging from trees in shades
of green, yellow, and red;
hiding in the shape of branches
and sun highlighted gaps,
cupped in the hands
of a couple posing for a photo,
even posted in graffiti
on walls and signs.

Each was like a “look-at-me” child
speaking in the tongue of God
saying, “Behold!” 
Some shouted
and others whispered
and each offered
a love poem for life.

The eyes of my heart
could see their beauty,
the ears of my heart
could hear their lyric,
but my reasoned mind
was clueless and
could not fathom
so much love
in my presence.

My mind wants to cage
the golden bird,
to own its song
and preserve its beauty.
My heart is so much vaster.
It has no need for containers.

The aura it creates around me
has that signature shape,
changing colors with my moods
and moments, like a “look-at-me” child
without pretense or apology,
speaking in the tongue of God,  
sometimes in shouts,
sometimes in whispers,
saying, “Behold!"

© Nick LeForce
All Rights Reserved

© Nick LeForce
All Rights Reserved

Cordiform is the name given to heart-shaped leaves. There are a lot of them along the walking path near the canal outside of my condo. I am not sure of the specific variety, although they may be Eastern Redbud or Morning Glory.  I've been delighted by them recently, especially by the way the light shines through them at certain angles, accepting them as symbols and reminders of the wisdom Don Juan shared with author Carlos Castaneda: what matters in life is to find and walk a path with heart.

My life has been the poem I would have writ
but I could not both live and utter it.
— Henry David Thoreau

We have the great privilege of awareness. We are witnesses to the world, to each other, and to life. I believe the world presents us with nearly infinite variety. Out of this vast range of possibilities, we select, whether consciously or unconsciously, some slice of life on which to place our attention. But we are also more than mere witnesses. We not only notice, we "apprehend." We "hold" or "carry" what we attend to in the act of thinking about it, pondering it, making sense of it, or finding ways to use it. In this sense, we "bear" that which we witness.

The act of "bearing witness" to something in the world is the method by which we transform experience into wisdom.  I have been exploring how I use this process to write poetry and I am now working on my next book of prose and poetry, aptly titled "Bearing Witness."

What in the world takes your attention? How do you carry the slice of the world to which you attend? To what in the world do you bear witness?

Are you walking a path with heart?

Please share your thoughts and comments below.