Inside My Heart

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She read a poem by Antonio Machado. Lines about sleeping and dreaming and living, about what is alive in a person’s heart.  All so moving and deeply beautiful.

But the line about a beehive gave me pause.  And I wondered, what’s inside MY heart?

What IS inside my heart?

Is it a river, winding along, meandering over and through?  Sometimes stuck in the murk of another’s dam.  Or perhaps a vast ocean, open and wide, edged by cliffs and ruled by tides?


But I like this idea of a beehive, buzzing life inside my heart. How the work, the decades of effort and struggle, now cultivate sweet honey, so fine.  Sticky nectar balancing my bitter cup.  Liquid truth, spreading love.

And what about a heart of butterflies, a kaleidoscope fluttering on feather-light wings?

Yes, this too.

Inside my heart IS the beat of a million colors, dancing along the breeze. Dropping into the heart of each blooming flower, gathering honey-sweet light.


Inside my heart is the light of the sun and the moon and the stars.  A constellation of stories lit by magic and passing time.

And inside my heart is a beehive, a-buzz with flitter and dripping desire. Golden sweet and tastes like honey.  My liquid truth is spreading love.