Opening the Windows of Our Hearts

I have been waking up at 5 o'clock each morning to have a bit of time with myself, the early birds, the quieting crickets and my deep, waking breaths. 5 o'clock I wake while the stars are still fading and the moon is kissing the mountainside - her final hour of presence leaving me with a grounded sense of security. (I smile as these words leave the lips of my mind - "grounded sense of security" - for they were spoken by a friend, Abi, as she unveiled the layers upon layers of her womanhood in a monologue that she performed as part of a show we did here in La Cambalacha on Friday night. I gifted her some words as she sat to write her red exploration of a child breaking free from her cage and opening to her feminine strength that Yes! deserves to be heard. And, now, she gifts me a phrase - not to be owned, bought or sold. Gifted.)

And I return to where I left off -- 5 o'clock in the morning. I wake in this hour to have some time to sit and breathe before entering the kitchen to make breakfast for the family. Before my thoughts turn to boiling water for rich coffee and cutting fruit for morning bellies to enjoy -- I breathe, I meditate, I write. Grounding myself. Centering myself for the day. The days filled to the brim and beyond (Overflowing) with activity and children and swirling combinations of mind-blowing juxtaposition, inspiration, creation and the mundane, ordinary everyday (that also turns out to be extra-ordinary if you open yourself to its true colors). The orange joy of working with children, who find the magic in everything. The vibrant green gratitude for living together with people who value each moment of life and want to honor it with art and love and intention and a listening ear. With senses attuned, fingertips to toe-tips engaged – we live, celebrating the blessings of life without shame – working to multiply the heart-awakening effects of a smile, a hug, a ripple of laughter, an afternoon of play that turns you upside down and inside-out with happiness.

And that was all meant to be an introduction to an excerpt from my Morning Pages that I write at the five o'clock hour in the company of the moon and the early birds. For many months of not writing to you my words flow out in torrents -- not knowing quite how to communicate all that has happened and is happening in these moments that form my life. And so, I share with you now this excerpt that is a Window into my heart and my life for which I feel grateful. Deeply grateful.


Morning Pages. Gallos calling out to the dawn. Coaxing the sun to come out and play. Dogs howling at the moon; daring each other to howl louder and louder while the world of San Marcos La Laguna sleeps. They howl at night and sleep by day. We grow used to the noise. Yesterday, Monday, I spent the afternoon in San Juan. Each Monday we travel to la biblioteca to play for 1 hour 15 minutes, or something longer when we cannot tear ourselves away from what we are doing. (Playing - having fun – sharing – learning and blooming with glue-covered fingers.) Yesterday was particularly beautiful. (I probably say this each week. But this is how Beauty is. She grows, spreads her fingers far and wide. What the world needs -- not the "beauty" of supermodels and latest fashions. The Beauty of Exchange, Sharing, Consciously Creating Harmony Together.) And so, San Juan. Yesterday. We sang a song -- La Palmera; and danced and Smiled and sang again. We played a game. We stretched up high and stretched down low and gathered the positive energy we created in the circle in the palm of our hands. And then we got quiet as we played with this magic ball -- letting it grow bigger and smaller like a heartbeat swelling, rising and falling. And then we compacted the energy into a small dandelion seed and blew it gently across the room to our friend Leire, who began to fly when she received our seeds beneath her wings. Up, up, so full of gratitude for the generous hearts of the children.

She read a story. Actually, no. She did not ‘read’ a story; she told a story with the expression and dedication/energy of an authentic storyteller. El Monstruo de la calle de los colores. La calle de los colores (The street of colors) is not fantastical. It is right here, at the edge of town. (Do you know esta calle? she asked the children.) At first, no. But then, when asked what colors one sees bouncing off the prism windows of this rainbow street, each child eagerly contributed a color or two or eight. Rojo! Anaranjado! Azul! Verde! Amarillo! Morado! Blanco! This is where the Monster lived. He was shaped like a giant, rectangular armware. Like the piece of furniture that often hides an all too often used television and stereo system. It has doors that open to the front.

El Monstruo (Armarion) only left his dark house once a day. Once a day he appeared on la calle de los colores. He walked to buy a newspaper. Each and every day. The children were very curious about this. They wanted to know more about the peculiar Armarion. But when they ran after him, he ran away too, scared. And then he would turn around and scowl and open his peacock feather tail and scare the children in return. Could it be that he was he reading? All day long?

One day, the children were flying a kite near Armarion's home and the kite landed up high on his second story balcony. The children decided to wait until Armarion was sleeping to go and retrieve the kite. When it was time, three children helped hoist one another up to the balcony. When they saw Armarion sleeping, they could not contain their curiosity any longer, and so they went inside, tiptoeing. As they got closer, they realized that Armarion was surrounded by bits of newspaper, torn-up and chewed on. A bowl full of newspaper lay at his feet. He had been eating it like popcorn! Eating all the information without reading a single word. In fact, he did not know how to read. The television had eaten his brain as he sat and ate the newspaper. His heart had grown cold and withdrawn. The children felt the sadness in the gray chill of the lightless room.

One of the children noticed that Armarion wore a necklace of keys around his left wrist. A particularly daring girl took the keys in her hand and began looking for the key that would unlock the front doors of Armarion’s square body – two doors that rested just where his heart would be. When they opened the doors, they were surprised to find another door. They opened it. Inside was another door. And another and another and until little Monica was practically inside the monster. All you could see were her little toes. In the final lock, she placed the last key, which appeared itsy-bitsy even in her tiny fingers and then … They heard it. A song coming from deep inside Armarion. From between the doors burst the brilliant yellow wings of a canary. They had discovered the heart of the monster, who woke with a rumbling, tumbling, grateful smile. “Thank you!” he exclaimed. “My heart is awakening – feeling the sunshine of your smiles for the first time in so many years.”

From that time on, the children who played en la calle de los colores laughed and shared with Armarion, who threw out his television set and began to feel human again. The children would come each week and teach Armarion how to read. They were such good teachers, beginning with simple alphabet and everyday words and then gradually introducing longer, more fantastical and adventurous words, stories and rhymes. And they lived happily, playfully, open-heartedly, there, en la calle de los colores – sharing their gifts, stories and imaginations with a smile.

I didn’t realize I would sit here and tell the whole story. How beautiful, eh? What I originally wanted to share was the art project that followed the story – “La ventana de mi corazón.” “What is inside your heart?” we ask the children as we hand each one a window with a blank landscape on which to draw the beauty of their hearts. Trees, plants, animals, yellow canaries, friends – the children picked up the crayons and drew happily. Isabel draws a man holding a broom. He is very happy that he is able to buy this broom. A broom to sweep his home and feel content with a clean floor? A broom to fly away on? Children are the greatest wonders of the world. Isabel, in her owl-eye wisdom, reminds me to always give thanks for the small blessings in life.

We share our hearts in a circle. One by one, we open the windows for our friends to see. We were shy at first, passing a long, silent moment before daring to open the shades; but little by little, we opened each window and shared the colors and shapes with the whole group – exploring what is inside our hearts. Beauty abounds! The energy of the room is buzzing – and our hearts start dancing, hanging their around our necks with the windows open. And we begin to sing …

“Mi corazón salió a bailar,
Porque lo hace muy bien.
Mi corazón salió a bailar,
Porque lo hace muy bien …

And we dance.