We have compassion in our hearts. It is an exhortation or a warning, perhaps, first of all to myself. We can have because it is the cornerstone of being on this earth. It is the primary rhythm that unites us all, beyond ideological boundaries and fences: rich and poor, educated and ignorant, near and far. For the heart, we are only men and women only. And we can be gradually sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, friends and girlfriends.
It's just a muscle, just a muscle that opens and closes, capable of autonomous contraction. But without it we would not. There would be no trace of what we are, ie our awareness of being. No sign of our lack of intelligence or acute or our alleged ability or passion, which is filled with stories of the living. Because there is not even the imprint of the other body that is home to the same person, of ourselves: the brain. So more and fragile, it could not continue more than three minutes without the heart to pump oxygen and nutrients there.
Not to mention that between the brain and heart there is a big difference. The first fact, if the walk, passing through were very heterogeneous. So in Sleep able to concentrate and entertainment, receiving and sending a multitude of diverse stimuli and responses, the most different. Has certainly not to be bored: can experience the awareness of pain and on the other hand darkest amounts reach the heights of happiness, in a kaleidoscope of incredible emotional nuances. And then the brain rests, especially in the activity in sleep and dreaming. The heart no. The heart never sleeps. It is the worker on the assembly line, no room for imagination, no recreational opportunities. Only a being perpetually at work. No distraction, no rest required nor desired. It requires caring and compassion. Learning to listen. Talk to him. Shall we have a compassionate heart.
We have pity on our hearts. Is still said in optative sense: we can have compassion.
A heart that sometimes beat strong for fear of not succeeding or despair to see that someone else could not take it. A heart that has always had to deal with the deepest part of ourselves, so often chained to our self-imposed demands of perfection, that daughters are always the ones that are maybe not even that rained down from the outside without noticing. We
compassion of our heart, any heart is. Abbiamone pity, because every day is doing its best to get by. Why is the athlete holding the baton and diligently performs his stretch of the road, before giving way to another. Because only a small link in the long chain of hearts that have gone before us and who will come after us.
As the hearts of the land of our father and our mother, whoever they were or are that one day away now they were not afraid to meet in the fullness of their mere flesh. What little there was in that original heartbeat or a lot of awareness that there were weaknesses and inadequacies, what counts in the huge book of life? We would, however, we would still be born. And we are gathered here to thank or curse of having a heart. However, we would know the taste of sweet and bitter things could be said to exist.
For our heart, in fact, that is pure machine, we also thought, conscience and spirit. In
us - irrevocably called into existence, torn from some kind of abyss of non-being - breathe the breath of life. It will inspire, from world to world and from life to life, the way you do not know, from that moment he saw the first amniotic systole and early diastole. Since then and forever.
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