Heart Force
I would like and also do need to be kissed passionately for my entire life. It’s not optional, but a requirement if I’m to continue living. I need kisses. Lots of them. And not the kind that are empty and placating. I need deep ones — connected kisses.
I’m speaking about the kisses that make you suspect you've known a person, the one attached to your lips — have always known them, since before you were born, and will go on knowing them until after you’re dead. They’re the kind that suggest, and allow me to entertain that perhaps, we are all connected. Not just humans. And not just dogs. And not just plants. All of it.
Sometimes we tap into the invisible current that is our heart force. And one of those times is when your lips meet my lips with the exact right pressure and your mouth knows what mine wants. Our brains disengage and we exist somewhere else. You feel me. I feel you. We feel the same.
Kisses are not the only way to experience the paranormal engagement, but it’s tricky. You have to find a willing participant— someone inclined to open themselves, to receive you and give them. Open people are hard to come by.
Babies are excellent participants in sharing heart force. Not because they like to make out, but because we are born open and with our force exposed. It’s only with age we learn or are advised to stuff it down, cover it up, protect it and therefore exclude it from daily interactions.
Just this morning, I cradled a baby in my arms. The perfect creature closed their eyes and I did too. I turned my attention to their weight on my chest. I noticed the rise and fall of the baby’s belly as they slept, and I began to drift myself. I bobbed like a ship in the ocean into a pleasant foggy consciousness — heart force.
The ecstasy was interrupted by the brutal thought, How long will this soul allow me to connect with them? How long until age forces them to build their defenses? How long until this baby learns to bury their force and hide it away? I began to cry at the idea of the baby on my chest being unable to recall our connection. Does that make what I’m experiencing invalid? An unrequited connection?
The real truth, I think, is that what I felt between the baby and me was not one-sided, but a true sharing of heart forces. He absorbed my energy, however, for me, the practice feels like a feast after starvation. For this new soul, openness and receiving is the state in which he exists. His inability to recall the moment doesn’t disqualify it but is actually an indicator that he is exchanging this force with the universe at all times and overflowing with fullness. My contribution was just one helping build his strong foundation rooted in and valuing connectedness. He is learning and experiencing this magic trick before he knows how to hold his poop. I made peace with myself that he will not be this open for his entire life, or even in a few years from now, but my wish is that even if this particular memory leaves him, the experience stays planted somewhere important.
My very big dog is always available, and even instigates, the communion of heart forces. He tucks his chin and presses his forehead to mine. When I close my eyes, he does the same. Something happens — I know because I feel a flutter inside my ear, like a trapped butterfly.
I can’t stand when someone won’t allow me even a peek into their heart force. I want to know what’s in there. I want to marvel at their beauty. I want to hold their soul’s hand and feel them on the other end. But some people are so closed they don’t even know who’s in there. They buried it so deep, I suspect even they can’t reach the magnitude of their force. They just go through life with this magic inside, completely ignorant of their power. And those people are like smooching a hotdog. In my past, I’ve been so desperate, so starved, I’ve pretended the hotdog people were open, but it was really just me, reflecting back my dreams of what they could be capable of; which is a different thing entirely and I’m done doing that forever.
Does this lifetime count, if you never find your force? Do people live and die with just a baby’s memory of what it’s like to feel? I think to myself, you could love yourself so much if you only knew who was in there. And then we could unite. And discover us more.
What if, as we grew, the way we connected never changed? We’d still cuddle with our parents until one of us died. We’d hold hands with our platonic friends without a whiff of weirdness. We’d hug for long periods. An hour-long cuddle would be a normal activity.
Hey, what did you guys do this afternoon? They’d ask.
We held each other for a long time. We’d answer.
Ah, wonderful!
Why, under these circumstances, I could approach my neighbor, who is an old man who tends his garden with a pet parrot on his shoulder. I could lay my heavy head on whichever shoulder is free, and he could just receive me. Maybe he’d allow his head to gently fall on top of mine. Maybe he wouldn’t know why I was using him as a pillow, but he’d be open to obliging. What he would understand is that it’s what I’d need, and he’d be happy to give me some of his strength. The three of us — the bird, the man and I, could stay cuddled there — standing in his garden.