I Cry for Sirens - Revisited...

Some time ago, as I was driving to my mother's, I passed an ambulance
speeding down the fast lane, coming from the opposite direction;
lights flashing, sirens blaring, horn frantically honking to get the traffic
ahead of it out of the way.  I immediately started to cry.  I had forgotten
that since childhood the sound of ambulance sirens makes me cry...
It's as if my heart leaps out of my chest, knowing that whoever is in that
ambulance is in trouble and needs help.  I can hear it in the sirens - of
course - that's what they're for.

I recognized this strange phenomenon as the heart of compassion. I felt
the heart of compassion that actually lives here wake up again.  I had
never thought of it that way before.  I've always tried to hide this little
quirk of crying at the sound of sirens; to stuff those feelings, to stop
 myself from crying, to hide the love that wants to express itself...
 I thought there was something emotionally wrong with me.

I recognized the tender heart of compassion within - crying *for*
 someone in trouble, in danger, maybe dying, in pain and possibly
 suffering.  It has always been here, since childhood - this little heart
 of compassion.  It has been covered over with layers and layers of fear;
 not allowing myself to overtly *feel* and express the heartache and
compassion for a suffering world. I also hid it behind a mask of
adulthood, and a mask of "spirituality." That's easy to do in some
 "spiritual circles", you know - to not feel, to hide what you feel behind
 a mask of ideology, belief,  ritual or religiosity.  "Spirituality" becomes
 clinical, intellectual, philosophical - detached...

I learned to wear the "spiritual mask" early in life, and later in life to
talk myself into lofty, wordified "spiritual" places.  Please slap me if
I do it again. :)  I learned on the particular "spiritual path" that I was on
that there is no "me", and therefore, no "other" because there is only
this esoteric Beingness.  The danger of misinterpreting that is that
another's pain then somehow becomes invisible - instead of
 recognizing that our pain is all the same. How ironic.
We separate ourselves from one another's heartache - dismissing it as
 just a story of a "me" that doesn't exist -  because feeling another's pain
 leaves us too vulnerable,  too engaged;  and because we'd have to
face our own - heartache that is.
  I know this experience is not true for all of us - this detached place
 of no feeling. I hid my Heart.  But - the Heart remembers - and Love
*sees*, hears, notices, *feels*, and cares - with deep compassion...

Hearing the sirens again, the rawness of an unprotected, loving Heart
exploded in my chest.  And I remembered how that *feels*...  And I
rather liked it.  I hope I never lose it; never stop *feeling*, whether
it's sadness, grief, or love and joy.  I'm sure there will be more
opportunities as Life opens this Heart more and more...

I not only cried, I smiled, because I knew it meant that the Heart
that lives here is *Alive* - feeling - caring - loving...

~

I posted a version of this back in 2011.
It seemed appropriate to re-post it
in light of the events that are taking
place around the world now...

Namaste

_/\_

.