I heard it for the first time.
It took my breath away. I was deeply touched. Tears welled in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks, unchecked. And within minutes, it was over.
I hadn't dreamt it was possible, and yet I understood I was listening deeply to my heart-- and doing so without judgment.
Truly. And the music that flowed from my heart was beautiful. Incredibly beautiful. I was beautiful. I felt it deep within.
She detached the electrodes that had connected me to the machine that allowed me to literally hear the music of my heart. She handed me a flyer. This device, she explained, was created in Europe, and converts the heart rhythm into notes, with the instrument of your choice. It was truly extraordinary.
Hearing the music of my heart was an encounter with myself that shifted my awareness.
Others were awaiting their turn. I slipped the flyer into my handbag where dozens of business cards received from others were squirreled away, along with the mystery of more scraps of paper-- receipts, phone numbers, articles torn out of magazines. I definitely wanted more of this heart music and was determined to not lose this woman's contact information.
That was July 12, 2013.
Since that night, I've dreamed about sharing the experience, trying to find the words to describe it. I'd just experienced a 5-minute demonstration and I wanted to hear more.
For the past several years, Steve and I have been systematically releasing "stuff" that has accumulated in our home-- "good stuff," mind you, not trash. Paintings, sculptures, clothes, collectibles, things we no longer needed, used, wanted or loved.
I've never had an easy time with getting rid of things. It runs in the family. My mother's closet is jammed with clothes and shoes and hats, so many that she'll never be able to wear in her lifetime (and much of which has gone out of style or is no longer flattering). Her mom-- my grandma-- saved every rubber band and twist-tie and plastic bag she ever encountered. gently opened and stored for another day. "You never know when you'll need it" was the philosophy. "It's still good."
Paper clutter plagued all the women in the family. Grandma, Mom and me. For a long time, I was in denial. Of course, scraps and stacks of paper don't belong on countertops, tables, dressers and in bags stowed in various places.
Paper serves me, too. It reminds me of various things I intend to do. And the flyer for the heart music has been on my dresser for more than six months. It represented my way to be in touch with the woman who could allow me to once again listen to the music of my heart.
With all the downsizing and decluttering we've done over the year, our home has finally become a place of harmony and peace. We're not completely there yet. Going from chaos to calm hasn't been done with the folded arms and nod of the head like Jeannie in the 1960s sitcom, "I Dream of Jeannie." As a child, how I wished I could wriggle my nose like Samantha in "Bewitched" and make everything magically come to order. We've still got a way to go. Really it's not fair for me to say "we." Quite honestly, it's me. Scraps of paper represent all those things I want to do. Contact this one. Send a clipping to that one. Write a thank you note to someone else. And it seems like there is a never-ending flow of these pieces of paper that represented "thoughtfulness" or being of value to others.
A couple of weeks ago, Steve asked me what I'd like for my birthday. He was aware I didn't want more "stuff." I knew exactly what I wanted.
I wanted to hear it again.
"Heart music. That's what I want. A session with that lady."
"Do you even know how to get in touch with her?" he asked.
"Oh, yes. Yes, I do."
I knew exactly where the flyer was. It hadn't moved since I had put it on the dresser. But I'd taken further measures to make sure I could find the woman who facilitaed the opportunity. I'd put her on speed dial.
As the first day of my year of silence approaches, I knew my time was getting short. Maybe I'd even waited too late, and the woman wouldn't be available within the very short time frame before I leave town to celebrate my mom's 80th birthday.
I called her today. As I was leaving a voicemail message, my phone beeped. She was calling me back.
I explained that I'd met her several months before and had received a sample session then, and that I was ready to have the full experience. I shared that this was a birthday gift from my husband, and added that I was embarking on a new adventure and had a limited window of opportunity.
She smiled (I could hear it over the phone) and said, "How's today?"
With so many last-minute things to accomplish, mostly related to The WE Juice for Joy Experience and preparing to travel, I wasn't sure if I could squeeze another thing in.
"I can come to you," she offered.
And that's how I came to have the beautiful experience of listening to the music of my heart last night. For nearly an hour, I was taken on a journey through the notes composed by the rhythm of me.
I'm grateful for this amazing and unique gift honoring my birthday. Thanks, Steve. Thanks, Luzia.
I can't wait to hear the recording of the session. I'm ready to listen. Listen fully. The Silent Project. Learning to listen differently. I'm amazed at what happens when I simply listen. It's absolutely the right time, I'm in exactly the right place. I am ready for this journey.
Now that I'm present to the sounds of my heart, I can tune in anytime. It's always playing. This music is the soundtrack of my life. And it's beautiful.