As I learn to be open to my heart’s intelligence, I discover feelings I have felt all my life and have not expressed.
I am reading a book right now that is affecting me deeply. I am grieving. I am looking at my life and all that I was taught by my family, my culture and reinforced by the majority of my peers, my teachers throughout my life. I was born in the mid-nineteen fifties. As children, we were raised to aspire for a college education and improve our minds. I was taught and encouraged to improve my mental skills so that I could compete in the marketplace and earn lots of money. “Mental skills” meaning the skill of communication with words. As an art student, it was necessary to tell in words what my pictures meant, what they were expressing. Success in the world of verbal academia is held as an ultimate achievement.
I am overwhelmed by the idea (I have known this most of my life) that what my culture teaches me does not prepare me for a “good” life. A lot of what I have unconsciously and consciously learned from my culture, I want to undo.
Even as I write these words, as I form these sentences, there are beliefs at work as I create words that are not the language of my heart. My heart speaks in pictures, in images. And even in this changing environment of heart-thinking, images do not carry appreciation and respect equal to words. It is the mind in it’s expression of words that is deemed the superior tool.
When my heart speaks in images, I must translate into words in order to communicate in the agreed manner. That act of translation, as hard as I have worked to hold the essence, what I see loses some of it’s original power and meaning. As a visual thinker, it is up to me to translate so others will understand me. I have failed horribly most of my life at this. As a result sometimes what comes out in words is overwhelming for others to hear. I am speaking a language that is not my native tongue and I have been told my native tongue does not have the value the language of words has. That images are not an “intelligent” way of communicating. That the intelligence of images is a lowly form of communication, second to words in the hierarchy of education.
All my life as an artist, an ordinary person, not a Pablo Picasso or Salvador Dali, I have seen from the culture that I live in, what is in my heart, the way that I communicate, my native voice, must be altered so that it becomes marketable and understandable to what has been deemed a more valuable way of life. Every corner I have turned, I have been told consciously or unconsciously, I am not good enough because I am unable to express my intelligence clearly in words most of the time; when they come out all jumbled and confused because the pictures contain so much more information than my words can keep up with describing. My act of vision making is sometimes called a hobby and not a serious, valid endeavor. I am asked to conform to a language of words in order to belong or be an outsider.
(The language of animals is like that. Images. A group low on the ladder of western civilization’s hierarchy. A hierarchy of control and power over. No wonder good hearted humans feel the need to “rescue” animals.)
What I have felt since I can remember and told not to believe, is being written about, talked about now. Science is proving hundreds of years of mysticism true. Hallelujah!! The heart is gaining worth as a strong and valid tool. Hallelujah!! Will the world of people make an attempt to converse in the language of images and hold that as a valid communication skill as visual thinkers have attempted to speak in the language of words?
I know others have lived their lives feeling this ancient knowledge, too. I know others grieve or have grieved.
I dream a world civilization of no need for judgement, where all beings are embraced as intelligent and each offering of uniqueness is sacred and valued and loved unconditionally. Blessed be.