“If anyone throws it down, my heart does not break; it bursts and the flame coming rises from it, which becomes my torch.”
The human heart does not stay enclosed in the breast of its owner; in the course of day-to-day life it passes from hand to hand. One person holds it gently, another squeezes it, and still another hurls it down.
When the seat of one’s emotions is thrown to the ground, the injury is felt. How it is felt depends on the condition of the heart. If the heart is weak and rigid, it shatters and falls to pieces. Its pride is all it knows, and when that pride is ruptured there is nothing left.
If the heart is strong and flexible, instead of breaking it bursts. The “I” shines out, triumphantly revealing the light and life hidden within the shell of the self. Life’s vicissitudes do not dim the spirit within, but rather intensify it, as fuel to fire, so that it glows ever more brightly as the surrounding darkness deepens.
There is no better guide on the path than the heart’s own florescence when it has died as lump of flimsy pride and resurrected as a clear instrument of the light that is forever.