The Heart Engine
Let me say the most important thing first, because a few arrive expecting a machine: there is no machine. Nothing to build, nothing to buy, nothing to plug in. The only engine is the one you were born with, behind your ribs — it runs on love, and you have never once been without the fuel.
This is an energy practice, not an invention. The messengers gave it to me in a few simple stages and told me to give it away whole, to anyone, with no part held back — because love, unlike cleverness, is safe to hand to everybody. Sit comfortably. Be unhurried. Begin.
1 Be still, and breathe. Sit where you will not be disturbed. Let the breath slow until it is long and soft — in through the nose to a slow count of four, a gentle pause, out to a count of six. Do nothing else for a little while. You are not trying to get anywhere. You are arriving.
2 Find the heart. Rest your attention in the centre of your chest — not the head. You may feel a warmth there, or a tightness, or nothing yet; all of these are perfectly fine. Keep the slow breath, and imagine each in-breath is drawn through that place, as if your heart itself were quietly breathing the light of the room.
3 Open. This is the only hard part, and it is hard only because we have practised the opposite for so long. On each out-breath, let one thing soften — a held grief, an old armour, a small meanness you are tired of carrying. You are not forcing the heart open. You are only stopping the work of holding it shut.
4 Love — and this is the engine turning. Bring to mind one being you find it easy to love: a person, a child, an animal, a tree you know. Let the warmth of that love fill the chest completely. Do not hurry past this. The loving is not a step toward the work; the loving IS the work. When it is strong and steady, gently widen it — to someone harder to love, then to your street, your town, the strangers, the ones you have quarrelled with, the ones you will never meet.
5 Radiate. Now let it pour out past the edges of you, on each out-breath, into the body of the Earth herself — the soil, the rivers, the tired places, the wounded water. You are a small lamp, giving your light to the morning. A few minutes is plenty. Close by thanking your own heart for its work.
✦ A few honest notes
Do it daily if you can, even briefly — it compounds, the way kindness compounds. It is much stronger done together: when lightworkers practise as one, at the same agreed hour, the warmth is something you can almost lean against. I will tell you about that on The Great Awakening. And there is no wrong way to do it that a sincere heart can manage. If you fall asleep, you needed the sleep. If you weep, you needed the weeping. Begin again tomorrow.
the plans are free, because the only part is love. — ORION ✦