My Heartsongs

Victor La Cerva

A podcast about conscious empowered masculinity, exploring all the vital areas of a man's life, including family, personal evolution, sexuality and love, friendship and solitude, success and right livelihood.

  1. 5d ago

    My Heartsongs Photopoems 5 Choicepoints

    #6 Choicepoints. Those of you who have listened to some of my 333 podcasts might remember my use of this made-up term. It reflects those moments, sometimes days, weeks, months or longer in duration, when we are face to face with “two roads diverged in a yellow wood...” I long ago abandoned to dust any formal religious paths to truth. Thank you, Ecclesiastes 3:20 “All go to one place. All are from the dust, and to dust all return.” I define spirit as all that is, and soul as a unique conscious individual manifestation of that greater ocean of being. As if a bubble broke free of the surface and floated on its own journey. Distinctly different and yet still connected. That – in a nutshell – is the essence of my spiritual worldview. Lovely ancient phrase that one, originating with Pliny the Elder, who wrote a story in first century AD Rome about a copy of the Iliad written on parchment that fit into a nutshell. The term signified tiny physical spaces or very small writing, derived from the Latin word nuce. Not until the 19th century did its meaning morph into being concise and summarizing. Similar to the modern day, “long story, short.” I wonder about that newly minted idiom, spoken as if we are apologizing for taking up too much of the listener’s time and attention. Perhaps a product of our busy busy hurry hurry multitasking verse we’ve collectively created as a species. This world seems more and more spinning out of control. The Italian word for what I feel is scombussolato, or scombussolata for a female. It roughly translates as disoriented, confused, rattled, shaken up, and more. Makes it even more challenging to experience the clarity I seek.   When, where, which of these, this or that. Should I pluck my choice from a hat? Flip a coin, perhaps ask a bird? Yet ancient wisdom I have heard: When you’ve two apparent choices It’s best to always pick the third. What choicepoints speak to me of woe? Can’t they please wait till the morrow?   A favorite from Robert Frost: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;   Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,   And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.   I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

    My Heartsongs Photopoems 5 Choicepoints

  2. Sep 6

    My Heartsongs Photopoems 4 Stuckville

    #4 Stuckville I have noticed that there are distinct times when the big wheel, as I call it, does not move favorably. Often the descent into this undesirable state is subtle, lurking on the edge of my awareness. Obvious only when fully caught in its unkindly embrace. I know the wisdom of “this too shall pass,” which does admittedly not bring much comfort to those thrashing moments of discord. I have also learned that such life periods – as is true with most difficulties – bring their own secret gifts. The blessing sleeps next to the wound. Yet that rings true only if I really heed the call to examine the inner wheel. What internal changes are being called forth? That is where the juice is –well worth the squeeze – as well as eventual liberation from the layers of dilemma I have allowed to take up significant mental-emotional real estate. The Goldilocks Zone is that sweet spot of maximum learning, a sort of limbo lying between knowing just what will happen, and not being able to predict what’s coming next. It’s why young children love to have the same book read over and over, or watch a film repeatedly, and drop that spoonful of applesauce a zillion times. They “redo” something over and over until it becomes predictable, and they stop learning from it. Maybe that is a good reframe for stuckville. I’m just exploring a novel cognitive feedback loop, until I get the lesson. I’ve frequently joked about writing a tome entitled, No more lessons, please! No doubt they will keep coming, whether I get that written or not.   While wide awake at 3 am I watch my mind just twist and bend Down a narrow groove of desire Sex and money, sex and money My big brain 3D tapestry Weaves illusion and confusion The full moon laughs at my madness Where oh where is my peaceful rest?   This poem by Stanley Kunitz speaks to this quite eloquently: (Best to read aloud!) I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was, though some principle of being abides, from which I struggle not to stray. When I look behind, as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey, I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon and the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp-sites, over which scavenger angels wheel on heavy wings. Oh, I have made myself a tribe out of my true affections, and my tribe is scattered! How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses? In a rising wind the manic dust of my friends, those who fell along the way, bitterly stings my face. Yet I turn, I turn, exulting somewhat, with my will intact to go wherever I need to go, and every stone on the road precious to me. In my darkest night, when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice directed me: “Live in the layers, not on the litter.” Though I lack the art to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written. I am not done with my changes.

  3. Aug 29

    PhotoPoem 3 Spaciousness

    #3 Spaciousness My main gratitude mantra for some time has been, “I’m not in Gaza, Haiti, Ukraine, Sudan, or other places with horrible human conditions.” Recently added Iran to that mix. A good reminder when I find myself whining about yet another household repair, poor customer service encounter, or elevated grocery store prices. I find this image quite evocative, as it represents for me the life journey, with all its twists and turns and choicepoints. I remember when a group of us turning fifty created a men’s group – the 49ers – that lasted a few years. One of the first exercises we did together was a spiral circle of rocks where we started at the center and walked outward as we told our life story’s highlights. We then returned back on the path heading toward the center again, but stopping where we felt we were in terms of our death/ return to the billabong from which we had emerged. Good stuff. I have walked a number of labyrinths in my day, and they always evoke a certain timelessness, an invitation to enter the luminous, a deep physical sense of both my small universal insignificance, and the power of embodied consciousness. I love the Italian expression, Lasciare spazio ai propri desideri. The rough translation is to give time and importance to something, so that it has a place in our lives. Given the current degree of worldcrazy, what arises is how do I create spaciousness for myself in my daily doings?   I sit down by the precipice The soft sweet edge of my knowing Where adventure beckons beyond I watch as longing becomes fear When and how did that shift happen? Was I asleep or just dreaming? Within my self-made prison walls A long long way from my true home.   For me, E.E Cummings creates space with this poem: maggie and milly and molly and may went down to the beach(to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were; and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world and as large as alone. For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it’s always ourselves we find in the sea

  4. Aug 21

    PhotoPoems 2 FLOW

    There are favorite places that always invite. One of those for many years has been the Chama River wilderness area, where I have primitive camped many times, with my children, my wife, some couple friends, a few other guys, or my men’s group. Always, at some point, I do some solo walkabout, and often find some magic peeking out from somewhere special that I had just never noticed before. Familiar haunts, but delightfully daunting, offering up new sparkling secrets to fill my inner well. Reminds me of the paradox of choice. This concept, coined by psychologist Barry Schwartz, speaks of the Chinese menu effect. When there are too many options, humans often revert to something familiar, like getting sesame orange chicken yet again. I often find myself tilting toward the comforting familiar and habitual these days, perhaps because the world seems to be constantly verging on another day of blessed chaos. My own poem for this week is on audio. And this Rainer Maria Rilke poem speaks well to the changing flow of our inner lives. The deep parts of my life pour onward, as if the river shores were opening out. It seems that things are more like me now, that I can see farther into paintings. I feel closer to what language can’t reach. With my sense, as with birds, I climb into the windy heaven, out of the oak, and in the ponds broken off from the sky my feeling sinks, as if standing on fishes.   This new series combines photo art, poetry and musical background on one of my many instruments. Let me know what you think!

  5. Jul 12

    MyHeartsongs Podcast 333 Farewell For Now

    Imagine that your physical body is a playing piece on an intricate game board. The rules of the game keep changing, but one thing is certain: forward motion is desirable. Onward through the fog!

  6. Jun 28

    My Heartsongs Podcasts 332 Of Conundrums and Baliwicks

    We seem so far from a world that works for everyone. Part of me says I do try to just keep lighting up my little corner of the world, and that is enough. Another part – perhaps an inner protector – exclaims “not my bailiwick.”

  7. Jun 7

    My Heartsongs Podcast 331 Now I Surrender

    Mortality is front and center these days, and to ignore, deny, minimize or conceal that as I age does not serve me. As one friend poetically put it, the older we get the less we leave unspoken. And being present and showing up for the people I love seems to be a hallmark of healthy aging. I almost entitled today’s musings, when dark times serve us well. That reality we all can attest to, that hard times often open new doors of awareness, assist us to find support and resources – both inner and outer – we did not know existed.

  8. May 24

    My Heartsongs Podcast 330 Seven Everyday Miracles

    I have been thinking a lot this week of the many many things I often take for granted. I find it a life affirming practice to regularly honor the wonderful creativity that humans are capable of, producing true miracles that enhance the quality of our lives, tools we can use every day to be better, more caring and compassionate humans.

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Ratings & Reviews

5
out of 5
10 Ratings

About

A podcast about conscious empowered masculinity, exploring all the vital areas of a man's life, including family, personal evolution, sexuality and love, friendship and solitude, success and right livelihood.

Information

  • Creator
    Victor La Cerva
  • Years Active
    2018 - 2026
  • Episodes
    100
  • Rating
    Clean
  • Copyright
    © Copyright 2018 All rights reserved.
  • Show Website
    My Heartsongs

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