Love in My Heart: The Story of Shaw
At one point, Michael and I belonged to a couples’ circle. For seven years, we met with three other couples for day-long gatherings; sometimes our meetings lasted an entire weekend. One of our members was a sensitive man named Shaw. He was an artist who had traveled the world, spending much time in India studying yoga and other spiritual practices.
During one of our gatherings, we explored the ways each of us gives and receives love. In a moment of profound vulnerability, Shaw shared that he had never felt love. He told us he did not know how to give it or receive it. It was completely foreign to him. He didn’t even know how to begin joining the rest of us in this exploration.
Over the course of many gatherings, Shaw had revealed the story of his brutal childhood. We knew of the times when, as a very small boy, his father ordered him to go down to the cellar and bring up coal for the fire. The boy had to battle enormous, aggressive rats to do this. In his quiet, unemotional voice, Shaw described the rodents’ shining eyes as they stared at him, challenging his entry into their domain. The image remains vivid in my mind, even many years later. And this was only one of many horrific stories he shared.
Michael and I had known Shaw longer than anyone else in the circle—even longer than his wife had. I knew without a doubt that he truly believed he could not feel love. My heart went out to him—not in pity or disbelief, but with deep compassion for a fellow traveler on the journey. I understood what he was saying, for I myself have known moments of feeling a great chasm between myself and what we so casually call love.
Some inner voice told me I could be of help to Shaw in that moment. At first, I doubted how I might do so, but I heeded the voice anyway. I am so glad I did. When we help another, we inevitably help ourselves. What followed unfolded slowly. I kept trusting and following my inner guidance, which I believe came from Spirit.
First, I asked Shaw’s permission to guide him on a brief inner journey. Brave soul that he was, he agreed. It is a poignant moment when someone entrusts themselves to another in the hope of discovering a deeper truth. We never know where such journeys will lead. It takes courage and trust.
I asked Shaw to lie on the floor. I wrapped him in a blanket and placed pillows under his head and knees. I invited everyone to gather around and gently rest their hands on him in a soft, caring way. Then I began.
I knew, without a doubt, that Shaw was capable of great love. He demonstrated both the giving and receiving of it in the way he lived his life, even if he could not yet recognize it. I asked him to close his eyes and release any worries, doubts, or tension. As his breathing softened, I invited him to imagine being in the home of his friends Carol and Steve.
They had several children, and I knew that one of them—four-year-old Arisha—was especially dear to him. He often spoke of her. His face would light up as he shared her latest adventures, her growth, and the joy she brought him. It was clear how much he adored her.
I said to him, “You are sitting in Carol and Steve’s living room. Arisha has just walked in. See her smiling at you, running across the room, climbing into your lap with her newest drawing.”
Then I placed my hand very lightly over his heart and asked, “What are you feeling right now, Shaw?”
In a quiet voice, he replied, “I feel a slight warmth in my heart.”
I said, “That is love.”
We sat with him, soft music playing, for perhaps twenty minutes. When he was ready, he opened his eyes. His whole body seemed to smile.
“Oh,” he said, “is that what it feels like? I expected it to be big—like a flashing neon billboard. This is small and tender… almost a whisper.”
It is easy to miss the whispers of love, especially amid the harsh cacophony of life. Each of us has an Arisha in our lives—a child, an animal companion, a lover, or a parent. May we allow them to help us hear love’s quiet murmur.
