Meaning defines the purpose
that is sought and filled by the mind.
When purpose loses the strength of mind
it loses its function.
When meaning loses its lure of emotion
it loses its influence.
The mind desires to surmise meaning
The heart desires to enrich it.
Light is information.
Love is creation.
* * *
Meaning defines the purpose sought,
By mind's sharp edge, it’s finely wrought.
Yet when the mind, its strength does lose,
The purpose falters, fades, and screws.
Without emotion’s stirring lure,
The meaning turns to something pure—
A shell, a form that once was grand,
Now empty, drifting, grain of sand.
The mind desires to surmise,
To weigh and measure, analyze.
But the heart, it seeks to fill the space,
To breathe in life, to leave a trace.
For light is but the truth we see,
Information set to be.
But love, it’s something deeper still,
Creation's spark, the heart’s own will.
So mind may seek, and heart may yearn,
But both must meet, and both must learn—
That meaning lives in balance true,
In both the thought and feelings too.
* * *
In a small, quiet town nestled between hills and rivers, there lived an old weaver named Mara. She had spent her life at her loom, weaving intricate tapestries that told stories of distant lands, forgotten dreams, and lost loves. To the outside world, her craft was merely a trade—something to sell at markets and display in homes. But to Mara, it was far more.
For years, Mara had worked with a deep sense of purpose. She believed that each thread, each knot, carried meaning—a message only she could fully understand. The patterns she wove weren’t just beautiful; they were ways of communicating with the world, a way of filling the emptiness that sometimes lingered in the air, just beyond the reach of words.
But as the seasons passed, Mara began to feel a slow, unexplainable shift. The designs she had once effortlessly created no longer flowed as they once did. Her fingers, once swift and sure, seemed hesitant. The vibrant colors, once so full of life, seemed duller, as if the light had begun to fade from her work.
One evening, after hours of sitting in front of her loom, Mara felt a deep weariness settle over her. She stared at the tapestry before her—half-finished, with the threads hanging limply. Her mind raced, but her heart was silent.
"Meaning defines the purpose that is sought and filled by the mind." The words echoed in her mind, spoken by a voice from long ago—a voice she had once heard in a dream, a voice that had seemed to understand her more than anyone ever could.
Mara had spent her life weaving stories, filling them with meaning, with purpose. But now, something was missing. She had crafted these tapestries for years, seeking to fill her own heart with the purpose they once held. But now… now the purpose felt hollow, a mere shadow of what it once had been.
"When purpose loses the strength of mind it loses its function."
Her mind had always sought to create—to craft something that would make sense of the world. Yet, now, her mind felt tired. She realized that the meaning she once poured into her work had no longer been enough to sustain her. The tapestries no longer spoke to her the way they once had. The mind had sought, but the heart… the heart had grown weary.
Mara stood, her old joints creaking, and walked to the window. The moonlight bathed the landscape in a silvery glow, and for a moment, she saw the world as it truly was—both vast and intimate, mysterious and familiar. She realized that she had been searching for meaning, filling her life with purpose, but she had forgotten something important: Love.
"When meaning loses its lure of emotion it loses its influence."
Her fingers, stiff from years of weaving, began to twitch as if to reach for the loom. But instead of resuming the same patterns, she felt the urge to create something new—something that wasn’t just woven with logic and purpose, but with feeling. Something born of connection, not just reason.
Mara picked up a fresh spool of thread, her hands trembling with anticipation. This time, she would weave not just with her mind, but with her heart. She would create not to explain, but to embrace. Light and color would come together not to represent something, but to simply be—a creation born from the love of the act itself.
"Light is information. Love is creation."
The loom clattered softly as the first new thread slid through her fingers. The tapestry she began to weave was unlike any she had ever made before. It was simple, spontaneous, and full of life. Each thread, though loosely spun, seemed to speak in a language beyond words. It was a language of the heart, of love that needed no explanation.
As Mara worked, she realized that her purpose had never been about making something that meant something. It had always been about the joy of creation, the act of giving something of herself to the world. And in that moment, as the tapestry grew, she understood that meaning and purpose were not things to be found, but things to be made, nurtured, and shared.
The threads intertwined, each one a testament to the fact that true meaning doesn't come from the mind alone, but from the heart’s unspoken desire to create, to connect, and to love.
* * *
In a quiet village nestled between rolling hills, there lived a scholar named Elian. His life was defined by the pursuit of knowledge, his days spent hunched over ancient texts and scrolls, calculating, theorizing, and deciphering. He believed that meaning could only be found through logic and reason, that purpose was a thing of the mind—sharp and precise. The world, in his view, was a puzzle, and he was the one meant to solve it.
Elian had one companion on his quest: a small, delicate rose that sat on his desk. It had been a gift from his late mother, and it had never once been watered or given sunlight. The petals had long since lost their vibrant red hue, but he had kept it there, a symbol of something once alive. For years, the rose remained unmoved, just as his mind remained fixed on reason.
One autumn evening, as the light outside began to dim, Elian found himself at a crossroads in his studies. He had been working for weeks on an equation that, in his mind, could unlock the ultimate truth about existence. Yet, for all his calculations and endless scribbles, he could not see the answer. The numbers blurred together in his eyes, their meaning slipping just beyond his reach.
Frustrated, he leaned back in his chair and gazed at the rose. Its petals, brittle and crumbling, seemed to whisper something he could not understand. He sighed, dismissing the thought. It’s just a flower. Just a symbol of sentimentality, he reasoned. But something stirred deep within him. A flicker of doubt, a feeling he had long since buried beneath logic and formulas.
Unable to quiet his mind, Elian decided to step outside for a moment, to breathe in the crisp evening air. As he walked through the village, he came across an old woman sitting by the side of the road, tending to her garden. Her hands moved with gentle care, planting seeds into the earth, humming a soft tune.
Elian stopped, intrigued by her simple, yet profound, connection with the world around her. "What is it you're doing?" he asked, his voice more curious than he intended.
The woman looked up and smiled, her eyes twinkling with a wisdom that seemed far beyond any equation Elian had ever solved. "I’m planting tomorrow," she said simply. "You see, knowledge is important, but it’s the heart that brings meaning to what we know. Without love, without care, the truth is just an empty shell."
Elian furrowed his brow. "But... how can one find meaning without understanding? Without reasoning through it?"
The woman chuckled softly. "Ah, you seek truth with your mind, but truth is more than what the mind can grasp. It’s the heart that fills the space where logic falters. Love, intention, passion—these are the things that breathe life into what we know. Without them, all your reasoning will only leave you drifting, like a grain of sand in the wind."
Her words lingered in his thoughts long after he returned to his home. That night, as he sat once again at his desk, the rose caught his eye. For the first time in years, Elian felt a stirring deep within him—not of the mind, but of the heart. The answer he had sought, the truth he had missed, was not in the numbers or the equations. It was in the delicate balance of mind and heart.
Elian stood up, a sudden clarity filling him. He reached for the rose, carefully cradling it in his hands. He took it to the window, and as the moonlight poured in, he gently watered it. Slowly, the petals began to regain their color, vibrant and full of life once more. The flower, like his own spirit, had been waiting—not for logic to save it, but for love to revive it.
In that quiet moment, Elian understood at last: meaning was not just in thought, but in feeling too. The mind and the heart, together, held the key to purpose. And so, he began to live his life not just through the sharpness of his intellect, but with the warmth of his heart, knowing that both were necessary to truly see the world.
* * *
Designing the gap between divine omniscience
and mortal awareness.
Find your truth. Know your mind. Follow your heart. Love eternal will not be denied. Discernment is an integral part of self-mastery. You may share this post on a non-commercial basis, the author and URL to be included. All rights reserved. Copyright © 2025 C.G. Garant.
