In connection with this saying, the group was considering the questions, “How does one tune one’s heart?” and “How can we know if our heart is tuned?”  In the text about Krishna, Hazrat Inayat says, “It is on the model of the heart of man that the first instrument of music was made, and no earthly instrument can produce that music which the heart produces, raising the mortal soul to immortality.”  But most of the time, most of us do not feel that our hearts resound like the ‘harps of angels,’ nor are we able to hold all of nature spell-bound like the legendary lute of Orpheus.  So, how can we better tune this sacred instrument that sits at the center of our life?

Some interesting thoughts came out of the group’s conversation.  One person observed that his heart was not in tune when he does things automatically.  In other words our presence is needed, and it is useful to remember that our attention is nourished by love. It is possible to give attention focused through just the mind, but it does not promote harmony in the way that the loving presence of the heart can.

As for the tuning itself, Hazrat Inayat reminds us of the image from the Masnavi of Mevlana Rumi, of the reed that has been turned into a flute.  It has been pulled from its bed, scraped hollow and pierced with holes, perhaps by a knife or maybe a burning ember; the result is the capacity to make beautiful music for the delight and satisfaction of the musician.  But how can we understand this? Every heart gets bruised and battered in the course of life, and yet not all play divine music.  Why?  It has to do with our attitude.  All the pains of life can convert us into a fine instrument, if we only have the attitude of ‘nothingness.’  When we let ourselves be emptied, then the music can begin.  What makes the reed–or the gourd–serviceable as an instrument is the paradox of what is not there.  In this connection, there is a beautiful verse from Hafiz:
I am a hole in a flute that the Christ’s breath moves through.
Listen to this music.