To be fast does not mean to be hasty.
It means that instant of sincerity — before thought becomes tangled, before the world rushes in — when one first discerns one’s true heart. In that moment, intention is at its purest, and at its most real. If we delay too long, until the confusion of the world begins to engulf us, fear and hesitation may drown out that newborn sincerity. And if that happens, we lose our root in the world. For the causes and effects of life are not meant to leave us merely reacting to things, but to let us act as subjects of our own lives, and to manifest our choices.
And “slow,” on the other hand, is necessary on another level. Though the heart may be true, words and actions often fail to match it completely. Human beings are not infinite gods; our speech and our gestures inevitably fall short. Yet it is precisely within this gap that we are given the chance to reveal ourselves. That is why we must slow down, and face these moments with care: Will my actions allow the other person to see my true heart? Will my words allow them to witness who I am? To be slow is to let love take on a fuller form.
I often think that between people, we truly can sense one another’s hearts. We can also sense our own. But these feelings can never be fully understood, nor can our inner worlds ever become completely transparent. Otherwise, life itself would lose its reason for being. It is precisely because of this that language appears so clumsy, and yet so indispensable. It is singular, even impoverished, but it remains the only bridge we have. Because it is incomplete, we misunderstand; because it is incomplete, we grieve. Yet this does not mean that silence is the answer. On the contrary, it reminds us to speak more: to ask how the other person feels, to explain how we feel, to say what we long to say, and to confirm what they may be worried about.
Of course, there are times when silence, or non-action, truly is wisdom. But if we are to speak, then we should speak more from the heart.