No matter how comfortable I am, I feel on guard, guarded. I realized the other day, when I was out in the garden, mindlessly fussing and digging and shifting earth, that it was the first time my heart had relaxed in, well, I don't know. But it was certainly the first time I'd noticed a resting heart in years. That sort of thing usually only happens at the top of a mountain or at a stream bed, after a long hike with a destination of perspective, of tranquility, as the goal.
But to rest your heart in your backyard? Or, maybe, one day, in your car? Or in the middle of your week while grabbing groceries? Imagine. Imagine the peace. Imagine the breath.
I don't know, but my suspicion is that a rested heart travels well, works well, and makes friends rather easily.