The Heart is Where Home is

I was reminded of my heart today. I realized its presence is shamefully easy to forget. It beats, and it speaks, yet I haven’t a moment to notice. I forget about the life it pumps into me, reliable, consistent, patient, unyielding. How it expands to be with whatever comes my way. It breaks for me, aches for me, and reminds me of what is important. My heart swells with pride, flips with excitement, and pounds for love. She breathes life into me and continues to beat when the world comes crumbling down. I think my heart and I have always had a thing for each other. I have a soft spot in my head for my heart. I’ve never criticized her, never hated her, never wished she were different. I’ve hated other parts of me. I’ve criticized every part of me. I’ve wished most of me was different, but not my heart, never my heart. I love how she makes me cry when she feels other's pain. I admire her for opening and re-opening, the only part of me strong enough to show up for life’s next challenge. She softens and steels and softens again.

I’ve protected her in the past. I’ve shielded her and built walls so big I couldn’t even see over them by the time I was done, walls reinforced with words that cut, backed by rage and anger. My heart began to cool in the cold confines I unconsciously created. Hidden in the shadows of impermeable pain. She beats now as I write this, the memory of fear no longer present, but not forgotten. Fear was my savior, my great protector. It held everyone out and pushed everyone away. It screamed “fuck you” and threw shoes. It punched walls and broke bottles. I kept a steady stream of liquor on the fire to keep it burning. A broiling fury to cover up the pain and sadness looming in the darkness, waiting patiently for the embers to die. Pain and sadness know anger is unsustainable. It burns out eventually. It’s a waiting game for pain and sadness, and they win every time. Pain and sadness have deep roots. They anchor firmly, consistent and calm, nowhere to go, nothing to do. They know anger is a flash in the pan, showy, loud, and bossy, the searing hot surge of energy that takes over in an instant. It consumes all senses. We go blind with rage, drown in the sound of a scream, and contract all sense out of every muscle until nothing is left, inhalation crippled by the outward expression of force until no air is left. Breathing becomes jagged, and the heart races and pounds as though it might explode. But it doesn’t. It never does. It keeps pumping, responding to the demands of necessity. The thing is, to keep pumping, the heart needs warmth. It needs connection. It cannot be confined, and it cannot be contained. My walls were too high, I was starving my heart of the life force it requires, no love got in and no love got out. Hugs were cold, chest plates of steel bumping into each other, arms of wire coiled in cold embrace. My heart was protected but lonely, fading in the dungeon I built to protect it.

Eventually, life broke down the walls I couldn’t see over. It brought me to my knees, terrified and helpless, alone and fucked up. I was unable to climb out, so life came through with a wrecking ball (thank you, Miley) and disassembled the dysfunction I created. The first ray of light brought hope, a sliver of warmth to remind me what life felt like. It was enough to inspire me to start working on my end. I was scared of what would happen if I continued to reassemble the walls.

Life continued to send me lessons, big motherfuckers that tore through walls and laughed at anger, but the more the walls came down, the more my heart expanded. The pain and sadness grew with intensity, no longer hidden behind the anger but exposed by the light. The numbing was gone, no option except to feel, embrace, and accept. My heart broke with sadness, and was crushed by the pain. It could handle it. She expanded and embraced it, I learned to keep her open, and she did not fail me. No matter how hard it hurt, no matter how broken, how crushed, how awful it felt, my heart continued to love.

I keep her open now as best I can. The walls and wire are gone, with nothing to hide behind. She likes it better this way, the freedom to let love flow, to let it come and let it go. She connects with strangers and loved ones and has a mind of her own. I put my hand on my heart and pause quietly, with an open mind and a willingness to listen to the vast, infinite depths of wisdom that is always with me, skipping, beating, swelling, and loving. She thumps sweet secrets just for me to know.