Pieces of Me:
The Heart Part
So for the last five days I have been tied up with a migraine. No writing, no great content creation..darkness.. the works. On the advice of a good friend, I've decided to try something different. I've pulled a somewhat random journal entry, and am sharing it with you. It's a little raw for me to do, as anyone who journals can vouch for. But hey, here's a glimpse of how my mind works. I'd be honored if you would leave a comment. Let me know if I should post journal entries on occasion when the brain is on migraine lock-down. Usually my health features predominately but I thought we would go in a different direction tonight. I'm calling these segments Pieces of Me. This one is from January 5th 2013.
Dense clouds crowd the city, releasing a deluge on Saturday morning dog walkers. The streets are less populated as a result but more colorful. The high fashions of the umbrella world have migrated to the lower East Side, bringing bright pinwheels and pops of color to cross under my windows. I worry for the increasing population of water-soluble dogs who wander out, clad in yellow rain slickers, little booties and fishermen's hats. Save man’s best friend from a good water logging. Strangely, an umbrella seems sufficient for their upright companions. Many of whom wear the Canadian winter uniform: Runners, a hoodie and the beloved board short. It’s a horribly endearing sight. There are an equal amount of urbane boys, briskly walking with a heightened sense of purpose. Rain would not dare dampen their pressed pants or pea coats. They tread without interruption, granted full pardon, I suspect, due to perfectly coiffed hair and chiseled featured. Gods smile down on their descendants.
In my front window to the world sits a silver candy dish. It once rested atop my Grandmother’s finest table cloth. Today just one item sits within it. Previously hidden away from all light, in a box, many times lost to me; Now this rose quartz heart bathes in light. It is displayed for all to enjoy.
We are tied together by heart strings.
In the worst of times we are tied up and left on the train tracks as in silent movies. Though we are not always as fortunate as our movie heroine counterparts when that steam engine hurls down the tracks. Koo Koo Choo choo.
The heart is at the seat of our soul’s journey. Even when we are unwilling to learn, we can trust the heart is taking notes. It’s those pop quizzes that can leave us entirely breathless.
Ten years ago I was given a heart, similar in appearance only. This was the beginning of a long school term. During my twenties, I was young enough to believe that hearts were designed to be exchanged. Hey, Christian Slater got by with a Baboon Heart..right!?!
Had I thought the procedure through, I’d have realized there are no living heart donors. We are not designed to exchange heart parts. Certainly it could be easier to love someone forced to tend to an important piece of yourself. But sit and watch your Baboon Heart be abused and swiftly you’ll wish two things- 1) You hadn’t torn it out and thrown it into the ice chest quite so quickly and you’ll wish
2) You had a repossession service on your payroll. For recovering a gifted heart is a long arduous task.
It may also be worth noting that the heart never comes home in the same condition it was last seen in. This is the reason milk cartons are rarely employed: irreconcilable differences (or is it unrecognizable differences).
It took one baboon heart and a steam train barreling down on me, for a phoenix to rise from the black ashes.
We are not one cell. We are not a single organ. Our DNA runs through every river feeding our oceans. Implanting part of self in other will not a mirror make.
I have grown to be an excellent caretaker of my crimson character. As I have focused on solo survival, it has become a surgeon. Quietly stitching and suturing under bright lights in some unseen O.R. Now on occasion, there is a distinct aching that originates from my chest. The words “Growing Pains” lift up and tickle my ears. This is easier to withstand. Construction crews are in a perpetual state of expansion.
My life goal has been to live artfully. To be awake. I’ve loved and lost. I know pain like a lover and joy like a sister. I can laugh at anything, so you know I can cry too.
My heart is a cathedral. I wander these hallowed halls filled with inspiration. I will never be a living heart donor again. But I can do one better. This heart is open to the public and growing all the time. Welcome.