Hearts were made to be broken…and mended again

I’ve posted a lot about relationships recently, questions about love, kissing, what have you. There’s so much to think about when you are involved in a relationship or you are contemplating a relationship or you just got out of a relationship. We are human beings, after all. We desire to be noticed, to be comforted, and to feel safe. Everyone wants to feel that they matter to somebody, that there is another person out there who finds joy in your happiness and with whom you can find solace in your sorrow. The essence of the human existence – to feel.

I found the following paragraph off of Olivia’s blog, Near-Life. It’s part of an essay entitled Joyas Voladoras (flying jewels), by Brian Doyle.

No living being is without interior liquid motion. We all churn inside.

So much held in a heart in a lifetime. So much held in a heart in a day, an hour, a moment. We are utterly open with no one, in the end — not mother and father, not wife or husband, not lover, not child, not friend. We open windows to each but we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhaps we could not bear to be so naked, for fear of a constantly harrowed heart. When young we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired by time and will, patched by force of character, yet fragile and rickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall. You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in an instant, felled by a woman’s second glance, a child’s apple breath, the shatter of glass in the road, the words I have something to tell you, a cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die, the brush of your mother’s papery ancient hand in a thicket of your hair, the memory of your father’s voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where he is making pancakes for his children.

I love the second sentence at the top – “We all churn inside.” There are times when that churn is less apparent, less heady in experience. And there are those days when the churning sends waves through your entire body. But what I love about that brief paragraph is that it exposes the vulnerability in all of us. The fact that the possibility exists to have our heart touched when we least expect it. 

Such a beautiful essay and it’s in a book I’ve heard of (through my writing community) but which I have yet to buy. After reading this piece, I’m heading out to my local Borders or Barnes and Noble to pick it up.  


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