Hanged in all of this,
Wielding it within,
Welding with slow writhing,
That pumping ventricle rocked with courage,
Gives you both thrust and trust.
The heart is not about being right,
But resilience,
Acting true in the face of fear,
In the shadows of misunderstanding,
In the agony of dissent,
Separation,
And confusion.
This is the heart's work,
The hard work,
The heart as a muscle.
Have you trained it with small time frolics,
Or intrepid nosedives,
Love,
Solidarity,
Loyalty,
Power struggles,
Compromise,
Sacrifice?
Who said this was easy?
It breaks,
Ruptures,
Shatters,
Deflates,
Aches,
Screams,
Swallows pride and makes fools of us to tears and tender footing,
Teetering on precipice footholds in portentous relationships.
But one thing it always does,
No matter what,
Is show up.
No lies to you,
But delivers the hard truth,
Where you need to shape up,
Move on,
Or stay put.
It makes you believe in what others would deem lunacy,
So powerful.
Were it not,
Could it bring you to your knees,
Face plant you into your pillow,
Compel you to give your final treasure to a stranger,
Wage your peace with a decade long rival of bitter conflict,
Teach you everything you need to know about existence,
Without murmuring a single word.
Could it do all of this?
Were it not so mighty,
So built up,
So ancient,
So accolade worthy,
The unsung hero behind every hero,
Every martyr.
It is a privilege to hold this heart,
This orb,
This vital fuse to the force we call life.
When was the last time you admired it,
Acknowledged it,
All of this work it's done,
All the forgiveness,
Humility,
And acceptance?
Do you think you did this solo,
By some unilateral willpower?
Do you know you are not alone,
Aware that you have a fighting partner,
How you have survived for so long?
Where did that strength originate?
Your soul admonishes the crooked,
Wraps its tight embrace around the spectacular,
Immerses itself in the musicality of depth,
And performs with raw candor.
This sagacious,
Tensile heart knows so well.
It has bent and twisted,
Receded and advanced,
Played,
After having been pierced,
Laughed,
Albeit disowned,
Risked and rewarded.
It has been wrung dry,
Leaving nothing but scattered shards,
Scintillating.
This is the reality.
Not just a container half full,
But the entire tray with all the glasses,
Chipped and cracked ones,
Some spilling with passion,
And the tempered tiny pieces that will take days to clean up,
Maybe months or years to find that one microcosmic splinter wedged in a floorboard crack,
Or hanging off a one-inch fiber embedded in a fluffy off-white shag mat.
You left it everywhere,
In places unknown that you may never be told of,
Like a scent that lingers for decades,
Triggered by the amygdala.
You give of your heart.
You share it,
Preach with it,
Teach with it,
Listen with it,
Guide with it,
Discover your home with it,
Your clarity and peace with it.
A loyal,
Unconditional eternal companion if you merely allow it to be,
Permitting to do its work,
Its mission,
Its function,
Besides pumping oxygenated blood,
Circulating nutrients,
Removing waste,
Regulating body temperature,
And keeping you alive with optimum pressure.
It works overtime,
Even when you're fast asleep.
Do you recognize this?
Admire this?
Do you offer it any love,
Gratitude,
Reverence,
Any kind thoughts in its direction?
Has it not scaled walls for you,
Gotten you out of life-threatening situations,
Just once,
Made you feel lucky to be alive?
It will bring you back to stasis,
Breathe you,
Bathe you in bliss,
Make the dark night of the soul awaken next to your beloved's body,
Beating as one,
Breaking the bad spells.
The spirit of love,
Cradled by grace,
It has you always.
Breathe in,
It will set you free,
And sail you to the stars.
