Letter to my heart
January 30, 2005 | 12:00am
Heart of mine, we have to talk. I know you’ve been the silent faithful worker for so very long, compressing and expanding yourself 70 times a minute more or less, so that the mystery called blood can gush in and out of your chambers, so it can go on, this clockwork process called living.
And, heart, I understand when sometimes you act up like you did the other night, fluttering furiously in my chest, raising my blood pressure to alarming heights so that I had to be rushed to that emergency room where a procession of nurses and resident medics poked me here and there, plied me with repetitious questions, stuck electrodes all over me and gaped ominously while the paper tape rolled out a verdict.
And the verdict was: You’re still okay, heart of mine. Relatively for my age, of course, which has entitled me to a senior citizen’s ID for more than a decade. If you’re middling good at math you need not ask how old I am. The news is – I’m not sure how you will take this – but you will be doing the same job I guess, for some time more; not even a day off, sorry.
Heart of mine, what I really want to say is I don’t know how to thank you enough for your awesome fidelity. What can I say except we have to go on this business of living, you and I, despite the wrenchings and the shocks and sorrows, and you can add, the equally debilitating runs of boredom that of late make up the saga of our existence. Still and all, we must also consider the plus side, the moments of joy that scintillate once in a while and make us believe in heaven.
I know backtracking is not always beneficial, but let me do it a bit this once, if only to ask you to forgive me for those times I stressed you out to the point of aching or even breaking, dear heart, because I didn’t know yet the difference between love and Love. Oh yes, I was a slow learner, wasn’t I? But now, you can relax because in the so- called autumn of life I have learned most of the lessons I was put on this earth to learn. Shall we knock on wood for that?
So we go on, heart of mine, and to ease your burden I shall try harder to do this detachment thing; you know, separate myself from the incredible ways people hurt other people. And the sadness all around, and the unforgiveness… And what about the specters of hunger and hopelessness that stalk this once fair land of ours? Heart, they say our country has gone to the dogs, but really that wouldn’t be so bad, would it, because we could learn a few things from dogs who, like you, are honest and loyal and noble – which you, can’t say of a lot of people around.
But there I go again, heart. Don’t mind me and keep your equanimity or we might land on that dreaded hospital bed again. Let’s just you and I seek the region of peace, the place of Love. It must be there somewhere. Together we’ll find it yet.
When the time comes, as it must, for you and me to part, don’t be sad (though I will surely be, for I shall miss you wherever I shall be). Then you can rest, heart, for so will I. Even though all the books say I shall ultimately shed you, still I can’t help hoping and even believing that something that has been so unfailing and loyal and intimately connected to me for a lifetime would have acquired at some point a portion of the immortality promised me.
Heart of mine, I hope we shall meet again in other planes as old friends do, and in some form, unthinkable as yet, tackle eternity together.
And, heart, I understand when sometimes you act up like you did the other night, fluttering furiously in my chest, raising my blood pressure to alarming heights so that I had to be rushed to that emergency room where a procession of nurses and resident medics poked me here and there, plied me with repetitious questions, stuck electrodes all over me and gaped ominously while the paper tape rolled out a verdict.
And the verdict was: You’re still okay, heart of mine. Relatively for my age, of course, which has entitled me to a senior citizen’s ID for more than a decade. If you’re middling good at math you need not ask how old I am. The news is – I’m not sure how you will take this – but you will be doing the same job I guess, for some time more; not even a day off, sorry.
Heart of mine, what I really want to say is I don’t know how to thank you enough for your awesome fidelity. What can I say except we have to go on this business of living, you and I, despite the wrenchings and the shocks and sorrows, and you can add, the equally debilitating runs of boredom that of late make up the saga of our existence. Still and all, we must also consider the plus side, the moments of joy that scintillate once in a while and make us believe in heaven.
I know backtracking is not always beneficial, but let me do it a bit this once, if only to ask you to forgive me for those times I stressed you out to the point of aching or even breaking, dear heart, because I didn’t know yet the difference between love and Love. Oh yes, I was a slow learner, wasn’t I? But now, you can relax because in the so- called autumn of life I have learned most of the lessons I was put on this earth to learn. Shall we knock on wood for that?
So we go on, heart of mine, and to ease your burden I shall try harder to do this detachment thing; you know, separate myself from the incredible ways people hurt other people. And the sadness all around, and the unforgiveness… And what about the specters of hunger and hopelessness that stalk this once fair land of ours? Heart, they say our country has gone to the dogs, but really that wouldn’t be so bad, would it, because we could learn a few things from dogs who, like you, are honest and loyal and noble – which you, can’t say of a lot of people around.
But there I go again, heart. Don’t mind me and keep your equanimity or we might land on that dreaded hospital bed again. Let’s just you and I seek the region of peace, the place of Love. It must be there somewhere. Together we’ll find it yet.
When the time comes, as it must, for you and me to part, don’t be sad (though I will surely be, for I shall miss you wherever I shall be). Then you can rest, heart, for so will I. Even though all the books say I shall ultimately shed you, still I can’t help hoping and even believing that something that has been so unfailing and loyal and intimately connected to me for a lifetime would have acquired at some point a portion of the immortality promised me.
Heart of mine, I hope we shall meet again in other planes as old friends do, and in some form, unthinkable as yet, tackle eternity together.
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