I’ve spent my morning listening to my body. I watch the words I use when I express myself and how my shoulders pick up the slack for what I can’t say. But it’s important, language is important and how we communicate is vital to me.
When referring to my own emotions, I always talk of and to my heart. I noticed this. I will say “this makes my heart happy” or “my heart hurts” when I love I say “my heart.” This exemplifies how much of my personality is emotions. I’m also fond of saying “I’m all heart” which is true. I’m a muscle that veins out in webs feeding everything with a flow of energy. And when I ache it is in every single aspect of my being. It all runs into and through and from my core.
Sometimes I say it in other words that mean the same thing. I make a point of telling people they are valued and that I appreciate them because I know how much suffering we all carry. It hurts physically to think of someone so beautiful and important to me not holding themselves at their true worth.
I sound sappy, because I am. There is a pain in me that never grows weary of it’s work. There is also a love in me that has never known silence. I think we all have that, even those who cannot reach into their bodies and cradle the soft tissue of their vulnerability.
The world asks us to be hard and survival is not a tender hand. But I have so much tender. Today I walked down the street and did my best not to fall to the ground in hot tears for all the heartache I see. There is fear and resentment in everything, in everyone and I barely have enough control of my own consciousness.
It’s a struggle to love so much and not be swallowed in my own self pity. There’s a world barely coping and I’m still busy working out how it makes my heart feel. So I will send love letters. I will tell people how I love them and hug aquaintences because we all need it. The only thing I can do is try and hope that’s enough.
I don’t know what I’m hoping for right now. Maybe just to be heard. Perhaps to justify my optimism that clouds the air around me, or apologize to anyone who asked me how I’ve been only to stand about while I begin crying once more.
The trouble is, my heart hurts. Physically, I feel it. It burns and I just want to wrap myself around others and just love them until the pain eases. I want to kiss the Earth better. Who decided that joy and grief were two separate things? Can I love enough to break my heart open?
Sometimes I bless the hard exteriors. The logic minds and the blunt truths. How foreign your language is to me. How promising the thought of mapping out the parts that need repair instead of pointing to the chest, “Here,” I say, “Right here, where I can’t kiss it and make it better.” You have to be reasonable, they say. “I am,” I tell them. “To be fully love is the only reason I have.”
I keep breaking open, and it is so much. I don’t know how any body can be this much. But who am I if not what shapes and fulfills me? I don’t know the answer. But I think it’s somewhere in this abysmal confusion. It’s wired into the bloodstream. I just can’t recall the language anymore.
But I’m trying. And I love you. I’m still here.