Musings
Sweetheart . . . . . .
My heart and I, we both have matured. This heart beats too fast; faster than the average heart, literally. And yet again, as I belong to the female species, my heart has the upper hand over my male counterpart. We have faster heartbeat. Well, if I live the average lifespan my heart will have the luxury of keeping me alive by beating approximately two and a half billion times, give or take! Of course, it all depends. Nurse A was getting all necessary information from me to start the trail of paperwork. The good natured nurse C walked in, took one look at me and proficiently announced, "Ah, she is too beautiful, I am taking her." "Don't I get to keep her?" nurse A retorted. Between the two I attempted a merry quip, "Do I get to choose!" As I followed C through the corridor I could hear the harmonic pitch of several pumping hearts attached to the monitors. Quite sometime ago I had compromised with out-of-my-league medical terms magnetic resonance imaging and positron emission tomography that ascertained the status of my life, yet it didn't stop me from asking the technicians a myriad lighthearted questions! They indulged my facetious queries. Eventually I met my heart on the monitor, its four chambers faithfully hard at work. I smiled at the allegory: I have appropriated my heart to my family and the unknown. And to think that few accepted while others questioned my motives! A touch of melancholy shadowed my thoughts. The story of the heart is not about me. It is always about loving you, in context, a feeling that gives a lilt to the soul. Again I took a hard look at the monitor and was enthralled by its rhythmic sound --- the beat, the tone, the measured innocent murmur in between. What a foolish parable! Indeed, it is not the heart but my analytical mind, albeit the brain's circuits, that interpret what I selectively choose as pleasure and weeds out hurt that alters my perceptions, mixing and matching images and words, and finally creating for me a coherent whole --- a meaningful script. As my brain contrives an explanation, so changes my mind. Such was the premise when I extracted the abstract reasoning about love from the repository of my thoughts I had stored the other night: At the end of a long conversation on what-not(s) B said, "I bask in the light which comes from glorious you! Did you enjoy the journey among the stars this evening? Or were we two rivers on our way to a coming together? Or was the river in me rushing to meet the expansive sea in you?" To which the Broca's area of my brain composed, "Oh, for heaven's sake go, away!"And the spontaneous reply by B was, "I invoke my right to freedom of speech! Why? You afraid you will fall in love?" This he delivered with such seriousness that I started laughing. The gleeful chuckle was good for my heart. I had forgotten many desirables of life. The question caught me by surprise. Can a reaction be as discernible as Descartes'cogito ergo sum? So, if I think it will ...lead to the conscious awareness (of love)? B unknowingly initiated a sequence of a complex reasoning process that forced me to decode my emotions and understandings of this sublime feeling. His pronunciation of the question led to an unexpected reaction: the impression of a piano in me tuned Nyman's the heart asks pleasure first, a reflective melody! The notes announced the sensibility of serenity which sketched for me the deep love of music, or rather the intensity that goes with it. It is that love I seek in people. Yet, I know in the end it will be only I by myself and my silent heart. Then again love is… Sunflowers wild dance in breeze
Silence of dark night
Singsong of mountains
Resonance of flute soul-deep
Bliss of meditation
The fury of tempest
Sleepy eyes of a child
Warmth of an embrace
Longing for one who never is
To be one with self Love is the madness of ecstasy
Like a gentle breeze
Twining the vines of a soul
With fragrance of flower clusters
Of wild rose To love
Is to love softly, wild and awkward
Never to be complete, never once Death is love
Love is but I (And no, I did not tell B about this infinite array of run-off thoughts! I am powerfully drawn to the mind that has the creative capacity to craft love into what the heart desires!) I snapped out of my reverie as the tests neared an end. Noticing the concern I asked: So, how is my heart? As I passed by their cautious smile into a sunny day, the blue sky seemed bluer and the manicured flowerbeds seemed to display more colours than usual. I let the day be…sine die, deciding to take no less than a tear and a smile as Gibran would have said. As I walked to the car the lyrics came in fragments, of Jim Croce humming: If I could save time in a bottle…/ If I had a box just for wishes and dreams that had never come true/ the box would be empty except for the memory of how they were answered by you / but there never seems to be enough time / to do the things you want to do once you find them… Love should not be an accidental afterthought! My brain, the maker of words and the visual artist of perceptions, proclaimed: Who am I to question the poetic charm of the throbbing heart and its arcane dealings? Seriously.
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