The Formerly Open Heart
[Excerpt from "Death of The Light", Copyright © 2015 Regina J McMurray, All Rights Reserved]
Chapter Three: When Magic Fades, Dawn Will Never Rise, There Is Light No More.
The great Fire fades below the horizon, a tendril of Light remains upon shore, tracing her name in the sand. Still the Laughing Waves come, and once again, she is ephemeral. In erasing her name, her existence follows those Laughing Waves into the sea. A molecule amongst millions; known no more. Transmuting into fluorescence and sea spray, a wondering thought; the feeling is borne along by Aeolus.
In the sand, toes sink deeper beneath each pulling crash of water, she mourns.
I wonder what would happen to me, if I held all my love back? Or even a partiality, like some are wont to do? Why, and how, would one ever, (ever!) withhold the expression of love for another, even maintaining silence rather than vocalizing those three simplest words? How can one's heart be that constricted? What travesty to inflict upon another!
Her thoughts are not her own; they seem to have seeped in from that last lashing of the Sargasso's winds. An insignificant wave, out of sync with her siblings, swept forward, encouraged by the most curious of winds. Humans evade and dismiss this Riptide. That singular breeze embodied a moan of bereavement, of death, and curiously, that single small wave felt chillingly cold and abrupt in summer's waters.
Aeolus was simply the carrier of this melancholia, but that one thought took hold like the fabled ice crystal piercing the child's heart that turned him cold, cold, cold. And therein, lies the conclusion to this story: a cold, cold heart was created.
What she thought of, in that instant, as the briefest of Aeolus' breath swept the hair from her face, as the sea spray alighted cool on her skin, was love. Love. And then, in all the sea air available, she began to suffocate.
When I refrain from expressing my love for another, my heart yearns and screams for opening. My lungs burn as though I've been underwater too long. I feel a thousand ton weight of relentless desire pressing upon my chest. When an embrace is needed, or even a small, insignificant touch, perhaps even a passing smile... and I do not offer it up, I am only hurting myself. And I feel that pain, like an acid eating away inside me. It is totally foreign to me to withhold affection and love, especially in defense or when in need of the same. Oh, the angst and agony it causes me, when my ego cries out "I deserve love!" and it is not received. And so, in turn, I deny the one who aggrieves me. I stopped playing children's hurtful games of love long ago, but these deadly dalliances have returned to my life full force, against my will. How am I to play a game that I know not the rules? How am I to partake against my will the little cuts unto another that I myself cannot abide?
The water reaches out, covering. Toes curl deeper, gripping the sand for balance. The waves rise faster now, harder. The tide beckons her forward as the Laughing Wave recedes and submits to its siblings.
Withholding my love and affection is like slow suicide, and I prefer a faster morbidity. I would rather abstain from love at all than play this game of denial. I would rather know an absence of love in my life, precluding that of my Self, than have love, but have it offered upon condition. For that is how I receive it, upon condition of proper behavior or at the whim of the giver. What whims are those that blow from Aeolus' foul breath? In the stead of constancy, a random expression is dealt: only 13 hearts in a deck of 52 means I lose out 39 times. Of each time I express love, it is only returned 25% of the time.
In hope and foolishness, she takes 13 steps forward.
Back to the original question. In answer, the heart dies and closes. The love fades, the desire diminishes, and it is carried forth into the next go-round. There is loss of faith in love and its fulsome capacities.
I stop believing in myself and my abilities. The very soul in me shrinks. As I lose my freedom to express my love, I begin to lose my ability to love myself, and with that follows true physical death. For I would rather be dead than deny my love of life and its denizens.
Like a faerie who has been stripped of her magic and dies. The perfect metaphor. Her light fades, the Sun sets, and Darkness succeeds.
I feel squashed. I feel powerless. I feel I am losing my essence. I am a loving, giving being. My light is blinding and pervasively brightens those within its reach; yet it is fading. My wings ripped from my body, my light dims. I am a Giver, a Bringer of Light, but I am being dampened and I know not how to stop my rapid descent to darkness. My heart was opened, but a heavy door is crashing closed upon it. If my Love is extinguished, what more is there to offer?
Walking forward, a few steps more into the cerulean waves, she is forever extinguished.
Copyright © 2015 Regina J McMurray, All Rights Reserved
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