Step Right Up

Memoirs of a Downward Dog
Why does heartbreak hurt your heart? I mean, it’s just a muscle. Valves, fibrous tissue and fat; beating underneath my ribcage. Pumping blood through my veins. Heartbreak doesn’t hurt your biceps or your rhomboids, it doesn’t hurt my psoas or the veins that the blood runs through or the ribcage that it beats behind. But it hurts, right deep in my chest, like a vice grip squeezing, clamping and cutting off vital blood supply.

Life can be a mean sumnofabitch. Just like that. One minute you’re sailing high, like the steep incline of a roller coaster track…crank, crank, cranking until you reach that exhilarating apex of ascension and then next minute you’re plummeting. Fast.  Did a screw come loose? Did the track operator forget to grease the wheels? What just happened??

You try to make sense of it all amidst the rubble, but all you feel is the weight of the debris. You come up with all of the stock consolations: “Everything happens for a reason.” “It’s not meant to be.” “Life goes on.” And though somewhere inside you might know this to be true, it doesn’t alleviate the heaviness.

I’m trying to trust that buried beneath the rubble pile is a wide-open space. A weightless space that speaks of a truth to who I am. An authentic place that bears witness to the inherent radiance and worthiness of me. I know it’s there. I feel it floating. Gimmie a sec, I just have to remove a few rocks.

What fun would roller coasters be if they simply sped on a flat track? Would we still pay our ticket fare if they didn’t make us dizzy, or flip upside-down, or sick? Would we agree to that awesome agony of the upward climb, maintaining our belief that roller coasters are better with arms up, knowing full well that a nosedive is inevitable? In normal circumstances, I’d scream “hell YES!” but for now, I can only manage a meek “maybe”.

Each consecutive round in this battle we call love has me questioning: just how many times in the ring can the human heart take before the man slams the mat eight times and shouts “K.O!”? If it hurts in my chest, do the muscle fibers weaken, get bruised, or even scarred? With each beating, does the heart get Punch Drunk Syndrome and we’re left dazed, wobbling and slurring our speech?

There’s no two ways about it: it simply fucking sucks. But for now, I’m trying to remind myself that I LOVE roller coasters. And I’m trying to find the grace to bow in gratitude and say, “Thank you for the ride.”

 

 

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. yogakitteh
    Jun 10, 2014 @ 13:47:28

    Geez I love you Jen. You inspire me every day with the way you open your heart no matter what. Thank you.

    Reply

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