For those whose lives seem like a string of heartbreaks, one after the other, so unkind, so heartbreaking, you know by now, darlings, that heartbreak is something you conclude. You’ve heard about heartache. You’ve read poems about it, and you’ve experienced this reputed heartbreak time after time. It is your experience. I don’t doubt that for one minute. I’ve wiped your tears. I’ve held My hand over your heart.
Your heart was hurt. It seemed to break in two. You expressed your disappointment as heartbreak. Does not all heartbreak come down to disappointment, and you call your own disappointment as a foul play made against you? Whatever the heartbreak, it seems to you that someone did it, or nature did it, or God did it, and it was wrong. You conclude it was wrong, even when it may well have been inevitable. You lost a bet, beloveds. The bet you made you were certain was a sure thing. You convinced yourself that life would stay frozen in place because you wanted it to. You, disappointed as you have been, time after time, called the shots.
You are the one who names an occurrence or lack of occurrence as uncalled for, unfair, outrageous, cruel, demeaning, impossible to have occurred and you decided that you have been left in the lurch, in some kind of lurch.
No physical heart breaks until, perhaps, at what you call the moment of death. If your heart is beating now, it was never broken in two or anything at all like that. Of course, your heart may have paused at all the information you sent to it. Your interpretation of tragedy and sorrow become so great that you metaphorically conclude that your heart is broken, and you take the metaphor as true, as fact -- and there is an element of truth within metaphors that you can always find to make. It is you who breaks your own heart in two. No one else does. No one else can. You are the decider of the condition of your heart. You tell a tale to your heart, and your heart is always true to you, do you understand? Your heart repeats after you.
Your eyes may be swollen. You may make an ocean of tears. With each streaming tear, you carry the image of your heart cut in two. It is you who holds the image. Therefore, you are the imager. You define your heart. The tell-tale heart, obedient to you, aches. Your thoughts pinch your heart. It is as if you tell your heart:
“My loved one died. Bow down, Heart, and show your deference, your respect, your honor of my loss. And if my loved one loved someone else and left of her own accord, bow down some more. In any case, when life does not go the way I say it must, Heart, you and I have been betrayed. We are the downtrodden, and we must play the part of downtrodden well.”
You are the one who tells your heart how to beat and what performance to give. It is you who tells your heart to be downtrodden. Without your insistence on heartbreak, your heart would know only elation. What could a heart connected to Mine be but elated unless instructed otherwise by your insistence? You may say you have no jurisdiction over your heart yet, it would seem, you are telling it what to make of what has occurred. It might be possible to say that you beat up your heart, actually, that you beat it down. It may even be that you don’t love your heart as much as you have believed you do. Beloveds, have a heart when it comes to your own heart. Send it encouraging messages.
It is you who makes a decision that your place in life right now is a heartbreak or a blessing. Anyway, get up. Shake your curls. Stop pursing your lips in objection. Lose that hangdog expression. Get some life into your step, and let go of the past and look up at the stars that wink at you.