A few months back I journaled about my heart. A common topic for me to write about, but this entry seemed to articulate something that had not yet been said. This time I described the landscape of my heart. A heart that has been tattered and warn. One that has known love and war. I described the walls, the wild garden, the goings on there, and I even wrote about a single chair in the middle on which I sit. I had spent plenty of time thinking about my heart, but never quite described what it looks like. I had never made time to take a survey of its topography.
Two days later, on a cool afternoon, I took a little walk through my neighborhood. Per usual, I admired the architecture, the colors, and the gardens. I moseyed by victorian tutors and modern duplexes, vacant lots, and overgrown ones with broken windows. And then, almost suddenly, I found myself walking with a spirit of purpose- like I was looking for something, but with no idea what. I passed by a cafe and a man walking his dog, and then a construction zone. My speed picked up as I completed the stretch of sidewalk where the beat of hammers echoed and power tools declared their presence. I emerged past a chain-link fence and saw to my right a beautiful scene. On a large corner lot, surrounded by wispy greenery, was my heart. Three walls, crumbling and ready for collapse. Some wild flowers in the distance. And with impecable placement- the chair. I was moved almost to tears to see for myself the exterior scene which I knew to be real interiorly. I climbed up the small hill and gingerly sat down on the rickety chair. I took everything in as the chilly breeze caressed my face. In a matter of days the walls would be torn down, the land repurposed, and the chair gone. But for that moment I just sat. I was sitting in my heart. I was thinking about how grateful I was for the structure that once stood there. Grateful and yet sad for what had taken place and for all those who visited. And then, perhaps carried by the breeze, I experienced hope for what was to come. Hope for the structure. Hope for new visitors. New experiences. New life. And then, because it was time, I got up and walked home. I left my heart to be reshaped and repurposed.
As I reflected to an artist friend on my stroll he shook his head and uttered to me, "now that is art." I think he's right.
