My heart is re-membering. A patchwork quilt assembled with hurried, misshapen stitches, flung together in a life of just-keep-going. These days it’s been a turning towards, undoing the sloppy job and smoothing out the wrinkles, reviewing and re-piecing back together with certainty and care. I remember you, thank you. I love you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.
I am remembering you, beloved. You arrive in movie clips of memories, cringeworthy and stinging, or soft and sweet, in my dreams, in my conversations with friends, in the faces and hearts of new lovers and the story we find ourselves in. You arrive in the matrices I have crafted after you, because of you, these incomplete threads of belief and story that dangle off my heart and frame my reality, crowding my view of the beloved before me.
I am bowing to you beloved, and prostrating at the feet of the lesson that we crafted together, and receiving anything left that I’ve been too walled up or balled up to receive before.
Teach me, heart: what have you been holding in your secret folds, what complexity of perspective have you been containing until the rest of me was ready to unwrap it? I am unfolding and unwrapping, undoing the curses I have put on myself, the contracts and vows I made, all these coarse stitches, thinking this was how I loved myself. And in all this unwrapping and undoing and unstitching all that I am finding is more love. More love and forgiveness and gratitude for you, beloved, for all the ways you helped me get here, now, in this sturdy rocking chair of my own making, calmly unstitching all these sorrowful threads, and restitching with deep exhales, a calmer self-presence, and the hilarious irony and synchronicity of it all.
So let us clear the table in our hearts and prepare it for a new feast of love, and of the lessons we will learn through loving each other. For now, I am alone in my dining room, setting placemats, pouring wine, lighting candles. It’s only a matter of time before you arrive, beloved. As I set I am cultivating my patience, and I am filling the room with my own love and care, filling this space with all of me, my stitched up heart, my cavernous womb, the tenderness of my dreams, the sparkle of possibility, the mystery of who will walk through that door, and when.
This morning I woke from a long night of dreaming of past lovers. One in particular, a deep love that I was careless with in the end. I followed him through the dream, trying to find him to make amends. But I didn’t feel sorrow or remorse, I just felt the hugeness and wonder of my love for him, and in that loving, remembered my own innocence of the 19 year old girl who was swept off her feet and had dreams of dropping everything and following him to New Orleans. I woke up feeling that expanse and that innocence and that hope. She is still here, and she is emerging through the layers and years of heart break and of mending. Of dis-membering and re-membering. She is finding her seat at this table, next to the one who knows how the next 16 years of living and loving went, holding her particular flavor of love as an offering to the infinite bounty.
There is a seat for you at this table, beloved, and all your flavors, your patchwork, your threads. When you decide to join me and feast, in love.
photo by Alyssa Keys Photography
November 14, 2018