HOPE FROM THE HEART

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TCBHAn5Iiog

There are countless songs with lyrics pertaining to love and the heart. Some happy, some sad. And I gave a great deal of thought to which song I would feature here via YouTube for this final entry of my February "heart" month theme. Trying to narrow it down to one was almost an exercise in futility.

I finally decided to put in a song that I feel encompasses our hope that we...our hearts...will be remembered after we have gone. 'Tis beautiful. Just close your eyes (the video image is anime, which I dislike) and absorb the sounds and the emotions they conjure up within you.

Be kind to others' hearts...and your own.

Keep The Flame by Stratovarius

The shadow falls on me today.
Oh, why can't it fade into the distance?

And darkness calls, no other way.
I rage at the riddle of existence.

The day's almost gone, but you'll carry on.
Can you keep the flame for me?
The day's almost gone, but you'll carry on.
Can you keep the flame for me?

A broken plan, a fleeting past.
Oh, how do we always keep on trying?

A tired man is free at last.
Oh, what would the purpose be of lying?

My life's almost gone, but you'll carry on.
Can you keep the flame for me?
My life's almost gone, but please carry on.
Could you keep the flame for me?
Will you keep the flame for me?

A GENTLE TUG AT THE HEARTSTRINGS

I love this photograph. "Eternal Embrace" is what it has been dubbed. The discovery of these skeletons locked in an embrace was quite a find. It is not just the age of the remains~6,000 years~that drew worldwide attention, but also the positioning of the bones in a joint burial. You see, during the Neolithic period it was unheard of for a burial spot to contain more than one body. Archaeologists do not know what to make of this unusual find.

The plan is to excavate all around the couple in order to keep the bones exactly as they were found, instead of dismantling the bones one by one and reassembling them as is typically done. After studying the remains, they will be exhibited in a museum in Italy. Scientists said it will be a record of the longest known hug.

All sorts of stories are swirling around about why these two young people (intact teeth indicate they were young) were buried together and who they are. Most think they were in love. Some that their deaths were a la Romeo and Juliet. After all, the remains were found a mere 25 miles from the city of Verona in Italy. How strikingly curious that Verona was the setting for Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Or maybe it was a tragic accident of some kind. The cynics demand to know why everyone is so quick to think the couple was in love. Ah, always someone at the ready to be vocal and rain on everyone's parade.

Yes, I adore this picture. The people are not pretty. There is no glitter, no flashiness, no sparkles in it. Nothing but old bones surrounded by dirt.

Yet, if you look very, very closely, I believe you will see two beautiful hearts joined together as one.

"Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand." ~Albert Einstein

THE QUEEN OF HEARTS

I am she. The Queen of Hearts. "Off with their heads!" And I mean it when I shout it! The rules are my rules. I define them. All will follow them, or it's "Off with their heads!"

It keeps my world orderly, don't you see? I want everything to be perfect. To run smoothly. I have no tolerance for disorder or for fools. Confusion is not embraced in my world. Far better that my form of justice is carried out, even though others (like that pesky Alice) do not care for my style. Why prolong the chaos when I can halt it immediately?

Ah, but like Lewis Carroll's story, few actually do get beheaded. The King of Hearts makes sure of that. And those surrounding the Queen rarely obey her rules. She is feared, but she is actually quite powerless. It does not matter to her as long as attempts are made to keep her world free from disharmony.

My King of Hearts does, indeed, exist. ::smile:: He is the calm to my fury. He is the voice of reason to my cry of unfair. He is the even to my uneven. He is the day to my nite. And occasionally he "gets" me when I am not sure I "get" myself. He accepts that I sometimes love others with an intensity and passion most reserve for only one. Why? Because he knows he is my only King of Hearts for life and far beyond.

And I am his Queen of Hearts.

Together we are an anomaly. I laugh at times when I think about us. We almost never fight. But, when we do, he is the "Off with her head" Heart of the couple. My head. He wants it off. Big time! ::grin:: I cower. Yep, the Queen of Hearts is not her usual bold self then. Scared, even. Ah, but the beauty of it is that the tempest is over quickly, and he is genuinely full of remorse and once again restored to his natural King of Hearts ways.

We are a couple of well-suited cards. ::cheesy pun intended::

"Your way? All ways here are my ways!" ~The Queen of Hearts from Alice In Wonderland

HAPPY HEART DAY ::blowing you a kiss::

STONE COLD HEART

This entry is in keeping with my February theme of hearts and love, but it does not have a flowery, sweet sentiment attached to it. For the heart is not always full of love and kindness, is it?

"Stone cold...and I thought I knew you so well."
I cannot think of anyone I know who has not experienced having a stone cold heart at least once. A heart turned frozen because of the actions of another. For those of us who tend to more easily and willingly share our hearts, having it abused can be devastating. It does not have to be at the hands of someone with whom she was intimate, although it often is. It can be due to a loved friend whose words were poisonous, leaving her with an ice-cold heart.

"Your words like ice fall on the ground, breaking the silence without a sound."
When such a thing occurs, the heart can suddenly grow cold. Very cold. It becomes almost effortless to view the one who caused the damage with a detached sense of dislike. Loathing, even. It continues to remain quite warm and still beats and works its magic for the others we love. It is the person who has tainted it who is the recipient of the crystals of ice.

Deservedly so.

"So many changes, so many lies."
Hearts are not something to be tampered with for the sake of ego, a twisted idea of power or control, or just because it is thought "fun." Not everyone would agree with that. The heart is fair game to them. And for anyone who gives pieces of their heart to those they care about deeply, heart thieves such as those are in their glory. They can snatch and take bits of someone's heart. When circumstances turn sour, they think nothing at all about running off with that scrap of heart and defiling it in whatever manner they wish.

"Oh familiar strangers with nothing to say."
Those who are the recipients of that type of behavior usually react in one of two ways. Their hearts break down and a huge wave of sadness engulfs them, OR their hearts grow cold.

"You're stone cold...ice cold."
My preference is to have an icy heart. There is a clarity that becomes apparent while viewing the hurtful individual through the sharp icicles. It allows me to have a very real, very solid look at the person who has marred my heart. Far better to have that than to be swamped with emotional tears and exaggerated feelings. Yes, the cold heart I develop allows for a more rational, logical, and crystal clear thought process.

"You put me in the deep freeze."
Whether or not a thawing ever occurs towards that person is impossible to say. It has before. If it will again is a question with no certain answer. If I could choose, I would want my heart to remain in a deep freeze concerning the person who violated it.

I believe it is called self-preservation.


(Quoted lyrics from Rainbow's song, Stone Cold)

I HEART MY FRIENDS

In my real world AND in my online world, I do "heart" my friends. The friendships I have developed through the years are solid ones. The older I get, It becomes more and more obvious just who genuinely cares for and about me. And heaven knows I care about them. Be they younger, older, the same age as I, male or female, they have shown me the true meaning of friendship. I am grateful for them. It is my hope they are equally pleased with me and what I bring to them.

There, I needed and wanted to express that. ::smile::

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born." ~Anais Nin

HEARTFELT MEMORY

It is one of the best but most bittersweet memories I have. It was the witnessing of the sharing of two hearts. Two people giving pieces of that vital organ of theirs to each other just when it was most needed. When this recollection surfaces, it still causes my heart to melt and my eyes to brim over with tears.

When Daddy's brain aneurysm ruptured and surgery was required, my daughter was in the fourth grade. Still too young to fully understand the ramifications of such a drastic procedure, but completely aware of the fragile status of his condition.

He was in Neuro ICU. A private room. He had been taken off of the respirator, but he was not able to speak. He slept most of the day. His right hand was still balled up and unresponsive. Part of his head had been shaven, and the enormous incision was harshly visible.

We spent countless hours with him, day and night. His condition fluctuated from day to day...hour to hour, actually. Our children were not allowed to visit him yet. Hospital rules.

It was on a sunny day that brought bright light through the large window into his room that one of our favorite nurses told us she felt it would be good for Daddy to have his grandchildren visit him. One at a time. Stagger the visits. Were any of our children out in the waiting room, she asked. My daughter was. I had brought her with me to the hospital, so I could see Daddy for a short time before returning there later in the evening by myself. This nurse asked me if I thought my daughter could handle seeing her grandfather like "this." I was unsure, but I said I would ask her. My fear was that she would be horrified by the scar on his head and his inability to speak and that she might cry, which would upset him. I went to the waiting room and asked her. She wanted very much to see him. I told her what to expect. She still wanted to see him.

My mother, two of my sisters, and the nurse were in the room when I brought in my daughter. I led her to the side of Daddy's bed. The side of his which had the "good" hand. And the light in the room seemed to embrace both of them. Daddy's eyes filled with tears and a smile curved his lips. My daughter's smile was radiant. And then he slowly and with much effort lifted his hand, reaching up to her. He tenderly cupped the side of her face in his beautiful, large hand. Time truly stood still. Their eyes met and held while we all stood there transfixed by the sight. The nurse began to weep and quietly exited the room. His hand returned to the bed, and he lay there. We all swallowed the lumps in our throat and made some small talk. Then, he reached up yet again to press his hand against her cheek and held it there. My daughter's glowing smile continued to shine on him. His misty eyes sparkling into hers.

Within a few minutes, his eyes drifted closed. I instructed my daughter to wait outside of the door while I went over a few things with my mother and sisters. During our hushed conversation, we thought of a question we wanted to ask the nurse. My sister stepped out of the room to find her. And huddled against the wall was my daughter. She was sobbing uncontrollably. My sister stuck her head in the room and motioned for me to come out. I sunk to my knees and hugged my little girl, telling her she had been so brave and so strong for Papa. I told her how much he loved her, and how her visit was like the best medicine for him in the whole wide world. And she calmed down.

What great effort she put forth to refrain from showing her pain during her visit with her beloved Papa. And what strong effort he put into letting her know how very much he loved her. They both gave each other pieces of their hearts that day.

And I was blessed to have witnessed it.

"The heart that truly loves never forgets." ~Proverb

A MATTER OF THE HEART

Where I live, the cold weather has ushered in this month of February. For many, the frigid temperatures are despised, and those people are impatiently awaiting the arrival of spring. Not I! I am more than content with the winter weather. In fact, I revel in it.

But February. Ah, February. It is the month designated for lovers and loved ones. Valentine's Day resides in this month. Is that not enough to warm you when you are bemoaning yet more snow or howling winds?

I think throughout this month, the majority of my journal entries will be about the heart. It is fitting, methinks. That idea came to me moments ago while I was thinking about hearts. Broken hearts, in particular.

No matter our ages, no one has escaped having a piece of their heart ripped away. Some people experience it more than others. Some frequently do the destroying; others do the healing. How often have we felt our hearts have been torn apart? Perhaps losing someone we desperately loved, or maybe when something caused terrible distress for our children. Our hearts feel that pain. We may think we shall never recover from the agonizing hurt.

But just like the patchwork heart depicted above, we piece our own hearts back together. We do have the means to do it ourselves if we try. It is pure bliss when someone mends it for us, knowingly or unknowingly. Love again finds us, and with it we regain a new scrap to replace the missing one. It is carefully sewn into place, perhaps secured with a button. The thread weaving it tightly to the adjoining areas. And each time we lose another piece due to some calamity, something or someone comes along with just enough extra heart to fill our own. We also find the more love we give to others, the more we receive. Piece for piece.

Time wears on, and the quilt begins to get ragged. Holes may start to appear. The thread loses its strength bit by bit, day by day. And just when it seems beyond repair, along comes that special someone or a cherished memory with enough thread and heart to fix it.

Really, were we to be able to see the emotional scars our hearts bear, I think they would resemble a patchwork quilt. The colors would not all be the same. The patterns would differ. The sizes of the pieces would be irregular. But together, they hold strong. And maybe, just maybe, it is those variations that make our hearts even more beautiful than they used to be when untouched by tragedies or heartaches.

Yes, I believe that.

"The heart will break, but broken live on." ~Lord Byron