In Any Moment, the Heart Can Break
In any moment, the heart can break.
It can be an afternoon in October, when the light is dappled and warm and the leaves cover the porch, and the wind smells like your grandmother’s house in Maryland in 1994.
It can be while listening to a harmony sung by young lovers, the guitar and their voices rushing through you like the way a river runs between your fingers when you dip your hand
It can be at 6:30 in the morning, before the light is fully lit, and your house is quiet and empty because your son is at his dad’s and there is just *something* about the light.
It can be when you are 19 and you sleep outside in your yard with your best friend and wake up soaked in dew. It can be at the ocean in November. It can be at the river in July when the air is so hot that it’s hard to take in a full breath when you stand in the direct sunlight. It can be when you’re 16 and you climb a mountain in skis. It can be when you’re 24 and you watch your baby sit in the bath tub with the smallest, smoothest shoulders you have ever seen.
It can be when a fire ravages a nearby town, and mothers flee, clutching their babies to their chests; when firemen drag families out of their cars to run on foot away from the flames; when animals and humans seek refuge in creeks to save their lives, because instinct is deep and shared.
It can happen in any moment.
Your heart can break a little and in will pour the grief of millions, the joy of generations, the feeling of the beings beyond being and the life beyond living. In these moments, your memory opens to the data in your DNA and you feel things you never felt before, you remember something larger than the self and you know that nothing really matters.
The moments are fleeting. The heart repairs itself by nature, and fissures can heal in an instant, or slowly over time.
When the heart breaks, we remember.
When we remember, we know.