So I have a few weeks away from clinic and call, and it’s mid month, these two things are working out well for my mind to expand and wander. Lucky me.
I have always loved learning about the heart. First, it was purely practical. It was its physiology. Physiology is the study of the functions and actions of living things and all the phenomena involved in these. Rad right? I spent hours drawing arrows to and from the heart trying to memorize its patterns and flows. To this day I love those old medical drawings of hearts. There is something so grand and noble about them.
As I went further on in life and medicine, as many stories go, I had other interactions with the heart. Several times, it stopped beating. Oh how hard it is when it stops beating; whispering on my grandfather’s chest in that ICU when we knew the stop was near, holding my Dad in that ICU waiting room when it did, driving away from my grandmother’s hospital bed, knowing. Before any of this, in a state of constant effort to keep doors shut I suspect, walking that horse around that ring. My partner, my love. Those huge brown eyes that saw me. Knowing that when our walk was done, a needle would be placed and that would be that. Pets, friendships, loves, ideals, beliefs, these all have beating hearts. Some stop sometimes.
Of course, some start sometimes. Sometimes totally for the first time. Sometimes anew.
These days, I spending a lot of time listening to those first beats. Lucky me.
When you are my age, with my heart, having seen hearts stop and seen hearts start, you find yourself wanting to seek more, about the heart.
I’ve been doing this most wonderful meditation by Bree Melanson for the last few months. Of course, those that have had different educations or interests think of the heart a bit differently: as our true intelligence, as the seed of the soul, as a magnetic field, as a true north, as our truest selves. They talk of being wholehearted, exploring your heartspace, being heartfelt. Having thoroughly explored the terrain of the heart from the outside looking in in my twenties, I’m enjoying being guided through it a new way now, from the inside out.
Those of us who seek and wander, well honestly all of us, at some point in our lives will wonder about our purpose. We will question. I have been wrestling with this for a few years now. It’s been a little dance. Picture a cat and mouse near a wood pile. The cat sits quietly, waits, but eventually runs out of patience or senses an opportunity, so it pounces. Mouse darts behind wood. Elusive. Over and over. Cat gets tired, moves on to easier pursuits, like say, a career in medicine.
But this morning I had a clearer thought: what if my purpose is just love? Of course I place the just there as a placeholder for my hesitation with this idea and as a escape hatch for those back in the first world. That practical world. With all my education and training and privilege and ability, how could my purpose be simply love? Well, I don’t know, but I think it might be.
Purpose: the reason for which something exists.
Given my conditioned hesitation, still sitting and contemplating this morning, I sought to find evidence. Where have I felt love and did it feel like truth? This may seem a ridiculous question, but it wasn’t necessarily for me. I walked through all the corners of my memories and tried to move boxes and make a list. It was a little scary to realize the difficulty I had in doing this. Not because it, love, didn’t occur, but because, I think maybe, often I was too afraid to register it. Why? Another blog post maybe, hey?
But I pushed harder. That hand around my arm on those bus rides. Those wondrous birthdays. The letter given. When they hunted down the Thriller album for me. My hand and head on his warm neck. My kids, always. It was a good start.
Then of course I realized more of the point, when did I give it and how did that feel? Well, I gave it to all those goodbyes, some hellos, in that room, to her in the bathtub, to him in the car, to him on that day, every time I closed that front door for the night, and I give it to my patients and to my kids, always.
I feel it around me if I stop to.
So it is there. It is what I crave. And when it goes missing, I fade.
Is it a reasonable expectation to ask that love be there in your every day experience? Is that a reasonable ideal? Is it okay if it just bookends your days or if it just drops in unexpectedly from time to time? I suppose it depends on your soul doesn’t it? I don’t think it is okay for mine. It is the rod with which I divine. When I’ve been lost from love, I’ve simply been lost.
You can see why I had such a beautiful morning now can’t you?
Because here’s the exquisite gift (especially for yours truly) that I may be finally understanding: I have full control over LOVE. Because love is great to receive, yes, like really yes, but it is equally as great to give. So, in some ways, I can just relax. I have more understanding than I did yesterday and what has come to the light is, in fact, beautifully in reach. Of course, it is not that simple. It never is, is it. There is also a very big risk (especially for yours truly). The risk of letting the pain of all those stopped beats, and knowing there will be more, stand between me and my purpose.