The Heartdrop

by Nicholas Andrea

What changes me is that heart drop, that
sinking feeling that leaves my chest vacuous with an emptiness so intense
that it grips my very life, saying, “Wake up, man, you gotta change!”

It is only when that wounded little boy leaves his comfortable abode, his idle sitting place deep within
and screams his name for all to hear
that I see his gold
and what I most dearly need;

Oh, love, as Rumi you wrote once, “The wound is where the light enters you,” and
God, if I don’t expose my stigmata to the world like Jesus,
if I never reveal the truth of my vulnerability, even to my own self,
how can I ever truly be happy?

How can any one
be happy
to safety?

I watch those pundits on TV, you know,
the Dick, Cheney,
and the Boehner (Boner), John,
and the Bush, George, etc.,
how those mislead children take themselves so seriously –
(I guess, they never read the Little Prince);

But they, like my father, and his mother before him,
play the game of self-protection and self-preservation
their craft – the iron shield of bullshit,
and bullshit is made of words
and words are made of thoughts
and thoughts are what we use to avoid our own crucifixion,
to avoid the cutting away of the false self
to reveal the one within, who cannot die;

and so, we cut ourselves off from true life –
for, remember, whosoever would give up his life for the sake of love and truth would find it;

Sadness –
I am that Dick, Cheney,
I am that Boehner (Boner), John,
I am that Bush, George,
that raging liar-to-cover-my-own-ego because the truth is
to admit to myself

and I am that dying grandmother on my deathbed,
suffering so much from ego that any sane onlooker would have to ask, “where, woman, do you still get the strength to fight life?”

and I am that post middle-aged father
drafted into the military as a young man only to witness tragedy dying in my arms,
to later tell myself, “Hey, that’s life,”
(the 5-second cope, you know)
’cause I gotta go
gotta build a life, there’s no
time to slow

down and feel, ’cause I
just might let the raging torrent-of-tears I’ve been holding back since my first breath
come up and drown me;

to, forty years later, still be so
disconnected from that soft spot in the middle of my chest that I’d rather
go up north on Christmas
(for business, you know)
than be with my four-year old
who is doing cartwheels in the living room as she asks, “When’s grandpa comin’ to town?!?!?”

Unless I make a different choice;

Oh and I did, last night, phew! Did I
feel that wound, boy, and found – again –
it’s the only thing that changes a man;

another fella was better at giving my love the presence, the attention, the focus she really desired in that moment;
as she said when asked, “I felt a twinge of attraction when he looked at me so presently”
(a twinge the size of Texas to a bleeding heart, that be);

ooooooooh ahhhhhhh eeeeeeee
the burn!
the heart had an out-of-chest experience and
stopped doing its job of
damming the ocean that normally lives in the belly of this body;

and all that water rushed to fill the chest and the throat, drowning “me,” anyway;

but a fish out of water is like drowning, too
and I was that fish
caught for the killing;

it’s a thrill to be filleted, you know –
to see how inauthentically you’ve been telling yourself, “I got this. I’m NOT just another fish in that sea. God (and a woman, for that matter) love me, especially; I’ll never be caught;”

it’s a thrill –
though not one I particularly care for –
but energy
energy moves through the system, teaching along the way,
is the only thing that learns a man,
for words mean little;

but energy grips us by the balls –
Mother Kali with her fangs –
and oh Boy do we listen
(because we want to keep those balls)

we listen to that father fucker
because becoming a man is initiation into humility, see
accepting that I AM just another fish in the sea,
to God and to the woman beside me;

that is, until I accept that, unconditionally;

then, I become not just another fish in the sea
then, do I rise from my death table, a Lazarus-fish,
and put my guts back into the cavernous
space left empty by the willingness to feel, authentically;

I’ve got my heart back, now
yea, crucified and humbled
but, an arisen Christ
a truer reflection of the one who put it there
than yesterday;

I am

into your eyes, resting
my hand on yours

undistractedly present
with you

your face light up like the Sun as you
share your piece of God with the world –


doing my job as the Man-Christ to support that;

I am

my inner body as I

running through my feet, legs, and spine, and
down into my hands
and into yours, our
the dance of a single energy
playing with forms of “you” and “I,”
like toys;

I am

at you from across the room
our eyes meet at the same time
as if we were
with One Mind
“you” and “I,” symbols for something greater
that underlies us both;

I am
for you.


About NickAndrea19

My goal has always been and continues to be the liberation of minds, my own and what influence I may have on others, to perceive the extraordinary beauty all around us. To this end, I write, play music, and design websites. Don't hesitate to contact me for more information about any of these activities. :)
This entry was posted in Expansive Blog, Love Chronicles, Metaphysics, Poetry, Relationships and Self and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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