The Heart Locker

What is it that locks up the heart? Is it all the hurt?

Forgive me for riding the coat tail of the Oscar sweeping movie title Hurt Locker which set me wondering about the effects of all the emotional scar tissue we accumulate over a life time. It makes sense that it might naturally create a contracting effect, or a reduction in capacity, or even thwart the desire to expand, to ever open again. Logic tells us if your guests trash the house, you're more likely to not have them over again. At least not the same ones. Problem with that is that sooner or later, the heart gets lonely for company and you get the courage up to invite someone over again. But next time your heart may be a little more vigilant and start watching the guest closely for signs of imminent trash tossing. Maybe your heart's healthier than mine but my heart hasn't always read the signals correctly and I've let some guests linger way past the proverbial 3 days smelly fish limit, or been offended when others left before the 3 days were up. No pleasing my heart some days.

So the question remains: is the problem within the heart itself or the guests? Or the way the heart is managed? And just who is the management company anyway? And do they hold extra copies of keys and change the locks between guests?

My friend, a wise woman in her nineties, tells me the heart has its own brain. Another person told me recently about the magnetic field of the heart being so much greater than that of the brain. While some of us can't tell our arse from our elbow, perhaps others of us just can't keep the brain/heart thing in decent order. I'd like to get it straight once and for all, but I'm afraid it just isn't a matter of getting things straight, more a matter of watching what's going on, a circuitous matter.
So here's what I'm thinking, finally. My heart has actually grown much bigger, not smaller, because the heart is the storage locker of hurts and joys. Even if your albums and letters perish, the spirit tucks away all the stories and people, without a padlock. If my heart has a door, it's the revolving kind and the hinges are oiled with tears and laughter and there's no place for a keyhole.

Today, I am noticing how much fuller my heart is feeling after a few moments with my loved ones, some hand holding, back and shoulder rubs, a smoothed over tiff, a prayer and some silence together. As we think about a walk we see the rain and sun are playing tag so we decide to wait a while. The photo display from my dad's memorial service is still in a corner by the front door next to the umbrellas. I haven't had the heart to put it away yet. The weather report from my heart seems to be that my smiles and tears are also playing tag, so I'm looking for my brolly to take on a stroll outside and we'll take what comes. No locks necessary.