Sometimes, I imagine the heart to be like this – a honeycomb made of crystal. It has a million little chambers and each chamber nestles a tiny blob of emotion. These blobs are the most distilled form of feeling. So, one crystal chamber will probably house a violet blob of gratitude. Another one, a turquoise blob of acceptance. Maybe, there will be an angry red sphere of resentment. Or a smoky, charred blob of ire.
Inside each of these blobs hides a fragrance. It’s a fragrance so subtle, you’d never guess it’s there. And there are a million such magical scents. One blob may have the scent of warm toast and butter; another, the tingle of a pine forest. Somewhere else, in that structured miasma lies the perfumery of mangoes ripening in the sun or powder freshly applied on a baby’s neck. Each of this is a secret seed - in that blob of feeling - in that huge honeycomb I call a heart.
Time, as we know it, can probably begin and end. Yet, that scent may never amount to anything more than its original seedling avatar.
When I think of this heart, I see how beautiful it is; how ornate its fragile design; how intricate and plenty its layout; and how deceptive its true purpose of ornamentation.
This heart is a prison.
A magnificent prison, no doubt, with masterful, illustrious inmates such as wrath, love and glory, maybe. But it’s still a prison. Designed to contain and restrict.
Sometimes, it doesn’t stay that way, though. As one may glibly observe, life happens. People lapse into careless-carefree grooves of existence. And with that warmth of innocent living, these blobs of emotions begin to grow. Not all at the same time. But a few, depending on where the light of life falls.
Maybe, the little sphere of forgiveness will get bigger - because you just had to accept someone’s apology and it was excruciating.
Maybe the globule of love expands – because you were forced to rethink what you could offer someone you cherished.
Or who knows, maybe jealousy gets fed and bloats away.
Slowly, when these blobs enlarge, they fill up their neat, crystal chambers. They start straining on those delicate walls. Then, one day, they push so hard that these walls break.
With this shatter, the little seed of fragrance pops out and gets released.
As each chamber in the honeycomb splinters, these blobs melt and ooze into each other. They swirl and gain momentum. Then other walls crash away, latent scents get unfettered and coat the world.
Finally, I reckon there will come a day when life, through its massive fullness causes those million partitions to crack. And the cavity of honeycomb will have a heaving, fragrant sea of love and peace.
The heart will, then, no longer be a prison.
So, this year, here’s what I wish for you…may your heart break…and may you break free.