A friend of mine sent me the photo above as a way of explaining his trepidation of love.
We have all been hurt at some point in our lives (most of us, haven't we?). We have thrown our hearts at the hearts of others in hopes that they might meld together in a safe, passionate heart-shaped sphere of love, wishing that both hearts learn to beat as one, in mutual respect, love and sexiness forever and ever.
But that isn’t always the way the “happily ever after” rolls.
Nope. Certainly not.
Some of us have had to untangle our hearts from another person’s with the same frustration of trying to separate two colors from a combined glob of Play-doh after a two-year-old smushed and smacked them together for a good half an hour.
Surely, after the delicate and annoying separation process, there will always be some pigment from each heart left on the other, but we can still get most of our own color back (two-year-olds don’t have highly developed melding skills yet, for the sake of this analogy). So it’s all good. There is still lots of creative fun to be had with our Play-doh hearts for certain—as long as you don’t think too much about dwelling on that heart that got away, or the one that smeared your bright orange with a little dark blue.
I wonder, would a two-year-old, out of fear, toss the Play-doh in the box and swear to never-ever mix two colors again? Would the same child, while playing with safer toys, cautiously peek over at the colors, and remember how difficult it was to separate them that last time and think: “it might not be worth it!”?
Or, the very next time there are two containers of Play-doh laid out on the table would the two-year- old, wide-eyed and grinning, open the colors and smear them into a joyous mixture again, enjoying every squishy-mushy-second of it, with no fear of what’s to come later, no second-guessing the heart’s direction, just living in the moment?
Why miss out on all the fun because of something that happened last time? Who knows? Maybe this time those colors will meld into a beautiful new hue, creating something unique and lasting?
If not, spending more time untangling the colors wouldn’t mean the end of playtime forever, would it?
Maarko Von Eraofmorn
Why should we give up on love or walk into it with extra caution just because it didn’t work out last time?
Isn’t the most intriguing part of love the wild abandonment, the sheer joy of melding colors, the gentile and complete release of fears? Who cares if it ends—lets love it right now!
I cannot let the brain win control anymore. It’s too jaded with past and future worries. The heart doesn’t care what happened last night, last year or last decade. The heart doesn’t worry what will happen tomorrow, next month or next year. The heart knows this moment—knows where it needs to be right now. If that changes in time, the heart is completely ok with that (it’s the brain that will freak out).
The heart knows that no matter what changes occur, there will always be another present moment chance at love. It knows, whether alone or with someone, all it has is love. All it knows how to do is love. It is the brain that thinks it lacks love, or is hurt by love or is scared of love. The brain is the only thing that can “think” love into some kind of twisted party of fear and regret.
I say, shut up the brain; let the heart do the leading. No matter how scared the brain is, or how many thoughts or reasons the brain comes up with to maintain its control, listen to the heart. Let it guide the way. The heart knows when and why it needs to connect with someone. Whether it be for a moment, a day, a year or the rest of its life—none of that matters. That’s all brain stuff.
The heart is the higher power.
The brain needs to be a friend and help it along by encouraging it to express itself. That way, the two work together as a team.