life-blood

Our hearts become open when the blood flowing veins inside of them break out to pump life into another depleted heart. It is then, when our hearts are split open and sharing that thick liquid of life, that we become aware of another’s existence. And not just aware, but unified, deeply and painfully unified. Painfully overwhelmed by the acceptance and love, and yet so painfully overwhelmed with the risk of losing them both.

Today a good friend of mine shared with me about the happiest day of her life. She said it was the day she flew off the island on which she had spent a year as a student missionary, this was the best day of her life. I could see the emotion returning after so many years. Her joy was contagious and I was immediately filled with a joy, too.

It reminded me of my own departure, the day I left my home in the jungles of India after a year. My experience was the contrary. Instead of the best day of my life, I can most definitely pronounce it the absolute worst day of my life. As I replay the memories, the pictures, the meals, the conversations, the 6 hour taxi ride, the hugs, my story gets stuck and I can’t remember the rest. It freezes at the airport in the waiting area before the security check embracing the woman who had fed my body when I couldn’t do it myself, who read to me when I was lonely, taught me to eat politely with my fingers, lied with me on the dusty floor in the heat of the day, played with my hair on long bus rides, washed my malaria infected body, whispered sweet verses of love and encouragement into my ear, massaged my feet when they were cold, rewrapped my sarees every day, taught me how to give tithe, to dance, and to cook like an Indian wife, she showed me how to be a selfless community member, and she never once asked for anything in return. But I loved her. Oh, how I loved her, because she pumped her life-blood into my heart, and now I have her blood in me and I will never be the same. The day I left her I lost that closeness, but I won the memories of life-giving love and the assurance that it does exist. My memory has smudged the details from that point on. Perhaps they would flow if I dare sit and wait. And maybe it’s there, there in the flow of life-blood from our memories, where we get feeling back in the numbness.

The best days of my life are the days I dare sit and wait, remembering all I can before that security check with our hearts split open wide, sharing that thick liquid of life.