As my dear heart blooms my fears blossom right alongside. It is like spring inside: all the flowers and bees and rainstorms and rivulets of mud, everything being unearthed and upended and opened.
Here is what I’m learning of my fears as I tend them in my garden.
All my flowering fears share the same root: I’m afraid if I open my heart to love and life, something/someone will come along and close my heart back up, cut back the new shoot. I’m afraid of the sensation of my heart closing. I’m scared of losing. So scared of this door shutting some distant day in the future that I wisely, preemptively, many years ago locked up my heart. This way, I must have reasoned somewhere in the deep folds of my unconscious, I won’t have to be surprised by the shock and pain of my heart closing, because it will already be closed.
Oh dear, the predicament:
Open ones heart and risk hurt and retreat and ache and broken openness, or lock it up and throw away the key. But now that I see it so clearly, that all I’m scared of is my beautiful, big, gracefully, clumsy heart stumbling on a stump and shutting closed again, I see that this fear makes no sense, is old and tired and no longer needed and so I kiss it, send it on its way, suggest it goes and protects something that really needs protecting, and leaves my heart be. It says no it wants to stay and kisses me back. I say fine, sit on my lap, stay with me. The more you kiss me the more I’ll remember that my fear is my tenderness in disguise, is my soft center exploring the edges.
Fear can be my companion as I open like a canyon.
If any one is doing his part to open my heart it is Taylor Mac. Here he sings to us his song Fear Itself in this short film, Walk, by Matthew Snead.