Thursday, January 24, 2002I love this essay. It's so true.
THE SOUND OF ONE HEART BREAKING
by Karen Kunawicz
Ever come across this zen koan that JD Salinger used in one of his books?
You know, the one that asks what is the sound of one hand clapping. I don't know the answer to that one. But ask me what's the sound of one heart breaking and I might have an answer. Welcome to the dark side of love.
What is the sound of one heart breaking?
It is the sound of someone curled up in a tiny ball crying softly in the night, the sound of the first unwanted teardrop touching your skin, it's the sound of a telephone that doesn't ring, the sound of regret pounding inside your brain with every heartbeat, it's the whispers of the toy animals he gave you.
It's the shuffling of feet walking away from you, the sound of your soul shattering into a million pieces at recognizing the word "goodbye," it's the soundtrack of memories torturing you, it's the sound of feeble hands trying to push back the obstinate hands of time, it's the sound of a cherub's dying breath, the sound of all those years disappearing in the vortex of Cupid's kitchen sink, it's the unrelenting, plaintive baby meows of an abandoned kitten outside an ignoring door.
It's the sound of the rain that doesn't ever stop, the sound of all the doors in the world shutting and closing in your face at the same time, of raging, howling storms in the night when there's no one there to hold you, the sound of your voice as it screams back at you, the echo of "I love you" burning holes in you, the sound your heart makes as it tells you to lie still because nothing you will ever do will matter without love.
The sound of the waves at the polluted beach you went to as it moves from the shore and crashes inside your mind, of the sniffles that make up your pathetic "SOS-to-the-world," the cracking of the brittle black-red
petals from the sidewalk vendor roses he gave, the sound of the music he used to make going to your gut.
The sound of things in your room being thrown around and landing on the floor, the caress of sharpened kitchen knives on skin, the sound your throat makes as you swallow your saltiest tear. It's the sound of your own voice calling out to someone who isn't there, of winged creatures dying and falling on a city pavement, of terms of endearment used a hundred times a day struggling to crawl into a vacuum of forgetfulness, it's the sound of your own sobs keeping you company, it's the cold, uncaring stillness of the air you share your space with.
Destruction isn't always as noisy as bombs exploding. Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes are as quiet as feather falling on the floor of a Zen monastery. No one else can really hear your heart breaking except you.
Loves the beach, wishes she had more time and money to travel, recently got hooked to climbing mountains, reads anything she can get her hands on, frustrated writer, adores her 3-year-old Lhasa Apso, Tashi, constantly needs caffeine,
January 2002February 2002March 2002April 2002May 2002June 2002July 2002August 2002September 2002October 2002November 2002December 2002January 2003April 2003May 2003June 2003July 2003September 2003February 2004March 2004April 2004May 2004June 2004July 2004August 2004September 2004October 2004November 2004December 2004January 2005February 2005March 2005April 2005May 2005June 2005July 2005August 2005September 2005October 2005November 2005December 2005January 2006February 2006March 2006April 2006October 2006November 2006February 2007March 2007April 2007May 2007July 2007October 2007December 2007January 2008September 2009January 2011
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~William Shakespeare, Sonnet cxvi
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