Bleeding Heart: A Love Story

Sometimes in quarantine, the most beautiful things are found.

A man searches the heavens and beholds the stars for two reasons, because they are luminous, and because they are unobtainable; all the while dwelling beside a sweeter radiance and a greater mystery—woman. When celestial meets divine, it precipitates across the sky, across a heart, across the life of an observer fortunate enough to witness such a miracle. When heaven kisses earth, benevolent rays transcend the void. I have sometimes thought that in such moments, hours detach themselves from the lives of angels and fall here below to traverse the destinies of men.

From time to time, eternity fills a flash, a look, a moment which pauses the rotation of our great star, yet retains the full violence of its ferocious power. For the first time in a long time, I was blessed to witness and experience that rare, sacred moment where flame falls from above and captivates the heart of the willing bystander. How did this come to pass? How does it come to pass that the rose unfolds, that snow melts, that the dawn grows? Destiny, with its mysterious and fatal patience, slowly drew together two beings, all charged and all languishing with stormy electricity. The abyss of Eden had yawned once more, releasing in a flash of light a wildfire with bohemian blood in her veins. As she danced her dance, a spark fell from her soul to mine, engulfing and inundating my bellowed heart. Oh, how I longed to live there forever, where the soul enters the palace of dreams, to bask in the courts of her perfect radiance, incessantly admiring and glowing with praise. To see, to be near, to experience two minds that understood each other, two hearts that exchanged with each other, two glances that penetrated each other. Taking her in my arms and pressing her close. To feel her force against my chest. Oh blessed and radiant days! One could think that God might be jealous of this adoration had he not made creation for the soul, and the soul for love. In such moments, there is nothing God can add to the bliss of love except to grant endless duration.

When love has fused and mingled two beings in such a sacred and angelic unity, they are no longer anything but the two boundaries of the same destiny…two wings of the same spirit. Love—the divine spark. It is a point of fire that exists within us, which is immortal and infinite, which nothing can extinguish, and which nothing can confine. Who is able to tell their heart what they can and cannot love? I loved that shooting star. But such flashes fade quickly in city lights. For such flames, such creatures, such souls are not meant to be captured and cannot be contained. Thus, a bleeding heart bleeds, and there are no more words.

When a magnificent light disappears, all things lose their brilliance. As the world turns grey, it is easy for the mind to rest in dark places, but the future belongs to hearts more than minds. Though the mind can postulate, hypothesize, and speculate, true knowledge resides in the heart, that great furnace of dreams, where the foundation of all intention is forged; that sacred cast which holds the residue of ancient purpose and eternal drive…eternal love. Thus, we press on with such songs, such cries, such wounds; wounds which long to share everything…their dreams, their intoxications, their ecstasies, their most secret and most mysterious thoughts, their weaknesses, their longings, their despair. How long Lord? What love commences, only God can complete.

When a heart has been kindled so, it seeks a multitude of mysterious ways to communicate with its compliment; the song of sparrows, the fragrance of flowers, the laughter of children, the light of the sun, the rays of stars, all of creation. And why not? All the works of God are made to serve love. Love is sufficiently potent to charge all nature with its message. Oh Spring! Could this be the year? My heart blooms with deep seraphic love. Good Shepherd have mercy. For, Great Is Thy Faithfulness. Nevertheless, not my will, but Thy will be done.

Author: Aaron Buttery

A man in process.

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