A new guest has arrived —
An unexpected guest has arrived in the chambers of my heart, a stranger I’ve yet to meet.
Could you show me the way? I’m uncertain about how to be a companion —
“Ever has it been that love knows not its depth until the hour of separation.” Kahlil Gibran
The situation compares to the hollow sensations of hunger, craving for the fullness of that person or a place. Yet, this sadness simultaneously and uniquely offers you a sense of fullness competing with your lost appetite.
You struggle to digest this mysterious hole that recently arrived. Although it just spreads, it takes a long time to absorb itself.
Does this really belong to me?
The rackety disquiet within the mind feels out of place, as if you’ve borrowed this racket from someone else. I thought I had the tools.
Still, the gut's hollowness appears similar to a black hole, echoing the shrinking of each organ one by one.
The heart pumps speedily, as though you’ve been running, but you’ve only just gotten up. Your fingertips pulsate, but you’ve just noticed that this is the daily ‘job’—the daily job of blood pumping.
Everything is now heightened, but there is still no justification, no clear cause. Have I just fallen into the body?
An Unfamilair Body Sensaiton
Naturally, we strive to mentally grapple with this unfamiliar sensation, which has placed us in an awkward position among ourselves.
However, this type of discomfort doesn’t solely burden the mind; it cannot be controlled by the mind alone.
Profound emotional sadness significantly impacts our body’s delicate physiological processes.
The soul, body, and mind ought to dance in harmony, allowing a path to be generated towards the light.
Yet, at times, the depths of despair sometimes feel like a harsh, sobering, icy plunge, perhaps more like an empty pool you jumped into, where your body breaks and shatters upon impact.
. . .
‘ I am no longer alone with myself, and I can only artificially recall the scary and beautiful feeling of solitude. This is the shadow side of the fortune of love”. ~Carl Jung
Yet, —
In this present withdrawal state, we silently harbour a concealed inner world that remains profoundly alive.
Alive and breathing, pulsing with vitality.
Were those sensations merely the evidence of my existence, now amalgamating in the present moment, where I realize, with utmost clarity, that I am truly alive?
Am I the “guest in my own body”? All within this very moment of withdrawal, a machine you are.
An extraordinary effort to sustain our breath and the rhythmic beating of our hearts.
Despite this, an ending in love is rightfully perceived as a little death; we may be fortunate or unfortunate to endure in this lifetime.
Depending on your philosophy.
Gradually, this intricate machine begins to overwork itself, and exhaustion sets in.
Coping becomes challenging, with some functions appearing weaker, like the immune system’s defence, sleep disturbances, or a foggy head.
Is it the flu, you wonder?
Your muscles tense up, and something doesn’t quite feel right. But then, your mind offers gentle reassurance.
The profound emotional struggle between mind and body becomes palpable. In severe cases, intense emotional stress can lead to rapid and severe weakness in the heart muscle, mimicking the symptoms of a heart attack.
Remarkably, this can occur even without a pre-existing heart condition.
Excessive stress can temporarily impair heart function. Severe mental and psychological trauma can exacerbate existing heart and physiological conditions.
The mystery of whether people can genuinely die of heartbreak was first explored in a study published in the British Medical Journal in 1969. The study followed 4,500 widowers aged 55 and older over nine years. The researchers found that the risk of death in the first six months after losing a spouse was 40% higher than the average. This phenomenon is medically termed “Stress cardiomyopathy” or “Takotsubo,” commonly known as a broken heart.
Intriguingly, despite knowing the risks, we often consciously pursue this peculiar formula, willingly compromising our well-being a few times or more, depending on how often we indulge in it.
All of a sudden, the plug was pulled, and there it was, a silence that was always lived. My world turned mute, and a sigh was reached.
Emotional injury is in itself a sort of redirection.
“Your visions will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.” Carl Jung — ‘
There seems to exist a silver lining, one that is woven together when the broken heart cleanses various aspects of our inner and outer world, elements we may have overlooked, now demanding care and nurturing.
What’s truly beautiful is that we may not have realized this until our world fell silent. We surrendered to the body, allowing thoughts and emotions to rise and fall without resistance, observing with profound, almost deadly, quietude.
Interestingly, feelings of loss reside at a crossroads, fueled by a deep sadness that morphs into panic as we long for our return, fearing we may never feel whole again.
This fear rushes us as if time is crucial, as it’s all we have in this moment to heal.
Embracing the effort to quiet inner conflict, observing and tuning into the mystical realm within our bodies, and witnessing the rise of awareness, the flow of thoughts, and the surge of unsettling emotions — this is a transformative experience.
In due course, sitting with these emotions isn’t as daunting, especially when you acknowledge them, label them, and watch them pass by like cars on a highway without actively engaging or counting them.
In time, they will fade, leaving room for a more profound understanding of oneself.
They disappear.
. . .
Ironically, you cannot reason your way out of a wound; you ought to feel your way through it.
Indeed, trying to rationalize pain only postpones the inevitable — it will resurface later. Instead, we should allow our body to process each layer of pain rather than numb it for another day.
In this context, silence can be a remedy, helping us peel away every truth that needs to heal. When we redirect all the energy we once gave to others back into ourselves, we start the healing process. It’s a crucial step towards being ready to give again in the future.
Such an experience highlights the risky responsibility that comes when we allow someone else to control our independent happiness.
This crisis of the heart can shake the very core of our being.
‘ We will only understand the miracle of life fully when we allow the unexpected to happen.” Paulo Coelho
- “I cannot change another person, and I can only change myself.”
I repeated in my mind that I felt I had borrowed from somewhere else.
- “Change will not come if we wait for some other person or if we wait for some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.” Obama
So, I’ve almost arrived from my contemplation — is the guest me?
☁️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️
“ More die of heartbreak than anything else. Yet, there are no mass movements against heartbreak or street demonstrations” –Saul Bellow.
Still, we blindly plunge headfirst into the abyss, drawn by the thrill, the exquisite joy, or perhaps the lessons we yearn to unearth, the ones we struggle to cultivate within ourselves.
Whatever the driving force may be, we find ourselves impulsively diving time and again, heedless of restraint.
