A few weeks ago…

I love this cover
He tells me.

I first heard it when I ended things with my ex-wife.

I’m a bad boy
Cause I don’t even miss her
I’m a bad boy for breakin’ her heart.

I didn’t even miss her.  I felt free.  Relieved.
He says.

This morning…

I was just wondering how you’re going to break my heart, he says.
Funny, I respond, because I’m pretty sure you’re going to break mine.

Every time I’ve felt this way, this free falling, couldn’t-stop-it-if-I-wanted-to, out of control kind of love; the kind of love that is so big I couldn’t possibly possess it.  No.  I could never *have* it; it has me.

It has me.

He doesn’t have it; he can’t possess it either, and he certainly can’t possess me.  It has him too.  It’s bigger than the both of us.  It’s the Love that brought the Universe into being, that multiplied into the earth, water, trees, birds, squirrels, mountains, bears, whales, mosquitos …

Every time I’ve felt this kind of love, even just a taste, it’s ended with me crying on the bathroom floor.  Shattered, devastated, utterly heartbroken.

How could it end any other way? I used to wonder.  You open your heart, you let someone in, you give it to him to hold and cherish, and at some point, she will drop it.

It will break.

It might be a tiny crack, a little chip, or a fault line so deep it hits the core.

No matter the size, it’s utterly inevitable.

I was trying to hold on to this Love, because I thought it was about the person I was in love with.  I held on to the object of my affection, to the being inspiring these loving feelings in me, fists clenched tight in a white-knuckle grip.  I was afraid that if I let go, the love that it inspired in me would slip away too.

So I held my heart close and tight, protecting and shielding it, with a death grip so strong I almost strangled it; nearly cut off the blood supply to this vital organ.  I was holding on for my life, certain that if I let go, if my heart was dropped, cracked, broken, I would die.

The funny thing is, each time my heart’s been broken, some part of me walks right into the fire, willingly sacrificing itself to provide the space and the nourishment for whatever is next.  These parts died so that others could live.

Driving home tonight…

She’s a good girl
Loves her mama
Loves Jesus
And America too

I start singing along, flooded with these moments, these conversations, these feelings, this Love.

And now I’m free
Free fallin’

Tears stream down my face.

I can feel the free fall.  My heart is already broken; the moment I surrendered to this Love, its fate was sealed.  It broke, cracked, fell apart.  My whole being is the sacrifice and the resulting aliveness is proportionately vast and vibrant.

And now, rather than holding a death-grip on love, the gesture is one of offering up, open handed, and unattached.  It’s not about him.  He might be doing his part to touch it, wake it up, to whisper words of encouragement in its ear.  But really, it’s been in me all along because it’s in everyone and everything.

Here is my heart, laid out upon this operating table.  Will you please help me break it?  I’ll use the scalpel; you try the chisel.  That isn’t working?  Let’s try the jackhammer.

I’m fully submerged in this love, head to toe, diving ever deeper into unimaginable fathoms, further and further still.  It has me.  I’ve inherited this immense opportunity to share this ocean of love.

My heart cracks open and a whole ocean pours out.

Here’s a drop for you, one for you, and another for you.  Don’t worry, a drop is enough; in that drop is the whole ocean.