The pieces of a broken heart are not easily put back together again. But this is only learned the hard way – through the course of Experience – and I have been its ever-diligent student.
The innocent child I know today – that pure heart grown from unity – was born of the great challenges only a world divided can bestow. The story is a long one, not yet ended. However, with the threat of over-indulgence hovering around our eager lips, let us here attempt the abridged version.
We met at the bottom of a mountain: our eyes looking up to its peak and possibility. We were one body, with one heart and one soul. We never embraced for we were never separated. We never held hands for we held the universe in our palms. We never touched but we felt everything.
And then one day (it’s incredible how such drastic changes begin on one day, in one moment), I said something hurtful. I didn’t mean to but I did. And if I had opened my ears instead of my mouth I would’ve heard the first little crack, that subtle snap as what was whole begins to split.
Some might think it strange how words can have that affect, how the edges of a sharp tongue can cut so deep. But the truth is, though we may be pure, one in heart and soul, words are the paint that allows for us to draw that purity and when the paint begins to crumble the feelings of the art become distorted.
Impurity is not a pretty thing. It grows on you, on you and everything you know. It grows till no one can stand being near you, till you cannot stand being near your own self. Such is the result of breaking a heart, of creating fragments: one becomes fragmented, broken themselves. So now here I am, fragmented from my people, broken away from the ones I love – torn from my very own heart. In my selfishness I have created loneliness and now I am alone.
But no matter how difficult it may be (or, perhaps because it may be so difficult), being alone outside of the camp allows for one to look into oneself, allows for one to be on the outside looking in, for one to be outside of oneself and look into what is broken and what is complete.
The innocent child I know today – that pure heart grown from unity – is born of the great challenges only a world divided can bestow. The story is a long one, not yet ended.
But I now know this: if the impurity and hurt I have caused has had such a devastating impact, if the mistakes I have made can cause a heart to break, if the bad seeds I’ve planted have given off fruit rotten to the core, how much more of an impact, a positive impact, can the purity I do, the good I do, have on myself and all humanity? How pure are the fruit reaped from purity sown?
The pieces of a broken heart are not easily put back together again. But when they are, they are one forever.
Mendel Jacobson is a writer, poet and journalist living in Brooklyn. His weekly poetry can be seen at jakeyology.blogspot.com
The words of this author reflect his/her own opinions and do not necessarily represent the official position of the Orthodox Union.
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