Sunday, January 9, 2005 - Create in me a clean heart

Vancouver, British Columbia.

I.

Create in me a clean heart, O God;
and renew a right spirit within me.
( from Psalm 51) KJV

I wake up thinking about a dream I once had. A hard shell casing around my heart that popped open and exploded like fireworks into thousands of jagged pieces. This particular Sunday morning it is beginning to re-mold itself tightly around my broken heart, trying to hold it together. I bundle up with layers before getting on the train to go to church.

I sit off to the side in the back row behind the tall man. I do not want to be seen. I just want to sit and observe because I am not sure of anything.

And a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish
(Isaiah 42:3) NASB

I am burning dimly and do not want to go forth. I am not ready for this path, I tell myself. I repeat the words over in my mind as I listen to the sermon. I cannot open my heart and accept these things. I can hide here off to the side where it is safe. Hide behind the pieces forming. And a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish. The sermon is coming to a close and I look up to find the priest looking directly at me, saying "and you will follow this path before you."

I know.

II.

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

A Drinking Song, W.B. Yeats

For me this poem is about the simple moments of love. The first time I saw it was in the bathroom of the bar Val Halla at the Rice University campus. It was just after my divorce. The next time the poem came into my life was as another relationship was ending. Always at times when I am questioning love. And of course it would appear on this particular Sunday. As if it was waiting for me to arrive.

Sunday night at Chapters in downtown Vancouver. There was an all day Yeats-a-thon upstairs. Actors in Vancouver were reading Yeats for 12 hours straight. I showed up that evening to listen as I wasn't ready to head home. I saw a friend and she urged me to read.

I stood in front of the small crowd, my heart open as I told of my relationship with this poem. My voice shook, my hand trembled as I read it aloud. I stayed to listen to a few more readings and then left. As I walked outside to the busy downtown and felt the cold air, I began to cry. Finally. The weight of the day crashing around me. I didn't want my heart to be broken, I didn't want the path before me, I didn't want to keep my heart open, and I didn't want the day to end.