~The Broken Heart Chakra~
At forty-six I am in a slump and know it—this is an accomplishment since I’m fairly certain the low point settled in and took root around twenty years ago. It is the kind of dip that occurs when life doesn’t seem to get the human or the human is grumble-bumbling in opposition. Either way, the net value is that every day is defined with a gray or angry hue.
There is no reason for my miasma if the reason is evaluated by what’s easily seen on the surface. Work is fulfilling, my family is healthy, I don’t live in a box under a viaduct, and every so often there is a little left in the bank account after the bills are paid. Yet something undefined irritates my lining, a burr secretively nestled behind my awareness. Aside from blah skies and pissed off episodes, a thought regularly pops into my mind.
You’re supposed to do something and time is running out.
This thought zapping in from nowhere seems more ominous than signing a permission slip for twin teens or remembering to do the laundry. It’s as though I’m overlooking an item on a list and the writing is quickly fading.
Which is how I wind up getting my aura read as a belated birthday gift to myself. Before it sounds as though I reach for a magic wand when I have a head cold, let me be clear—I’m a skeptic. I don’t believe in much other than my own ability to drag myself up the block. Paying an aura reader is more of a “prove it” game that I play. And if I didn’t know better, the bland woman in a nondescript office is finalizing my taxes. Her head is bent toward a printer as she explains that a computer program will assess the photo she has taken of me.
As expected, no magic wands, no fairy dust, no evidence of the woo-woo. I sigh heavily, waiting for her to dish up my color wheel. It is certain that mine will be muddy brown with black spots. The woman interrupts me mid-silent-moan.
“You have a blocked heart chakra. This means there is old pain that is stuck.”
She stops speaking to gather more information from her notes. I roll my eyes inwardly, perfecting this mad skill with my teenagers. Having been around the heart-shattered block enough times to be lapping myself, I probably ooze woundedness in my wake. This is an easy tell. Now ready to scream fraud in the lobby, I slide to the edge of the folding chair.
“The blocked heart chakra must be why there is a concentrated white light at the top of your head. Your guides are trying to get messages through, but are blocked by your old pain.”
It takes monumental effort to swallow back a guffaw. The aura reader finishes with a single statement that bundles my wounds with everyone on the planet and polishes it off with a broad assumption that makes my smirk impossible to hide.
“You’re not alone with this type of thing. A lot of people have these colors, though there is a unique shade of blue-green surrounding you that implies the skills of a healer.”
Thanking her, which seems like an overpayment, I nearly unseat my eyeballs with sarcasm on the way out to the car. In the weeks that follow, I’m bombarded by the usual “to-do-thought” alongside a new accomplice.
Does a broken heart chakra keep me from having a good life?
I carry the question with me on a family vacation to Madeline Island, a small red rock uprising in Lake Superior. On the last day of our trip, the kids outmaneuver my husband into playing another game of Go Fish. I scatter before I’m found. My trot down the path slows when I reach the shore. The sun is preparing to set on the large body of water, with ripples cascading across the surface in pinkening blue rolls. I’m far enough away from the house, that the voices of my family are whispers in the breeze. My attention is grabbed, hushed in the same way that it can be in an aged church.
People do non-conscious things all the time—eat twelve cookies instead of two, drive to the grocery store and back, stare into space while doodling. Yet every time it happens we’re surprised. Today without notice, I have gone from shore to chest deep in the ice-cold ancient water. The undulating motion of melted glaciers is calming. Illogically I am not cold, but warm. Just as the sun bellies up to the ridgeline of Wisconsin a sentence breaks the crisp silence.
“Bring it on Universe! Break open my heart chakra!”
I whirl in the water to see who is shouting into the sunset.
Who the hell said that?
The shoreline is empty and my ears prickle with awareness.
Uh oh, I think it came from me.
Nine words bloomed away on a cosmic chain, opening the Universe door so wide and fast a decisive loud click vibrated around the world.
Please wait quietly while the waitress brings your order.
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