Ise Does It - Day 6
10.11.24
23.1Km
Here’s the thing about heartbreak: contrary to popular belief, I’m learning that it does not entail taking your heart and breaking it — or having it broken — to pieces.
No, for me heartbreak is what happens when an ossified outer shell — one that’s been built up as a protective layer in response to some previous hurt — cracks open and leaves our hearts just a little bit closer to the surface. And the closer our hearts come to the surface, the more love can flow from them, and the more love we can receive.
This is how I began to make sense today of the seemingly-absurd idea that heartbreak is something that I might actually want to welcome in to my life.
But to do that, I first had to welcome the pain of heartbreak and know that the pain won’t kill me. And for me, that’s been the tricky part: I have a habit of shutting pain down.
Today, I was reflecting on my love for someone and how I’ve been subtly withholding that love out of fear. Rather than avoid the topic all together — a usual defence, an ossified outer shell on my heart — I decided to try an experiment: what would happen if I allowed myself to fully experience the fear?
The scene for this little assay was a pavilion perched on the side of a cliff, overlooking Akano Island. With my eyes transfixed on the horizon I could see the boats heading to their nets and hear the waves crashing against the rocks below us. I could also hear, behind my right shoulder, that Kalia was running a little emotional experiment of her own. In good company and fortified by a couple of canned coffees hot and sweet, I decided to dive in.
A simple visualisation was all it took, a bringing-to-mind of the person concerned, my love for them and the fear that I’ve allowed to keep us separate.
Within a few seconds I was feeling the heartbreak this separation causes. My belly clenched tight, my head drew back, and my jaw stretched wide open. Here come the sobs again, I thought.
But rather than fight the feeling or shut it down, I just let it rip and roll right through me. After all, if I wasn’t safe to do it here, in the middle of nowhere with a friend at my side, then I wouldn’t be safe to do it anywhere.
As the sobs began to subside, the darnedest thing happened: I began to laugh. Well, I giggled at first, but then the giggle grew to a chuckle, then the chuckle to a chortle before a great big laugh landed right back where those sobs had first started: in my belly.
Then clarity.
By feeling the fear the whole way through — by allowing myself to feel the heartbreak of that fear realised — I could see so clearly how it’s been holding me back. There was no doubt about how it’s been coming between us, and how that fear — while once, in a different life, was justified — is no longer. In its place settled a feeling of love unencumbered. Tears of joy started to roll down my face.
With experiment 1 out of the way, we made our way to our pass for the day, Miura-toge. With too much tea in my system I’d had a wretched night’s sleep: on the hour, every hour I’d wake and stare at the street-lit shoji at the foot of the futon. And with another pink pill on the go for the resurgent 便秘, I was in no mood to eat. Both of these things were a problem, because in such a depleted state, Miura-toge is an absolute bastard. Heavy foot after heavy foot, we slumped our way to the summit, the only thing bringing me cheer being the thought of our cat, Bo, and the way he gently sniffs my face and hair to say hello when I come home.
Sat looking back to Furusato Onsen, the town where I’d not slept the night before, I decided to try experiment 2: what happens when I really relish the heartbreak. What happens if I go another round?
A couple of years ago, Chris and I met a man of profound kindness and wisdom. His name’s Matthew and, along his wife Emma, he’s changed the lives of, at a guess, thousands of people over the years. A couple of months back we received word that he was gravely ill. I maintained a detached curiosity as Chris would read me the latest updates from the group chat I was studiously ignoring. I read another one of those updates this morning, and it wasn’t sounding good. I suddenly realised that I am profoundly afraid of Matthew dying.
Just like before, I sat with that fear. Just like before, I followed it through to its conclusion. And with even greater intensity than last time, I found myself wailing in anguish at the thought of him gone. And then, just like that, a burst of love in my chest. It was like someone had turned on a 100W bulb and its warmth suffused up through my neck and down in to my guts and I felt nothing but gratitude for this man and what he’d brought to my life. I said a few words of love for him and set them free on the humid breeze.
As Billie Holiday used to sing:
Good morning heartache
Here we go again
Good morning heartache
You're the one
Who knows me well
Might as well get use to you
Hanging around
Good morning heartache
Sit down
Over a stunning dinner tonight at Misuzu, Kalia asked me how I’m doing. All I could muster was: I’m done. Not done with the walk, far from it, nor done with her. But after a solid 48 hours of intense unfolding between us and after discovering a newfound love for heartbreak, I’m spent. Wholly, joyfully used up and in desperate need of some rest to let all of this percolate.
Until tomorrow friends.