fearless heart

She had been his wife for 26 years. She had moved out of their house fifteen months ago, and the machinery of their formal separation was set into motion and the paperwork was final eleven months later. I have already told you about the long, painful process by which they came to this final event. It had been so long in coming that they both had regained much of their emotional balance even before the deed was done and quickly found themselves working side by side at the tasks and challenges of parenting the adolescent victims of the collapse. They talked comfortably and were considerate and mindful of each other’s needs and expectations and sensitivities. They knew each other perhaps better than they knew themselves, and with the distance and detachment of the divorce, they began to grow a friendship grounded in thoughtful kindness and respect and the mutual ground of parenting.

Their relationship had clear boundaries. Both had emotionally released the other to live their own lives. They did not meddle, and they would not use the kids as spies to pry into each other’s business. They were committed to the protection of the kids, and that was the core of their interaction. This common commitment made room for them to live at the edges of each other’s worlds with a remarkable degree of comfort. As time passed, they became increasingly at ease there.

Many of their friends, especially those who had had difficult and bitter divorces, found their civility difficult to believe. They either felt that it harbored some deep repressed anger, or they resented it, feeling that it illuminated their own failure to separate cleanly. This was, of course, untrue. The nature of their interaction spoke only of itself, and could not cast shadows nor light on the tribulations and trials of others. A few of their friends were openly skeptical of their civility, and warned them of the impending collapse of this wonderful harmony. But these people did not understand the powerful magic that had occurred. They did not know the secret of the fearless heart.

Up to this point, he had not shared much of his emotional passage through the separation with her, and did not know if he ever would, although he knew that she might someday read his stories. He was comfortable with this possibility, but felt no calling to actively pursue such disclosure with her. He did not actively conceal his journey from her either. He had learned enough from the pain and agony he had endured to know that hiding is never an adequate means of protecting a wounded heart. Since she had left, he had found a new freedom to open his heart and welcome the sorrows and terrors that he had never before been willing or perhaps capable of touching—torments he could never before have embraced with such enthusiasm as he now knew.

He was often overpowered with awe and reverence for the remarkable creative force that settled around him and provided him with strength and capacity and insight to venture into the dark and fearful places of his heart during the past year and a half. He had learned to welcome and embrace pain for the healing power that it brought to his deepest being when he let it work freely and without resistance. He had discovered, to his amazement, that the most ferocious bloodthirsty monsters in his soul could not kill him—in fact wished him no harm—but rather were angelic visitations from the greatest healer. As this reality proved itself over and over again, he began to see a new thing growing up within himself—his very own fearless heart.