The Third heart

She crossed the street and there he was. All dressed up, here on business, out with work, doing his thing, glad handing, networking, seeing and being seen. All the way from the other side of the country, he appears. No note, no text, no call. It was last minute, he says. I had no plans until I had plans. Plans that glaringly lacked inclusion of her on any level. They're not friends. Barely acquaintances. They were lovers; complicated emotionally, different levels of involvement and ability, desire to engage. She says hello. He's affable, his polite self, distant and guarded but never leads the conversation, remains firmly in response mode so in effect, unaccountable. Controlling, in his way. Wouldn't want to get emotional. Doesn't offer himself up nor make an effort to make time or space for her while he's here. Clear as a bell. She gathered he wasn't planning a call, she says. He counters with I figured you'd gather that. He offers up aphorisms of do yourself the favour of not assuming the worst. Make no assumptions. She has no words. Drops her chin to her chest, smiles, gives an involuntary shake. The simple courtesy of a note, a text, instead of stumbling across him on the street, even worse, hearing via social media that he had come to town and didn't bother to make contact. Five seconds- hey, I'll be around. Busy but wanted to let you know. In case you know, you stumbled across me. Kindness. Thoughtfulness. Simple. She had a mentor say we are not our behaviour; at least not the behaviour we let everyone see. We are our hidden selves, the ones we reveal behind closed doors, in private. Our deepest fears, self loathings; our rage and prejudices, judgements and dreams, frailties and wants. Longings. Selfish desires. This is who we really are beyond what we so carefully choose to share in public. Except artists. Artists put it all out there, all three hearts; public, private and the other. The public for everyone to share, to glory in the joy and generosity of spirit; the private for your lover, that intimate, intense, passionate connection, vulnerable, caring, loving; and the third heart- the third heart is your art. All of it, in every dimension. Who we dream ourselves to be, unencumbered, brave, beautiful, raw, ugly, present, curious, demanding. Everything. Alive. Beating. Thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum. She lives publicly in her three hearts. For all to see.