The teardrop shaped cake

She said she had been planning it since I was born
Beautiful, it was
It had strawberry icing and real rose petals
All around the outside
I asked her why she made it,
‘Why today?’
She smiled
Touched my cheek, gently. ‘Because you were ready.’
I looked at it for the longest time
Didn’t want to cut into it yet
‘Why is it shaped like that?’
‘Because its made with your tears.’
‘But won’t that make it taste bitter?’
She looked surprised. ‘Oh no. Not at all. This cake is made from all of your tears; those of pain, those of joy and those you simply needed to release in order to move on.’
She went on to tell me about all the tears she had collected from me over the years.
‘You didn’t cry much when you were born, but the next day, when your Mum cried, so did you. Those were the first tears I collected from you…
Then there were the all the childhood tears – from separation anxiety, to tantrums, to those of excitement. Each time I was there, collecting a teardrop or two.
Then as you grew, there were more tears; your first love – lots of happy tears from this as well as those you shed when it was over. Tears from friendships made and broken…
Tears from the mixed emotions when you left home, those of frustration when you were on the wrong path but hadn’t yet realised it…
Tears for those you lost…
And tears from all those ‘just perfect’ moments.’
She looked at me.
‘There were more of those than you remember, you know.’
And I knew
‘…and when you had your child and cried unashamed tears of joy, I collected those too. And many, many more since.’ She smiled at me as a tear rolled down her own wrinkled cheek
‘And now, my Heart, you are ready.’
I cut into the cake
So light and fluffy, it was like cutting air
As I brought it to my lips, a few rose petals escaped, gently floating down and landing just past my toes
I took a bite of cake, soft buttercream icing and fresh strawberry
I cried. She was right. I was ready.

Emotional overflow

I was over at Matt Madeiro‘s blog, Three New Leaves, yesterday, reading his recent post ‘Confessions of a Crybaby,’ about how he has come to terms with the fact that he is, to use his word, a ‘cybaby.’ I wouldn’t have used this word myself, for its negative connotations don’t seem to fit with the reasons Matt gives for the fact that tears come easily to him.

Although I can’t possibly know what Matt’s experience of the world is like for him, I can empathise, as tears come easily to me, too. As I commented on Matt’s post, I prefer not to call it crying, though, as this suggests sadness is involved. Although it sometimes is, I find the tears come more readily at other, seemingly everyday moments – I recognise the sense of stillness that touched Matt after his first experience of meditation, and art and music can move me in the same way. My sister is a singer/songwriter, and her words and music often cause this emotional overflow. She once showed concern at my tears, so I tried to explain it to her… and that is how I would like to explain it to you, now. It’s like this:

I ‘fill up’ with emotion and sometimes, some of it leaks… The filling up is a lovely feeling, and if it leaks then it’s just because I forget how much joy I can contain.

Matt comes to the conclusion that his tears are simply a celebration of life, which is nothing to be ashamed of, and I agree. Sure, he might be a sensitive soul, compared to some, and while I think sensitivity can be a strength to be admired, I am aware that many do not feel this way. I congratulate Matt on his honesty, bravery even, for sharing this part of him with the world, another sensitive creative not afraid to be who he is.