I left my broken heart in a Voodoo Temple.

I left my broken heart in a Voodoo temple in New Orleans.

It was a locket I wore at the end of a long chain. Inside were the words from an old song, "Love is not a victory march. It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah." It had broken the night before, snapped in half right at the hinge, leaving me with an ominous feeling. I had felt heartbroken over the last month but especially over the the last two weeks. It wasn't even all heartbreak in the romantic sense, though that did play a major roll in it. An old interest had gotten back together with his old flame, an old crush had proposed to his girlfriend, and while I had two promising prospects, I was starting to realize that things would probably never happen.

But it was more than all that. Melancholy and just a general sadness seemed to follow me around. It was lighter than my normal depression but it was still very present. When my heart locket broke, I stared at it in my hand. It seemed to fit everything else happening. It was if it breaking didn't surprise me in the least.

I don't know if we were drawn to the Voodoo temple that day or we were just caught in a happy coincidence. I don't believe in fate or destiny, and miracles only rarely, rarely happen in my mind but the timing of our arrival was eerily well placed. We arrived right before a prayer service was to be held for a couple who had been there years before and we were invited to join.

We walked into the alter room and were amazed by what we saw. The room was covered with icons, both religious and secular. Items that people had left as offerings were arranged anywhere there was space. Bills were rolled up and sticking out of any crevice possible. Bottles of liquor, both empty and full, stood covered in different layers of dust. Other items were placed in other spots, giving the impression that once it was placed, it was never moved again. The memories of all the lives that had been in that room hung thick in the air. There was history in that room. It was a history that envoked a reverence within us.

An old black lady dressed all in white sat in a chair at the front of the room. Her friend, an old white man dressed all in black with a black leather vest and beret on his head sat to her right. As she began to speak, he pulled out a drum, which he would keep rhythm with later. She spoke of many things. Sometimes I lost her train of thought but would eventually pick it back up again. She spoke of life, of death, of happiness, of sadness and everything in between. There was a part that stood out to me. She spoke of how everything in this life that happens to you, you pick up and hold close to you. You keep those things close to you until you have no more room. You need to let go of the older things before you can begin to pick up new things. It was strange. I have always been a believer in the fact truth can be discovered pretty much anywhere. And here was this woman whom I had never met before and probably would never see again giving me the very words I needed to hear so badly. So much of my life has been spent holding on to things, holding them so fiercely, I don't have room for anything new. If I was going to be happy, if I was going to get rid of this melancholy which had turned into my constant companion, I had to let go of all my heartache.

After she had finished speaking, she stood up to sing. Her voice began unsteadily but grew and grew into one of power and passion. We, who were sitting on the floor, also stood and began to clap the rhythm and a few even joined in singing. I stomped my feet but kept my eyes closed. I knew something was happening, something very unique, something that I would never have a chance to experience again. I let the old woman's voice wash over me, let the rhythm pulse through me. When it was all over, I felt different, not reborn or anything so dramatic but I knew something had changed.

As we were walking out, I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out my broken heart locket. I asked Clark, one of my friends who was there, to wait for me. I found an empty place and set down the locket opened and face up so the words could be read but spaced just enough apart so you could tell it was broken. After I was satisfied, I walked out and didn't look back.

I can't properly describe the feeling I had for hours afterward. Something had changed in me. Those woman's words had rung so true. I couldn't continue to carry this melancholy, this heartache around. And so I left it there.

I hope one day, years from now, I can go back and find my broken heart.

Love you.
Mean it.