‘Bach is like an astronomer who, with the help of ciphers, finds the most wonderful stars. Beethoven infuses the universe with the power of his spirit. I do not climb so high. A long time ago, I decided my universe would be the soul and heart of man.’  – Frederic Chopin

In the dark hours of April 14th, 13 people sworn to secrecy entered Holy Cross Church in Warsaw. With whispered reverence, they approached a pillar and removed a crystal jar filled with amber liquid. Within which, bobbed a white lump: Frederic Chopin’s heart. 
It is rumoured that his closest friends believed Chopin died of a broken heart. Upon his deathbed, he desired that his heart be returned home. His sister answered his plea and smuggled his heart to Poland (I imagine within the folds of her skirts). While his body rests in France, his heart is submerged in a jar of cognac in Poland. Since then, this jar has been opened and examined a number of times.
It seems unfortunate that the symbolic preservation of one’s soul is reduced to an alcoholic concoction stuffed into a jar where it can be exhumed and prodded whenever the pull of curiosity arises.
I wonder, upon each opening, does a little bit of his soul escape? Does a little tissue become dislodged?
Does his soul find the ceremony around each opening liberating or stifling?
Would those who open the jar be able to resist the temptation to nibble a bit from this legendary heart desiring to ensnare his genius for themselves?
Or perhaps it is us that eat a little of his soul each time his music plays and lingers on the air.


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