posted February 04, 2014 04:58 PM
Oh, I'm really glad that made sense to so many. It's been quite an ordeal for me to grok, and nothing provided me answers. To that end, allow me to pop on and share something from the earlyish morning hours. Between 6:15 and 7:45, Pacific Standard. It's been very chilly here today. We awoke and promptly dove back under the covers after flipping on the heater. I fell back to sleep in a curious way, with my husband on his stomach, and my arm across his back, with our fingers entwined. We've grown remarkably closer in the past year.
As I was beginning to drift, I had a brief thought, almost of a hopeful idealism: that he was my Twinflame after all. That I'd gotten it all wrong. That, really, we're the ones fighting to be together, to stay together. To provide the kiddo the best life we can, and to teach each other how to love. To evolve.
He's the closest I can get to Fate. Brilliant, unusually funny lunar Sag chemists. I'll never forget how I was knocked over the first time I saw a photo of my husband at 28, and thought, 'my God, he looks like Fate. WTF?'.
Anyway.
I shut my eyes, imagining this wonderful, easier, what-if scenario, and realising, in my heart of hearts that the reason why I feel so connected to Fate is inexplicable and beyond my understanding, maybe even it's capacity; and that, no matter how I feel or what I may want, I'd never leave my husband. Ever. Not now.
And had I chosen differently then ... would I be further from my destiny, even though he and I were together? Would our being together be enough? Would we be NOT doing AS we're to do - because of the way the daily grind wears you down into a nicely rounded, perfectly shaped cog of society?
So I tried to convince myself that my whole purpose for moving here was because of my husband, and being with him; that, eventually, I would forget Fate in this capacity, and I really ought leave it to the confirmed, declared, and proven Twinflames to do this business of shifting planetary consciousness.
I could be happy - totally happy - with the man I married, being his wife, learning to love my lover, us bringing to him a family experience he'll never have on his own. I could feel balanced. Nothing would be missing. I needed to find these men, and THEY will help complete my destiny, and Fate is just ... something. A weird something to show me that the supernatural is something I'll never understand. That I had to find those connected to LACHESIS because I needed this understanding.
For some reason. But not that.
I closed my eyes, and no sooner did I feel a sudden, pulsating vibration. Like someone had lay me on one of those massage beds, but with a lower intensity. It lasted about 6 seconds. Couldn't have surpassed 1.5, from my vantage, anyhow.
After the quake, my husband and I released each other's hands and got into a more comfortable position. That's when it all started.
I've been no stranger to sleep paralysis: that horrifying feeling of limbo between sleeping and waking. You can't move, and there's strange noises, as you become acutely aware of the sounds of your body - your blood rushing, your pulse - it all becomes a crashing wave, and a terrible thudding. For me, at least.
This time, I told myself, if I stayed close to my husband, and he saw me jerking, he could wake me. Because I REALLY needed to go back to sleep for some reason. This must've been around 6:30.
I let it overtake me, slowly, in waves. Dizzying waves. Falling into nothingness without moving, as your equilibrium is lost and your brain tries to compensate.
I saw a large door. There was a ribbon of light growing in intensity alongside its edges. I could open it, though all else was dark, and I felt no knob; I felt nothing, actually. Incorporeal.
It opened on to a beautiful rolling hillscape, with bashful oak trees and weeping willows. The sky was blue, and all was green. Lush. I realised before long, however, it was becoming my backyard of my childhood home, the one we lost in the fire when I was twelve.
I am twelve. I step out on to the cement porch; my hair is golden blonde and wispy. I'm wearing a white sundress with little eyelets in the pattern. Little white leather sandals with flowers of the same on the bands. Everything about me is little, dainty, and bright.
He's a bit younger. I'm going to say nine. He's in a particularly worn suit. Black. White shirt underneath the black blazer. Wrinkled; the cuffs a little long for his arms, covering his hands part-way. Seated on my hand-crafted tree swing, entirely focussed upon his Game Boy, first edition.
I call him by his first name and step off the porch. He looks up, sees me and smiles, and responds using my personal nickname - the one only family, special intimates (including my soul family) and he - uses.
I don't recall all of the details. I do remember very plainly that I extended my hand to him, he hopped down, and took it.
I turned to him. 'Are you ready?'
(He does this thing. He says, 'sure,' without any hesitation, but I know he's terrified. Heh.)
He says it just that way. His voice simply a higher pitch.
I look up past the tallest trees and say, 'okay,' holding his hand more tightly.
I open my eyes, and I'm in a room. I recognise it as the place he and I both were at some point. I still don't know how we got there. I only recall awaking next to him in a dark room of several others, sleeping in the same improvised way; he and I were on a table with jackets. Moby's 'The Sky Is Broken' was playing. Clearly. I'd looked over at him, as he slept, and touched his fingers, lightly, with my own. He stirred only insofar as turning to me, barely opening his eyes, and falling back to sleep with a soft grin. I curled closer and did the same.
But now, it's all empty. I'm lying on that same table. It's light out. There's a bookcase. I'm feeling dizzy.
Now, I hear others' voices. They're there, in a circle. I'm staring at the bookcase. I'm going towards it, but not moving. I'm going to go through it; I can feel it already. As usual, just where the wall meets the baseboard. Above the moulding. There. If it were a single point, that would be where I'm going.
And now, as I move through it, bracing myself for anything, same as before, I'm somewhere else. And I'm fully lucid. That means it won't be easy, as I fight against the dream's design. But I've done it many, many times. I'm becoming stronger.
It's a very large theatre. A collection of auditoriums, you might say. The outer area is more akin to a museum. I suspect I'm in someone's memory palace. But not mine. Have I been here before? I think so. Some parts are familiar. Many aren't.
I'm immediately a woman on a mission.
I stride confidently through the large, echoing halls, like I own the place. And I begin shouting his name. First, his first name. Then his full name.
I'm not confident, though. I HAVE to find him. I HAVE to.
I go through several. It's almost as if I'm projecting him on to them. But they aren't him. They're parts of him. Pieces of him. They aren't HIM. HE is somewhere else. Here. But somewhere else.
One such, I suddenly realise, is blonde and blue-eyed - with one green. Heterochromia iridum. I've taken his hand, and we're going to take a seat. But halfway there, I notice. And I stop. I know who HE is. He grins at me, slyly, knowingly. It's as if he's played a prank. I slap him on the arm. He convinces me to come have a seat, or there won't be time. Somehow, I agree.
We're seated. I'm waiting. I'm nervous. Fidgeting. Finally, I squeeze and release his hand, pat him on the knee affectionately, and rise from my seat. 'I'm sorry,' I say, going. He says he'll keep my seat for me. I see, next to him, from the corner of my eye, him telling my husband what's happening. He nods.
Now, however, it's all empty.
And dark. Or dim.
I go back to the auditorium - no one's there.
I'm all alone.
I turn back to find him once more, fighting the dizzying feeling, as if pushing against my own fate, like a current that's binding me in one direction (Rich Kelly and I are both familiar with this sensation).
I have to tackle my fear. I have to search this vast, dim, empty place. Alone. I call for him - everywhere - despite knowing its vanity. I hear nothing. See no one. Nothing but shadows.
I go to the stairwell. It feels so narrow. There's no outer railing. I race up two flights in spite of this, and have no idea how I didn't fall - or how I managed to get to the door, which was nearly isolated on a platform. (I'm horrified of heights.)
Once outside, it's bright, but overcast. The area is similar to my childhood porch. It's cement. But oh, so, very high up. There are two paths at a steady decline, though a bit jerky and winding. I go to the right one - and it begins to narrow, starting at the end. I run out of it quickly, back to the platform. I take on the left. The same occurs. Fine. I decide to find another way; I wasn't even looking for a way OUT anyhow.
The door is locked.
Jesus. NOW I'm stuck.
I couldn't even begin to manoeuvre a jump from this height. And from where?
There's only one other platform, of the same rudimentary concrete, just a few feet below, if that, immediately jutting out from the one I'm on, right in front of me, between the two paths - now blocked. Narrow, and with wrought-iron rods spearing through the cement.
Not a pretty sight. Sharp, jagged things. Even if I am slender enough to carefully make that gauntlet, one wrong move, or misjudgement, could be a mortal wound.
And out from that secondary platform? Nothing.
I'm effectively trapped.
I close my eyes and concentrate on the wind. I feel the breeze on my skin. I'm thinking of what the hell to do.
'Hey.'
I open my eyes. He's there. On the second platform. His height, (exactly one-foot taller than I am) means I'm ever slightly taller, for the moment. That's a rarity.
I'm so stunned, and overjoyed, I forget everything else. I just go to him. I tell him how I'd been looking everywhere for him. (He knows.) I throw my arms around him and recompose myself. I was near to tears, and my adrenaline was surging.
'I think Fiona would just be so happy to see Lane again, all of the rest wouldn't really matter.'
He laughs a little. 'Yeah, me, too.'
I turned slightly to him, while still holding fast. 'Would he forgive her, too?'
He held me more tightly. I just heard, 'of course.' I couldn't hold back the few foregone tears then, so I blinked them out of my vision.
I don't know exactly why, but what happened next is something which will take me a very, very long time to understand.
Some time ago, during the estrangement last year, I dreamt of him, in a bizarre fashion. Rather than searching for him, I was simply realising we were in the same space, and wasn't sure if I hoped to stumble into him or not. He was strangely flirtatious, but equally cruel, and I was ready to take my leave.
As I did so, he apologised - and was gone. Just a moment later, he was gone, and yet - not. I've no other way to explain it.
During this de facto absentia, I reached upward, and felt his presence. I felt his face. We kissed, and I felt it with such unusual vividness. I can recall it even today. Except, now ...
Now, it's even stranger.
It happened again. There, on the platform. I no longer saw him there, and yet, I felt his lips in an undeniable, unmistakeable way. I could distance myself to some other vantage, and see us both, there, together. But from my perspective - nothing. I was alone, embraced and caressed by, enraptured in, the thin air.
I felt it here, too.
I realised then, at that moment, I was in a trance-state, Theta, not Delta. I wasn't in REM. And it felt like I could lose it - and him - at any moment. I was hyper-aware now. Even as I felt the sensation on my lips.
Something else happened, too.
It was so bright. So terribly cliché. And yet, the sheer force generated between us was one with which to seriously, seriously be reckoned. It was blinding. I felt it in my fingertips. They tingled. I was so dizzy, but no longer fighting against something. I was just taken by it, surrendered to it; and it was so, indescribably bright, so spectrally beautiful, and only existing between us in that moment.
Just as it broke, and I was about to ask how we're going to get out of here - we were.
We were on the ground. I don't know how. I suspected he did. He just smiled. I saw his child self faintly in the crinkling at his eyes. I saw my own child self, too. As I smiled back at him, I felt his adult self emanating from my own eyes. I could see his catching his own reflection in me - and smiling.
Next I recalled he was in some vehicle. I don't know who was driving - he wasn't. There were others to the side of him. They were friends. I felt that much, though I recognised none of them. He was seated by the window.
I was in a separate vehicle adjacent to it, also, not driving, also, in the back, by the window. I laid my palm against it. He rolled down his window, and I did the same to mine.
I felt the same sensation as before; the tingling in my fingertips, as I placed my palm to his, our fingers directly against the other's. We looked into each other's eyes for a time, but didn't smile. I heard the engine; we didn't move.
I felt the car shift. My fingertips broke from his. He grinned softly, his eyes diverting, as we both rolled back our windows. I placed my palm up again; I wasn't smiling. He sighed; there was so much he was withholding in his eyes. His jaw tight, set. He placed his hand against the glass, too.
We stayed there, like that, for ... I'm not sure. Several seconds. Maybe longer.
The car turned, on to a diverging road. We'd already withdrawn our hands. His attention was focussed on something up ahead. Mine was soon elsewhere, too. That is, after I'd watched the vehicle go further and further from me. A similar, but divergent path. Parallel, but with the closer distance being behind us, and the farther we get, bringing us further apart.
I awoke, in that same state of having not really slept. It was 7:45. I knew it. The clock in my head ticked to it. It was, indeed, 7:45. On the nose.
I became conscious of my surroundings again. That I was back, or awake, or however you'd like to put it.
A song was playing on the satellite receiver. A new one. Unsurprisingly, it's Moby. Called 'Almost Home'. This was a remix with Washed Out.
The lyrics I catch are:
'Time to scout, when I was a child there, I know at heart, to be at your side.
So, we climb. We all uphold the line.
I dream it, too. The stars remind.
Wake up, wake up, wake up,
We're almost home.
Wake up. We're almost home.'
Moby's 'Innocents' has spoken a lot to me. I'd dare say it's the soundtrack of my life at present. Somehow, it's there, like a wise companion. An invisible guide.
So, that was my morning.
We haven't spoken. Not in awhile. Over a month now. As I never answered, he quit calling. Finally. After years. But we communicate the way we used to. Very occasionally text. Regularly comment on our Facebooks. Or just Like things. It always means more than whatever is Liked. It's our staying close, while being apart.
But I think - whatever we are - we'll be okay.
Now. As to my burgeoning theory regarding a special type of completing soulmate - let me get to work on that now. Now that THAT's out of the way. That was important.
Lindaland
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posted February 03, 2014 03:16 PM
posted February 05, 2014 05:20 AM
posted February 07, 2014 12:44 PM