Tonight I went on a date with someone in whom I should be interested. He’s nice, intelligent, moderately good looking, and kind to me. But I don’t feel a thing. In fact, if I’m honest with myself, I haven’t been feeling anything for anyone since September of last year.
Why does that stick in my mind? Well, that was the last time I touched someone whom I love. In my bones I love him. In my toes, my heart, my soul I love him. He is AMAZING in his own right, but he makes me better. And even thinking of him prompts a course correction. Sometimes, I think about being sneaky or desperate or manipulative. And then, just the thought of him aligns me back to neutral good.
I recently met a man who felt like he was regularly stuck between settling with a woman and having a family or chasing the compulsion to join a monastery. Many years ago, he said, he met his twin soul. They split, though their hearts are still aligned, and he worked to move on. She had an existential crisis that conflicted with his. He dated others for shorter periods of time and he’s convinced himself that he’s ok they aren’t together.
“For the last 6 years, I’ve found myself thinking of her quite a lot. At times I even think I should ask her if I should move to Arizona to try again… And we haven’t even spoken.”
Oh, how I know that feeling. The feeling of perhaps not having a family or deep, meaningful connection after the parting of twin flames. There’s nothing else left.
I find it interesting that others go through this loop: feeling continually pushed by a force who left to journey into themself. The deep love and deep awareness. The connection of two third eyes. It’s both exhilarating and debilitating.
The thing I have learned most from my celibacy, I told my new monk friend, is that the most important relationship one can have is with one’s inner child. There are many quiet moments where I find myself holding that inner child, stroking her golden curls, wiping her tears, and giving all the love I can muster to her. She has become my biggest priority in life. And, somehow, turning inward toward that small child inside has allowed me to be more comfortable alone. When she cries out, I find that I can calm her. When she feels desperate and anxious, I can love her.
If that twin soul, that great mirror, had not left my side, my home, my bed, I never would have connected with my inner child. Why would I? He was the perfect parent to her; he taught me what she needed, how to listen, and how to respond. He taught me patience while she acted out, while she stomped around to get her way. He waited outside her cave when she needed time and smiled at her just right when she was terrified. He taught her to breathe deeply and rhythmically. Now, I find myself staring at her in the mirror, putting on smiles until she smiles back. Now, I find myself meditating daily to breathe with her. My twin took my shadow self, pulled it out, and loved the hell out of it. And then taught me to as well.
Being alone is awful. Being alone with someone else is worse. Every day, I’m more grateful to have the time to hold that little girl and adore her, unabashedly and unconditionally. Every day, I’m glad he taught me to love her no matter the obstacles. Every day, I’m glad he left me so I could learn to do it alone.
“Someday, when we’re dreamin’, deep in love and not a lot to say, then we will remember, the things we said today…”