I had a massive epiphany while attempting to weed the curb area of my home. It was time, both for the epiphany and the weeding. My new neighbors were sure to rue the day I moved in if I didn’t pay some attention to the landscaping. Speaking of which, I need to get a bikini wax.
Anyway, the epiphany. I fall in love with souls. Not people, souls. This is a problem. It wouldn’t be a problem if we lived on some other plane where souls were souls and Earth was of no concern, and we all floated around telepathically communicating with each other. But we live here, on the blue marble. As people. With flaws and quirks and hang-ups and anger and insecurity and envy and confusion and one massive ego that wants to be the star of the show.
Cole, in The Sixth Sense, saw dead people. Well, I don’t see live people. Not all, just some. Those I fall in love with. I see their souls instead. I see their end game, who they are hoping to become, and I want them to get there so badly. I see what role I can play in that quest. When I see who they can become, and how priceless and beautiful that creation is, I want to be a part of that journey.
The problem is I’m falling in love with who they can become on a journey they may choose not to take.
As I gently placed the ladybugs back on plants that would benefit from their visit, and continued on my quest to weed with gusto, I looked back on the three really serious relationships I had, including The Genius. It’s clear that I fell in love with the souls of men, and not the men themselves. There were red flags with each one that I overlooked because I believed each man was going to fill their karma cup by lowering those flags, folding them, and burning them. For themselves, for me, for their soul. I saw the red flags as the very aspects of themselves that they were here to focus on, learn from, understand better, deal with. And I assumed they would. Maybe they will. They’re all still alive. But our relationships are not. It will be hard not to be pissed if they do complete their journey and become the brilliant people I glimpsed. That I won’t get to share in that is disappointing.
I remember a time in January, just before finding out The Genius’ affair was a four year monster, when we held each other and I looked through his eyes right to his soul. What I saw was beautiful.
“I love your soul.”
We held tight and cried. I didn’t love him as a person, but I loved his soul. I hadn’t thought about that experience until just now. It confirms my epiphany. And, that I’m slow on the uptake. 3 months to figure this out. I’d like to move faster than that.
I want to stop falling in love with souls. I want to fall in love with people instead. I don’t want to hang my hat on what ifs but rather on what is. I don’t want to look at a man and think of the promise of what could be but rather to see who he is, as he is, right here, right now. Imperfections and all.
Problem #2: I don’t deal well with imperfections. They intimidate me. They scare me. That’s a problem, given we all have them. I find that I don’t know what’s an acceptable imperfection and what is destined to derail a relationship. I really don’t know. I mean, obviously if the guy is a raging addict who likes to have orgies, that’s going to pose an insurmountable set of problems. I can walk away from that. But it’s never that clear. Especially, it seems, with the men I find myself drawn to. The imperfections are more subtle, and in some cases even attractive.
So how do you know which flaws are okay and which are relationship killers? How do you change the way you fall in love, after all these years?
After I had decided to write about my epiphany, about how I fall in love, I received this comment from S, because she’s practically psychic:
“When you decide to love again, do you think you’d like to fall in love or experience love the same way? Have your views changed on how love is done at all?”
S, I can’t fall in love the same way. In any respect. I can’t yet express why I find that so upsetting and not freeing. Every time I think of it the tears just flow. I have such a huge heart. I want to love and love and love. But the way I’m doing it isn’t working. And I don’t know how to deprogram myself, break the pattern, so that I can experience a real 3D love. A basic, good old-fashioned blue marble love that’s healthy in all respects. Grounded in the body, not floating out there in the atmosphere, where I seem to be more at ease.
I’m heading to Mt. Tam today to bust out 20 miles. I have much to ponder (I’ll be bringing extra tissues. For those of you that are hoping to find me on a trail just look for the chick who is crying.). I’m a bit stunned over this realization – coming to understand that I fall in love in a way that doesn’t work here. I swear, is there any part of me that isn’t going to need a complete overhaul? (Being a Mom. That one I have down.)
I feel uptight. Tense. Alone. I feel like a dreamer, not grounded in a world that requires it. I feel like I don’t have enough time to figure this one out. That it’s going to be back-breaking work to shred the old patterns, and by then my time will have passed. I’m surprised by the tears I am choking back right now. But the beauty of it is that I welcome these feelings. I’m okay feeling this way right now because I believe in my ability to grow and morph. It might take months, years, but if learning how to love on the blue marble is a key part of my journey then I am confident I can figure it out. I just hope that someone is waiting there for me when I finally do.
*So it’s Saturday morning. And I’ve come to understand that my Friday post may happen on Friday or it may happen on Saturday. So we’re going to call it a weekend post. Sometimes on Friday nights my spirit is elsewhere and the keyboard is gibberish.
*Tonight is the Super Moon. The biggest, fattest, brightest moon of the year. I will be at Stinson Beach watching it rise after leaving it all on Mt. Tam. Wherever you are, I’ll know that we’re all staring at the same beautiful moon. It’s a time for transforming, for reflecting, and for plugging in. I hope you do.