(The Reconnection Series is written to illustrate that soul family stories are real.I will be sharing some of mine to bring ease when you live through yours.I used to find mine incredibly confusing and painful.My energy would intertwine immediately and we’d fall into one another.And then we’d have to part…in this space.Now that I know who these people are to me, I live with more ease. I live with joy knowing that I’ll be meeting many more from my family.I live in joy knowing that my family is here making the world into what we dream her to be.)
I pace Boston As if someone is calling my name I feel myself being called
It is evening I walk alone through the darkening park Looking out at floating swan boats Light bending off the water When I see him on the bridge
He is walking towards me Light Emanating from his body His shoulder-length blond hair Hanging loose down upon a white shirt on his tall thin frame He walks towards me as if from some other Space and time
We walk towards each other We both slow our pace We both clearly feel the other I fall into his features Into his clear blue eyes and feminine face
We are a few feet away from each other Reconnecting on an arched bridge Over water In a dusky, misty Boston park
In the moment of passing one another His fingertips reach out for my hand Grazing my skin Both remaining silent We walk on in separate directions
Who is he? Who am I? Why did he reach out his fingertips? How could we both have remained in silence?
I turn left off the bridge Walking around the lake Falling into a trance Wanting nothing else Other than a moment with this being
I see him He too has turned And again we walk towards one another Slowly
This time we stop We sit on a park bench Together Looking out at the water We speak as if we have always known each other We speak as if we both crossed Endless distances to Sit together by water
Our reconnection During a warm summer evening Gives us an invitation To sit within another Deeply Completely
Months later On a morning when two Of my classmates Attempt suicide He calls me for the first time Somehow hearing my pain
I sit speaking to one of my soul loves As if it were normal for him to call As if it were normal for him to know That he was called by my soul That morning
Many years later I visit him for a long weekend He is a graduate student in theology at Yale He is an atheist He plays guitar and weaves words He sleeps on a narrow wooden bed In a room covered with art and literature
Our souls intertwine Our lives walk separate trails
My last memory of him Is of him leaning his face With his hair falling over me As he whispers, “I love you.”
******************************WE ARE ALL STARS***************************
All images and writing are copyrighted. These stories will be published by 2012. Printed version available upon request. All feedback and comments are welcome. Please send to blissmeander at gmail.com