(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
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

This time we stop
We sit on a park bench
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

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.
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