I’ve always wanted to live in the sky, with the stars as my neighbors. Sometimes I forget that I do live on this earthly plane. That the things I want to grasp are millions of miles away, in a different world. And tonight’s conversation is a sure reminder that I’m firmly rooted to this planet.
Sometimes living is too heavy.
When I shiver, Matthias tugs my arm until I’m close to him and swings his arm around my shoulder. This may be the first night we go out, but it feels like home.
I've had it all and lost it all. I've been on top of the world and face down in the dirt. What I've never had was average, the things that normal people know.
I'm extreme in a world where mediocrity rules. I don't know a middle ground. I'm all in or all out, but I can't be somewhat invested. I pretend to be, for the world, but internally I'm warring with myself for being a hypocrite.
So, when I love, I love hard or not at all. There are no likes or maybes. My heart knows right away when something is right. Sometimes I don't listen to it, just to experience something other than huge excitement or major regret. In reality, I still feel the same. We can't change who we are, even when we pretend to be something different than we were born into.
My dad gets me. My mom struggles. I've learned not to blame her anymore. She's a result of the equation she was brought up in—prim, proper, lock away the secrets and forget you own the key. My brother is like her—rational, analytical, methodical.
I'm a moon lover and sun admirer. A night owl and early riser. I love them both. I hate the middle of the day. It drags. But living in dawn and dusk fuels me to move through the rest of the day with some energy. My father and I are the same, I think. I’ve never asked him, but when I was little, we’d stare up at the sky and search for the man on the moon. I wrote that into a book once. It was a tribute to him, to the person who gets me completely, who doesn’t judge me for being a bit reckless and a lot harsh.
The cursor on my laptop taunts me. The words I told Matthias yesterday about writing coming back into my thoughts like a court jester, teasing. Maybe I can take a trip back to Spain soon. I can return to the place that inspired this. It could help.
I sigh and drop my head on the table, my forehead slamming the fake wood harder than I meant to.
My mind has been on Matthias all day. I romanticize the idea of relationships, despite my hard exterior, measuring them to this perception I have in my mind of what they should be, who people should be in them, and who they shouldn’t be. It’s why I write romance. In fiction, I can allow those illusions to flow freely.
I’m an observer by nature, constantly taking in my surroundings even when I seem to be disconnected. I can’t disconnect. I can’t turn off my nature. So I watch people—their expressions, their form of communication, body language, emotions. Sometimes I wish I could stop for a minute, take a break from the constant pull of others. It’s the cure and curse of being an empath. The ability to help humanity that I have seeped so deep in my soul is there, but sometimes humanity is a heavier load than I can carry. Sometimes my heart snaps at the idea of others suffering. Sometimes I’m the one suffering when I’m expected to be the healer.
So, I choose to stay alone. It’s easier than the disappointing realization that love will never be what my imagination has come up with. Exclusion over disappointment. But what if, just once, I shatter every preconceived notion I have and live? What if, one time, I cross a stranger, we exchange a look, and a memory of another time unfolds behind both of our eyes? A spark of something deeper than observed human interaction and comparisons. He’ll look me in the eye, and I’ll look at him, and we’ll both remember who we used to be with each other.
Maybe.
Maybe that’s my romanticization approach to all that will never be. And that is my truth.
But with Matthias, I felt that deep connection. Fear that it’s all part of my wild imagination instead of a reality shakes me. It won’t be the first time I confused reality for the craving of a made-up truth.
I lift my head and stand. I pace around my small apartment until I go to the balcony and look out onto the darkened town. Everyone is sleeping. I assume so at least that at three-thirty in the morning on a Sunday, well technically Monday, that the town is resting for the new work week.
I should sleep, too. I have a full schedule tomorrow, including a private session on the new modality I did with the group last week. I know that kind of process can go way beyond an hour, and I need to be present, not focusing on the past I meant to leave behind.
There comes a time in your life when you must come face to face with your ghosts, or they’ll forever haunt you.
I’d be lying if I said my ghosts haven’t been lurking lately. During the day, when I see the beauty of this place, I swim in the joy of having broken away from the bungee rope that kept holding me back. But still, I have things that are starting to resurface. Feelings demanding my attention, things that I don’t want to deal with. I thought I was free from them, but like I told Matthias, forgiving in real life isn’t as easy as writing pretty words on paper and ending stories with a happy ending that usually makes me want to puke.
The pressure in my chest I’ve been ignoring bangs against my ribs again. I roll my shoulders in, bringing them into myself.
A deep breath.
Then, two.
Five deep breaths.
The pain is still reminding me that if I don’t forgive, it will only hurt me. The others are already six feet under.
“Let’s go for tea.” I snap my head to the right to look at Makenna.
“You scared me.”
“You did seem a bit distracted.” The wrinkles around her eyes deepen as she scrutinizes me.
Stiffly, I remain still and wait for her to finish looking at me. “Tea,” she repeats with firm authority.
I finish putting the crystals away and grab my bag, following her out of the office. We walk in silence the short distance to the café where I first met Makenna. The afternoon sky is gray with heaviness swirling around us as it threatens to unleash a raging storm on us. The wind picks up as we duck into our destination.
The neutral tones and the smell of coffee and spices calm me. I know Makenna well enough to know that this isn’t just a tea break in our day.
“How was your weekend?” she starts.
“Good.” I scan the menu so I can avoid her eyes, though we both know I’ll order chai tea.
“Did you write?”
“A little.”
“So, you stayed home the entire time?” She’s fishing for me to open up.
“No,” I draw out. “I went out. On a date,” I exhale.
“A date?” I laugh at the view of her eyebrows shooting up.
“Yes.” I drop the menu onto the table.
“That’s wonderful. How did you meet?” She leans in, ready for my story.
“I met him last week at a pub.” For some reason, I want to keep this to myself. I trust Makenna, but Matthias is still new, and I don’t want to make a fuss about this.
“Good for you.” She leans back and sips the tea she ordered. “You did seem a little lost in your head today. If you need to talk about anything else, I’m a great listener.”
“Well, you’re a therapist, so I assume you are.” She cringes at my use of therapist and I chuckle. I know how much she hates being called that.
“Cheeky girl,” she smiles.
“I’m okay. Processing some stuff. You know how it is.” I ease her mind, knowing she’ll worry something is wrong with me. I’ve been off today, the talk about forgiveness stirring sleeping ghosts.
“Well, dear, if you feel you want someone to simply talk with, I can be a neutral party.” Her hand squeezes the top of mine, comforting.
“I appreciate that.”
“Now, tell me about this man you met. What’s his name?”
I roll my eyes and smile. I figured she’d keep asking about him. I tell her how we met and what I felt, feeling a bit embarr
assed to admit my initial reaction. I sound like a naïve girl when I hear myself say that I think Matthias and I are connected from long ago. It’s so cheesy, but deep down, removing the front of hating romance, I do believe in soul connections.
“I’m glad to see you making friends instead of hiding behind that laptop, driving yourself bonkers. The book will get written when it’s time. You can’t force inspiration, or it won’t be the truthful wisdom you’re meant to share.”
I nod silently.
“You know,” she looks up at the ceiling, three fingers loosely over her thin lips. “There was a time I resisted all of this, rebelled. I didn’t want to believe in anything or anyone. No god or angel or saint. I couldn’t believe there were higher powers that would allow the darkness in the world to take over. Why would we have the power to hurt each other so greatly?” Her rhetorical question is hanging in the air with the steam of tea.
Her eyes find mine, and I tilt them downward.
“I never really understood the power of free will and why we have it. Not if it was meant to be used for pain. I never understood why there was evil until I took a class that went into detail on yin and yang, polarities, balance, and how we all have light and shadow. You could imagine my stubborn mind refused to believe I could carry shadow like those I judged.
“I guess the reason this old hag is telling you this is because I learned that this three-dimensional experience is a choice we make. We chose to return to this place with the baggage we carry to heal our soul. The universe is so complex, yet so simple. Forgive yourself and free your heart, the rest of the world will fall into place.”
I stare at her, unblinking. I know exactly what it’s like to feel that way, to doubt the good because of all the bad that exists. But just like Makenna, I’ve also learned the reasoning behind this experience we all call life. It’s not about the destination, but the journey. In this physical world, we all end in the same destination—dead. It’s how we get to our death that counts. It’s the steps we take and the opportunities we grasp to better ourselves and heal that will determine how we lived our journey.
Sometimes, though, we’re just not ready.
Sometimes I sit completely still, staring at a wall, calming my overactive mind. I freeze, a pause in time and the world stops spinning for a while. It’s what I do when I have too much on my mind.
It’s what I’m doing now, as I remember Makenna’s words from this afternoon. I reflect on them, allowing them to resonate with me because I too have been down that path.
When I moved here, when the pieces started falling into place, I thought I was done with a lot of the bullshit I was carrying. I felt free. I felt free before I stepped foot on this land, before I made the final decision to come live here. And I was free, in a sense, because I was healing pieces of me. What I had ignored is that we heal in parts. We deal with what we can handle in that time in our life, process it, and grow from it. But that doesn’t mean we’re done.
I thought I was done.
There are things we carry that are so deep in our soul, it takes more than meditation and ho’oponopono to someone’s soul to clear the hurt. Some marks dig deeper than others, and I’ve discovered I’m carrying some that have excavated to the depths of my soul.
Therefore, staring at a wall in total silence brings the peace I need at times, shifting my focus from density back to a path of forgiveness.
Many times, I’ve been told forgiveness is the key to our personal happiness and freedom. The person we need to forgive doesn’t even know it at times, it doesn’t affect them. It eats us up, though. The hatred is like maggots eating away at decaying flesh.
Growing up, and even as an adult, it was difficult for me to mesh with peers. I think it’s because I was carrying so many things I didn’t know how to process, and I felt displaced. I’ve always felt displaced—with my family, friends, in different jobs. Most times, I felt like an outsider looking into a nucleus that I was never invited to join. I now think it was my own energy giving off that feeling. I was blocking myself so much from others seeing me and learning my truths, that I excluded myself. I used my barrier so they could only see the glimpses I would offer, keeping the rest so tightly locked because I was ashamed of it.
I was raised to keep the secrets inside our house. Whatever my parents told us, was always between the four of us. Whatever we were dealing with, no one else had to know.
Trust no one.
I took it to heart. I inhaled that belief stronger than an addict inhales cocaine during a relapse. I swallowed it and placed it around my heart. Trust was too valuable to gift out freely, and I was taught we couldn’t trust people openly.
Words have vibrations, and those vibrations are embedded in us. I took that mantra and laid my life’s blueprints around it.
It’s been a motherfucker to break that belief and accept that trust isn’t a weakness.
Now that I’ve met Matthias, I’m more determined to break it so I can have a real shot with someone I’m connected to.
Matthias.
He called, but I didn’t answer. I wasn’t done staring at the wall. I wasn’t done drowning knowledge I wish I never learned.
But secrets are gravediggers if kept hidden.
And I don’t want a grave, I want to be cremated.
I shake my head and blink my eyes. I’m so morbid at times.
My phone lights up, luring my eyes to it like a mesmerizing mermaid singing underwater.
I stand and walk to it, knowing it’s a message from Matthias before I see his name on my screen. I read the words and smile, responding to him. We’ve talked every day, allowing our connection to grow whether we’ve seen each other physically or not.
My phone vibrates again.
Matthias: can I ring u?
I smile and tell him yes. Waiting for his call, I stare at the phone like a psychopath, so you’d think I wouldn’t startle when it actually started vibrating in my hand.
“Hello?” I sit back on the sagging couch cushions.
“Hi.” His deep voice travels into my ear and lands on the overactive part of my brain that’s been warring with my heart lately. “How was your day?”
“Good, and yours?” I tilt my head back onto the back of the couch and close my eyes. “I just realized I don’t know what you do for a living,” I blurt out.
“I work in IT. Software, analytics, boring stuff.”
I can hear a smile in his voice. “I doubt that.”
“I actually love what I do, but to anyone else it’s rubbish. Too many details and explanations that are complicated. Anyway, I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow for dinner.”
“Um, yeah, I think so,” I fumble over my words.
“You think so?” His accent deepens with his amusement at my reaction.
“Yeah, I’m free. I finish work at five.”
“Bloody marvelous.” I hear him shifting, wondering if he’s lying in bed as he talks to me. Wanting to get more comfortable, I make my way to my room, shutting off the lights on the way, and lie on my side.
Matthias and I talk for hours about life and our beliefs in certain situations, like the power of meditation and past lives. It feels weird to talk about certain topics without a second thought with someone I just met. Some topics aren’t for everyone, and I protect them and myself.
With Matthias, he immediately jumped in, asking the questions I couldn’t refuse to answer. It’s as if he gets what rattles my passion and pokes it awake. From what we’ve talked about, it’s clear he has knowledge of the spiritual world, and not just because he was born and raised here, in this mystic town. However, we still haven’t talked about people having loved in other lifetimes, and the draw souls have because that would be too much, too soon, for me to admit.
I’m not a trusting person. I struggle. I open myself, willing to allow people to enter, but those triggers return in a sweeping moment. Instead of knocking down, they rebuild layers of stone that I had worked on chipping away. Sudde
nly, I’m back to the beginning. Back to the start of everything, and I scold myself for allowing these shots to penetrate my soul. It takes time to allow someone in and milliseconds for that door to close, locking out everyone.
I’m not a trusting person, but I want to be, for him and for me.
Matthias is someone who deserves a fair chance. And I deserve someone willing to win over my heart.
The noisy pub rattles me in a welcoming way. People laugh and talk, drinking beers and eating with friends or family. Some small children run around, ecstatic to be given the freedom to roam while their parents are too busy to reprimand them. I look across the table at Matthias. His eyes are bright, a lighthouse in a black sea full of restless creatures swimming around. The creatures are all in my mind, tapping me for attention—a nuisance I thought I had released, but his eyes fill me with a tranquility that is new to me.
Instinctively, I look away when his gaze becomes too intense, as if he’s analyzing the war I’m fighting within.
Trust.
Don’t Trust.
He’s different.
They’re all the same.
If one of the people you admired and trusted the most was a monster, then any stranger can hurt you.
I’m so deep in my head, I’m ruining our night. I’m caged in the dollhouse of my mind, walls painted pretty to hide the pain I’m holding.
What caused this? I was doing well.
“Is this always so full on a Tuesday?” I ask Matthias, hoping the conversation will stop the onslaught of questioning in my head.
“Not always. The children started Easter holiday today.”
“Easter?” I hadn’t realized that was coming up so soon.
“The town will be busy with spring activities and people happy about being on holiday.”
“I’m sure it’s a lot of fun.”
“Are you having fun now?” He raises his eyebrows.
All My Truths & One Lie Page 3
