“I am.”
“You’ve been lost in your mind most of dinner. If you want to go home, we can.”
We.
Infinite memories we have yet to create cross my mind like an endless loop. I see myself with him, living.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” I ask.
“Let’s.” His confidence soothes me.
As we stroll through the dimly lit garden surrounding my apartment, I inhale the chilly air and fill my lungs with freshness.
“This garden was all I needed to see when deciding to rent my apartment. I saw it, even in the dull, early spring weather, and felt its beauty. I’m so glad this is where I chose to live.” The meaning is double, because moving to England was the best choice I could’ve made for myself.
“It’s a beautiful area. You’re close to the centre as well.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. I take a seat on a bench. Matthias mimics me and remains silent. I keep my eyes trained on the shadows ahead of me. “Do you believe souls are destined to meet when they incarnate as humans?” I finally turn to look at him.
His eyes are trained on me, his face a map to the treasure I’ve been hunting for. “I’ve always believed that.”
“Me, too,” I whisper. “It’s partly the reason I came here,” I confess. “I knew there would be people here who I’d connect with. That sounds crazy, huh?” I throw it out as a joke.
Matthias’s cool hand finds mine before he speaks. “Not at all. Sometimes, in my dreams, I’d see a woman, the feeling of being with her, it’s indescribable. At least on a physical level. I think we make soul agreements to cross paths before we’re born.”
“I’ve had dreams like that, too. I always thought it was my soul connecting with his through a subconscious state. That’s not something I could say to just anyone so openly.”
“I get it.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and when I look into his eyes, I see the same recognition I feel reflected back at me.
Bravely, I ask, “Do you know who the woman is?”
“Yes.” One word escapes his breath before the same lips land on mine in a slow reunion.
My arms reach around his neck. My body moves closer to him. My eyes flutter closed. And my heart, it roars to life.
Goosebumps break out on my skin like a love-fool’s epidemic. Our tongues dance to a song our souls orchestrated long ago.
If I ever had a doubt about the significance of meeting Matthias, it melts away at this moment, when I feel the pulsing of his energy mixing with mine. One energy. One soul.
The thought freezes me. I abruptly break the kiss and watch Matthias’s narrowed eyes and heaving chest stare at me with confusion.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
“I know.”
My heart is sprinting, threatening to run me off my course. I knew he was important, but . . . did I know it’d be something like this?
Twin flames.
“Are you ready for this?” His body relaxes.
“I think so.”
“You have to be sure.”
My fingers skim his face and brush away the longer strands of hair that are covering his eyes. “It won’t be easy.”
“No,” he shakes his head.
“No wonder so many things have been surfacing since I met you.”
“For me, too, but it’s part of our path,” he shrugs.
“What if…” I look away and shake my head. “Never mind, I don’t want to call that upon myself.”
“What if you ruin it?” My head turns to him with creased brows. “If we met, we were destined to. No coincidence I saw you at the pub drinking coffee while working, no less,” he chuckles.
“I thought you were a soul mate,” I reveal.
“So much more.”
I’ve learned about this, heard stories in workshops I’ve taken and read about it in articles I’ve stumbled upon. I knew Matthias would be here, in this place, when I moved. What I didn’t know was the depth of our connection. Or maybe, deep in my soul, I did, and fear blocked it.
This isn’t going to be pretty, yet it’s going to be amazing. Yin and yang.
When I was a little girl, I used to wish I was a vampire. The idea of having to feed off of blood was what stopped me from thinking about those things. I didn’t want all that, but I wanted to live an immortal life. I would’ve done anything for immortality. I’m convinced my mind wasn’t that of a normal child. Then again, the things I lived probably triggered me to want the kind of strength those vampires had. I wanted to be stronger than the humans that threatened those who couldn’t defend themselves.
Instead, I lived in a city where people would turn into some kind of zombie and eat human flesh while high on some kind of drug.
I swear, I try not to laugh, but I can’t help the dry chuckle that escapes at the ridiculousness of it all. Then, I wonder why those people would take that drug. How would they feel when they sobered up and realized they ate part of their mom’s arm? I shiver. At first, I didn’t believe it, and I’m glad that trend ended quickly.
Anyway, back to my original thought. What was it again?
I lean back on the couch and look around my small apartment. It was already furnished when I rented it, so it’s been hard to add my own touch to it. I squint my eyes as the fading sun trespasses through my window. I came here to live in a place full of forests and magic, fairies and peace.
Why am I stuck in the past? Because it is tangled with the present. The past brought me here. It shaped me to make the decision to move, to fight, to surrender. It was rough growing up with the idea of a perfect family, only to be stripped of that idea when I was an adult. I still need to find forgiveness and doing it away from the constant physical reminder was necessary. The pressure in my chest is still too great when I think about everything that’s happened.
I’ve written about some level of forgiveness in all my novels, allowing the characters to grow through their journey, yet I’m still rooted, unable to forgive. Actually, I think each day I hate more. I resent more. Lately, anyway.
My chest tightens even more. The war inside destroying my peace like an uncontrollable wildfire that takes with it a person’s entire security.
Why would Matthias want to be with someone like me? Just a tiny glimpse into the thoughts that swirl around in my head is enough to scare even the bravest person. I am not delicate lace. I’m wrinkled, tattered, linen that’s frayed. And I can’t disguise myself anymore.
No more veils.
No more masks.
No more pretending.
My eyes trail around the room again, wondering what it would be like to share this space with someone like Matthias. We just met and I’m already getting in over my head. But now I know that this will happen too fast with him. I’ll fall because our tie goes deeper than the love we know. We are woven together, life after life, since the beginning of our essence, and now we’re both here, physically.
I used to want a cowboy that loved the simple life and owned a red barn. While I’d still love that life, I now know that it’s more than that. It’s more than the illusion I served myself to fill the silent vacancy of my heart.
I know why I wanted that life, but I’m not ready to admit it out loud. Some things are still too difficult to process, too fucked up. The truth is ugly when we take the time to dissect it. I’m not ready to be so forthcoming with myself, let alone with the world, and I’m certainly not ready to tell you all the twisted things I carry.
Both heels of my hands press against my chest. I gasp for air, needing to fill my lungs, devouring air, before I lose it and destroy the life I’m trying to build.
You’re crazy.
I woke up with the thought of immortal vampires as a result of last night’s date. Since I don’t have clients today, I figured I’d write. Three cups of coffee and one tea later, and I’m still sitting on the couch, no words written, thinking about blood-sucking creatures.
And imagining living with Matthias.
; I cover my face with my hands. My relationship with Matthias won’t be like anything else I’ve experienced. It will be powerful, challenging, and unstoppable.
My eyes find the small tattoo on the inside of my wrist. A daisy. When I was little, and all was right in the world, I used to love picking the small, white daisies people call weeds. They were beautiful, adding color and life to the pale green grass.
Wildflowers. Just like me. Wild and rebellious, like the weeds that grow where they’re not wanted.
I’d pluck them and hold them, wishing they’d live forever. The irony isn’t lost on me now as an adult.
That’s one of my favorite childhood memories. At least I think it’s a memory. I’ve learned that a lot that I believed was real was actually illusions painted in my mind. Maybe that’s the trick your brain plays when trying to make you forget about the truth you live, the trauma.
Except I never forgot. I always remembered and buried it deep into my psyche.
I didn’t want to deal.
How could you? How could you want to resurface the confusion, fear, and shame?
So I remembered flowers, white and yellow, that I used to pluck petals out of, asking if he loved me or loved me not. Who he was is still unknown. It was just fun to tear them apart the way I had been. I didn’t see it then, but I see it now.
We’re all a product of our environment. Patterns repeat. We carry on what we choose to own from the older generations. I don’t get why. To heal, I’m told, but I have enough to heal to add this burden.
Release.
I take a deep breath and look at the screen. Maybe this is what I should be writing. Instead of enlightened words about the universe and our purpose, I should write the pain that led me here. The disappointment. The anger.
Back to flowers.
I close my eyes and breathe in the humidity that surrounds me as if I’m back to seven and innocent. Maybe this will help clear the fog. I know others like me who forgot. In blocking the abuse, they blocked the light. Only carrying an odd weight, they couldn’t understand where it came from. But it was there. Except, I was a product of someone else’s abuse.
Maybe it started before then. I don’t know. When I was five, I swore my paternal grandfather in Spain got a small bird for me after I spent all summer begging for one. He died that fall. I returned that winter. The bird was in a cage. We let it go after my grandmother showed me.
Apparently, that was all a lie. The beautiful memory I have was torn to shreds when I asked my mom about it, and she told me that never happened. I was thirty then, realizing my mind had conjured some beautiful fantasy.
Maybe this is just how I deal with trauma. Illusions.
Or maybe she forgot because her own memory needs to be blocked.
So many maybes. I want certainties.
Back to flowers.
I’ve never spoken to anyone about the abuse. I swallowed it, knowing no one would understand. I was wrong. I wasn’t the only one. Patterns repeat themselves. Why haven’t we healed them?
But I needed to protect them. I wouldn’t be responsible for destroying a life, a family. So I buried it like people want to bury the weeds they refuse to see beauty in.
Because what I know now is that the person who was abusing me, was being abused. It’s warped when you learn love means to touch and be touched against your will.
That’s why I don’t believe in love, at least not in the archaic sense of the word. Love is nothing but manipulation, a way for both men and women to abuse power. A way to lie.
Men aren’t worse than women. We’re all bad. Humanity has been deranged for years, bringing forth pain instead of compassion.
But we’re growing. We’re evolving.
That’s what I’m supposed to be writing about. Our evolution, our growth. The way we connect with our souls and the light we feel beyond the physical. Yet, I continue to be drawn to the dark. The shadow. The part of us that keeps us on this plane, this dense dimension.
Maybe it’s time I spoke my truth instead.
The weight of that thought knocks me down. I can’t. What if someone reads it? What if they figure out the truth and blame me? Or call me insane, dramatic, a shit talker wanting to stir the damn pot when it’s harmoniously simmering?
I carry these secrets, and I’m tired of it. I can’t bear to hear people praise men and women who don’t deserve it.
Don’t judge.
I roll my eyes and exhale. I know we all come into this world for a specific role, and I accept that. Some of us are victims, others, perpetrators. I cringe using the word victim, but it’s a reality. Whether we own the vibration of the word or not is up to us. But when it’s in your family, the judgment comes in stronger. Suddenly I’m playing God and deciding who can be forgiven and who can’t.
Then I remember where we come from. The stardust my soul was born in. I chose this. I don’t understand why. Did my soul need to experience this to ascend? Is this the test of ultimate forgiveness?
That must be it.
And I can’t forgive the person who started it all. At least in my eyes, he did because maybe this started generations before him. Maybe he was the pioneer. The Saint in Red.
I know he’s not the only one to blame, but I’ve gotten my claws hooked on punishing his soul.
My god, I need help.
I shut the laptop down and look around. All of this because of one tattoo. What will come when I look at the rest of them and nitpick?
I throw on some clothes and slip on my shoes before heading down, sans laptop, and finding a place to eat and get some more coffee. I grab my raincoat before taking the stairs down to the street.
I cross a few smiling people as my legs burn with the incline as I walk on toward the town center. Eyeing a crystal shop, I make a note to stop by after I’ve eaten.
The gray clouds above soothe me as I take my time arriving at the café. The thoughts that are drowning my peace wash away with the light drizzle escaping the clouds. In the distance, I see Glastonbury Tor, and I think of Matthias’s suggestion of going there. If he’s on holiday, maybe we can go. Unless he has plans with his family or friends. I don’t know much about his life, even though I know his soul. It’s a weird revelation.
Finding the café, I walk in and sit. Anything connected to King Arthur and I’m hooked. I found this place after living here for only a few days and read the name, and I knew it would be a favorite of mine.
After I eat, I cross the street to St. John the Baptist’s church in search of the one thing that will help ground me. I see the labyrinth on the grass and smirk. Taking a few deep breaths, I begin walking the winding path, mind clear.
When I first found this labyrinth, I stared at it for a long time before I walked it. It grounded me then, and I’m hoping it will ground me now.
Peace begins to settle into the pores of my bones. My heart slows. I keep my balance as I arrive at the center of it, swaying a bit as I go. I pause, closing my eyes, tilting my head back a bit so the soft drops land on my face.
Hearing voices nearby, I open my eyes and begin my return to the opening of the labyrinth.
Weightless, I make my way back to the street that leads to the crystal shop. These stones are my savior. I have plenty, but you can never have too many gems gifted from earth.
“Hi,” I tell the woman behind a counter as I enter, admiring the shimmering colors. I immediately walk to the amethyst, my favorite of all. I stare at the pointed peaks and deep purple before moving on to another crystal.
I wonder which one helps aid forgiveness.
“If you need help, please let me know,” the woman smiles.
“Thank you.”
“You’re the new woman working with Makenna, aren’t you?” She tilts her head.
“I am.”
“That’s wonderful. I had a few people come in talking about your class.” The woman rounds the counter.
“Really? That’s awesome,” I smile. I gained a few new clients from my worksh
op. People who wanted to dig deeper and work through their emotions, releasing emotional baggage that isn’t theirs.
“You’re new to the area, right?”
“Yeah. From the States. In case the accent wasn’t obvious,” I joke.
She laughs lightly. “I’m Ada. Are you looking for something in particular?”
“I’m Navia,” I offer. “Do you have pink quartz?”
“Of course.” I follow her to a glass case holding different crystals. “Take your pick.” She leaves me to it, returning to her spot behind the counter.
I look at the few pink crystals, feeling their energy before picking the one that resonates with me.
“Beautiful,” Ada says when I reach the counter to pay. “It will fill you with compassion,” she winks.
“Thanks,” I say, shifting and avoiding her eyes. Am I that obvious?
With my new crystal in a bag, I find a park and sit on the damp ground. I remove it and hold it, feeling the coolness on my palms as I close my eyes to allow its power to take me away, or bring me home. The people talking and the children playing is background music for my meditation. I slowly begin to release tension, relaxing as I focus on my breath. Inhale. Exhale.
I am a being of light. I repeat my inner mantra. The same one that always allows me to believe I’ll survive an airplane flight.
With swirls of colors behind my eyelids, I give in to my meditation until a portrait invades the beautiful colors, staining them with anger. I squeeze the quartz, its rough edges marking the skin on my palms.
I hate him.
I hate him.
I hate him.
The peace of light has been replaced with resentment as the person’s face zooms in and out of my mind’s eye. Stubborn tears build behind my closed eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Squeezing my eyes tighter, I take a deep breath. The pain in my chest is back, but the face of the man won’t leave me alone. I know I need to work through this. Move through it. I just don’t want to. Clenching my jaws and giving the crystal one last strangle my eyes spring open. I toss my head back as my heart slows its pace in the racetrack that is my chest.
When I refocus on the park, I see a pair of blue eyes watching me. I see him across the concrete path that divides us, and he smiles. I remain seated as I watch him approach me.
All My Truths & One Lie Page 4
