My twin's departure...
The pain that arose due to my twin’s departure was merciless, invasive, and inhumane. I’d known pain before of course; deep, regretful, sorrowful pain; when my soulmate died, for example, as well as other losses, but this was something else. Unless someone has been through it, they can’t possibly understand. You can try to explain to them but they’ll just look at you blankly, because how do you describe the absolute scale of pain and loss in experiencing your own soul; the very depth and familiarity of your being, turn upon you?
One minute you’re teetering on the brink of heaven, feeling and knowing things you never thought possible, loving this person so much you would give your life for them, and they for you. The next, a shutter comes down and you’re locked out; separated from your own self without a clue how to find your way back. How can anyone who is fully earthbound understand that you loved this person more than anyone or anything; that it felt greater than the love for your own family?
The glaring paradox
Now imagine trying to explain that to someone when we can’t even comprehend the vastness of this love, and we’ve felt it. To explain to them you loved this person more than your own family? I’m pretty sure they’d be appalled or baffled. My twin thought he was a terrible person because the love he felt seemed to eclipse the love he had for his child. He couldn’t understand how that could be possible? I didn’t understand it either, but I felt the same way. But of course we missed the glaring paradox in this; that the person we loved more than anyone or anything was our true-self. Our twin came to show us that we were loveable, by letting us love them without understanding we were looking at our own soul, which means this love appears to eclipse everything because it is God. It is pure source, and your love for everyone - your children, your family - is incorporated within this love. So to lose our twin (albeit physically) feels literally like the whole universe has been taken from you. I felt like the walking dead, because I had no idea what the hell had happened to me. I could not believe that this man, who loved me as utterly and deeply as I loved him, had cut me off.
The pain, even after gaining insight and understanding into twin flames, would set upon me with all the ferocity of a tornado, waves of it coursing through my stomach and my heart, til I actually struggled to breathe, like the air had become caught inside of me. I would have to get on my hands and knees and let the contractions consume me until the pain subsided to a tolerable level.
The predominant thought that I had was, ‘How the hell am I going to live like this for the rest of my life? How can I walk round every second of every day, feeling like I’m dying, feeling like I’ve been destroyed, and that my own self is missing?’
Sometimes it was my pain, sometimes his, that raged through me. Either way, it was pain. Black and heavy and torturous. It would fester throughout the day, simmering away, ready to strike at full force. There were times I thought it would kill me, that I would literally die from the sheer intensity of that pain.
A wave of gratitude
Then one day, about a year and a half after he left, the usual pain attack rose up to vent itself at me. I immediately went to my bedroom and sank onto the floor. My body tensed as I braced myself for the onslaught, but then the thought came to me that I was lucky to feel this much pain cutting into me; lucky, because I had loved someone so deeply, so truly and profoundly, that the depth of pain had to mirror the depth of love. A wave of gratitude swept through me, and I began to say thank you for the pain. Over and over again, I thanked God for the love and the pain. I told him that since I wanted all of this love, I understood that I had to have every last drop of it, even the pain. I told him I wanted it all and I accepted it all. In fact, I began to welcome the pain. I invited it in and told it that it was free to express itself but that I wouldn’t be feeding it with a negative commentary. And then I carried on feeling the absolute genuine gratitude for the pain that was cutting into me. The pain peaked then dissolved into waves of love that rippled through me with a gentle tenderness.
For a long while after my twin left, I attempted to escape the love. I begged God to take it from me. I would try and figure out ways not to love him. I would turn and look in every direction in order to be free, because as far as I could see, it was the only way to escape the pain. Of course, finally I realised that I couldn’t escape the love due to the fact I was the love. By trying to escape from it, I was actually trying to find a way to escape myself, which isn’t possible. I understood, then, the whole surrender phase. It’s not about giving in or giving up. It’s simply accepting that this love isn’t a love you can fall in or out of. It is love itself, and it is what my very being is made of, therefore it is who I am.
At the mercy of feelings
Emotions and feelings will continue to arise even when we’re awake, but when we label them as negative and resist them, we suffer. If we welcome all emotions equally, then the feeling can pass through us. If we resist it or label it as a ’bad’ emotion, then we are literally at the mercy of our feelings. By taking a step back, like I did with the pain, we can see that although the emotion is arising in us, it is not who we are. We don’t have to be defined by it.
Remembering this really did help me. The pain still comes, but I welcome it. I welcome it as part of the love, and that simple viewpoint helps the pain transcend into something else, and it stops it consuming me. This works with all emotions that we have labelled as ‘negative,’ such as anxiety. I used to be afraid of being afraid which caused a constant flood of adrenaline to flood through me as I tried to escape anxiety. Now if I feel anxiety, I talk to it mentally and welcome it. I imagine myself surrounding it in love. So I am not resisting it, but neither am I feeding it by thinking thoughts that will make the emotion grow larger and more invasive.
Love in disguise
Another realisation that helped me was the understanding that all pain and all emotions are love in disguise. Although to the ego-mind this sounds like a cliché, on a deeper level of consciousness we know that if we are nothing but love, then all other emotions arose in order that we may recognise ourselves as love. Think of it this way, how can we recognise sound without silence, or movement without stillness? And so if love is our true reality, and all opposites are in the dream, then they must exist only so that we can measure who we are against them. Since there can be no true opposite to love, then everything else that arises can only be love wearing a mask in order to teach us.
The pain that devours us when our twin leaves is a huge pointer to the fact we are thinking incorrect thoughts, we believe in the separation because our physical eyes tell us that it is so, and yet the true part of us knows it cannot be so.
Why else do you think the pain rises up? Why do you think we cannot forget them? This is so we have no choice but to keep going and find the way home. If it didn’t hurt so much, we would simply act like we did when other relationships ended; by slowly forgetting the person and moving on, and at some point ending up in yet another ego-based relationship. But this pain is so huge because the love is so huge. It won’t let itself be forgotten. It wants us to return home to where we truly belong and claim it for our own; wide awake and living from the truth of ourselves. It refuses to let us sleep any longer. It seems like a punishment but it is actually our biggest ally because it drives us on. It wants us to be free.
So when the pain closes in, when it threatens to rip you apart, remember that this pain is a part of the love that you feel. It is testament to the depth of love you’ve experienced. Therefore, welcome it as a part of the whole and feel gratitude for it. Use the pain as an indicator that you are thinking wrongly and buying into the illusion of separation. Let it rise up if it needs to. Let it rise up and act as a signpost back to who you really are. Let it express itself, not as a dreaded enemy, but as an ally; an ally that you have tried unsuccessfully to escape from, but that you now invite in, knowing that all it wants to do is point the way home.