Twin Flame Awakening - Switching Between Faith and Fear
Last night, I listened to two songs on my mp3 player - both of my twin playing piano and singing. He wrote the first song before we even met, while the second one is a cover of my favourite song that he secretly learnt and recorded for me. Somewhere, someplace, I had always known these songs. They were merely waiting in my soul to align with when he presented them to me in the outside world. I’ll always remember the first time I heard River Song. Listening to it transported me to another world; the new, magical world that he had opened up to me. And I knew, even then, that my life would never be the same again; I would never be the same again.
When he first went away, I tried to delete them from my mp3 player because I knew it would be too painful to hear them come on, but no matter what I did, I couldn't erase them. (I already had them saved on my computer. I wasn’t about to throw away the two most beautiful songs that I’d ever heard.) In the end, I accepted that those songs were meant to stay exactly where they were, and I gave up trying to delete them.
The beginning of time
I don’t let myself listen to them very often because it brings him so close that it’s like diving into an open wound. Yesterday, I let myself. It was the first time in about five months that I'd done so. Even hearing the opening notes of the piano tore me apart, because those notes, to me, are a part of him. And then there is the way he sings certain words; the little catch in his throat; the longing in his voice. This is the man I love. This is the beingness that is my own, that has been with me since the beginning of time. I know this. Just hearing his voice reminds me that I know this. I feel my soul essence swell and stretch and reach out to him. I want to climb into the songs and sit next to him at his piano. I want to watch him play and hear him sing.
For the next few hours, I feel the pulling, longing sensation; the absolute need for him. I murmur out loud, ‘Oh god,’ in a mixture of fear and grace, because I know the waves of pain are coming for me. I always try to welcome them when they hunt me down. I always try to see them for what they are; a soul longing for itself. But this time, I picture myself running into a forest in the middle of nowhere and screaming for the need and the love to just go away and not follow me there, but I know it will, and that there is no escape from loving him. I’ve tried to escape before and I know that it is as pointless as trying to discard your own shadow. It is a beautiful testament to its truth that this love cannot leave; that it refuses to be lost, because this means that I cannot be lost.
The intrinsic centre
I realise how lucky I am that this love is not an outside attachment but the intrinsic centre of who I am. It is a rare and beautiful gift to be able to feel him here, with me, but still it is not enough. It is not enough because I long to touch him again; to look into his eyes and be held as though I were the most fragile, important thing in the world. I want it so badly that it feels like my heart will cease to beat or that time will stop. Sometimes I can’t believe that the world didn’t stop at the exact moment we physically parted, but that’s because only the temporary forms in the dream parted, not our true essence which remains as one. And that is the only thing that matters; the eternal and timeless part of our existence.
When Xavier died (see My Story page) we didn’t get to say goodbye. I was told he was dead via a telephone call, and suddenly it was too late for either of us to be brave. I spent the next nine years wanting to physically be with someone that existed beyond my reach but knowing it could never be. Then, after all of that time, Jed swept into my life without warning, and almost instantaneously, I knew I loved him more than anything or anyone, and he loved me the exact same way. So to have him leave me just as abruptly as Xavier, yet still be alive, felt like the cruelest, most devastating kind of fate. Even now, I can’t believe that he’s out there and that he’s alive and yet just as unreachable. And it’s worse. It’s worse than him having died because it’s not time and space that keeps us apart, but fear.
The town where Jed lives is about an hour away from me, and sometimes I can't help but wonder if tonight will be the night that he picks some midway point between the two and asks me to meet him there. I picture myself driving through the night, knowing how close he is; knowing that he waits for me. I can't believe that in reality he is that close; potentially just a half hour's drive away. And yet for two years there has been only silence. For two years he has been further from me than a dead man. It's like having heaven in sight but my arms just can't reach far enough to bring him home.
And this is where I start to cry, and my throat closes up and my heart hurts, because I just never saw this coming. I would have bet on the world that he would never hurt me. I had never been so utterly, perfectly loved. Of course, in a way, it all makes absolute sense in light of what I now know. I absolutely needed to lose him for my dream world to smash hard enough to fall apart, so that I could see beyond the lies of the conditioned illusion that we are living in. And this is why I have to be brave. This is why I have to be grateful. And this is why I have to listen to what my soul has to say, what our soul has to say, and not be taken in by the frightened, fragmented ego ramblings in my head.
Funny, that in retrospect, certain things take on a completely different meaning after the event. Jed once told me in one of his goodbye letters that he needed me to keep going no matter how dark things got; that no matter how bleak, or hopeless, or overwhelming things might become, he swore to God, that he would be right there holding my hand. It is as though some subconscious part of him knew the path we were going to have to travel, and unbeknownst to him, he was giving me the very words I would need to remember in my darkest hours. And for my part, I told him many times that I would die if I lost him. I felt sure of it. I knew we were attached in some mystical, nameless way, and I honestly believed that I would physically die if that bond was broken. Even stranger still, he often professed to me that this love would be the death of him. And he was right. We were both right; because in a certain sense, in a certain way, we are both physically dying at the same time. We are shedding the parts of ourselves that never thought themselves worthy of a higher love. We are shedding all that is not real.
The game that we created
When twins separate, the ego convinces itself that the reason it is running is because it doesn’t want the soul or the universe telling it what to do. But deep down, the only reason it is running is because it doesn’t feel worthy of the love that it so desperately wants. It hates that it feels separate and lesser than God, and it hates that the pure light of perfect love makes it feel utterly dark in
comparison. It fails to see that as it only exists due to the permanence that came before it, then this very occurrence means that it cannot be separate from God, as it is a creative extension of source. This means, then, that even the ego is God (and love) in disguise. It has merely been fighting itself because it has forgotten itself. This is all part of the game that we created. When this illusion of separation is seen through and the ego learns that God’s will is actually its will too, that is when we truly understand that there is no divide, and suddenly there is no reason for the ego to fight or run anymore. Why should it care to fight itself? Why should it care to run from itself when the last piece of the puzzle has fallen into place? It can no more run from God than it can its own twin because they are one and the same thing. It has literally been running in circles, trying to escape itself because it doesn't feel worthy of itself.
Light in disguise
Sometimes it is hard to see the twin flame path as the gift that it is, especially when parting is such an integral part of the process. But how amazing is it that we have experienced a love so rare and perfect that the ego had to run because it became terrified of the light? We were plunged into darkness only so that we could eventually realise that we weren’t the darkness, and furthermore that what we had perceived as darkness (the ego) was also light in disguise serving as a teacher. We are the lucky ones because we get to get out of the game. We get to ditch our fake costumes and be the light that we truly are.
At this point, it is really important to remember that awakening is an ongoing process and that it is perfectly natural for us to meander sometimes. It is also perfectly natural to hurt sometimes. All we can do is to take it hour by hour, day by day, and as we listen more and more to the truth of our soul and begin to trust in it implicitly, the ego fear will soften and fade naturally away, its power gone, along with the illusion that there can be any separation from God or from ourselves. When this happens, we will walk out of the dream illusion in a heartbeat, without one drop of fear or concern about what those who are still fast asleep might say. We have no choice. We choose love. Not the conditional, ego-based kind that they would have us cling to in fear, but the sacred and exquisite and perfect kind. The kind that we are made of.