Soul Searching

At twenty-three, I was determined to marry him. After dating for three years, I thought it was time. He wasn’t ready though and what resulted was an ultimatum, marry me or else.

We met at a bar the day after Christmas. He was home from college, celebrating the holidays with his family. I was there with my girlfriends celebrating- a Wednesday. Like a schoolboy he approached my friend to tell her he thought I was beautiful.

She laughed at him and said, “Don’t tell me, go and tell her.”

He did; innocently affecting our destinies evermore.

From that fateful moment he haunted and consumed my thoughts; perpetually on my mind.
He was in the service so for three years I followed him around the states, making a home where I could. I missed my family and friends but it didn’t matter because I loved him. Moreover, he loved me enough to make up for my loss.

We loved each other so deeply that everyone around knew it. It radiated from us; it was palpable. He was romantic and caring, protective and compassionate. We were insatiable lovers.

We fell into each other’s families very easily. My family loved and accepted him as much as I did and I thought of his mother as a second mom. When he would go on leave, I would often stay with her, somehow feeling closer to him just by being near her. She taught me lessons about life and myself that I still refer to; giving credit to the spiritual and open-minded person I am today. To this day, I miss her more than I can put into words.

We were engaged a year after we met. Another year went by and no plans were set. I got restless, and after months of harassing him about getting married, I broke up with him on a Sunday night in October. He was fine with it; he thought it was just going to be a break for a while and eventually I would be back. He was so wrong.

Months later, realizing I wasn’t returning he began to pursue me with ardent fervor, even going so far as to sending me a telegram asking me to meet him in Paris to get married.

However, what he couldn’t know was that I was reeling with independence. I had my own townhouse living alone loving it. After years of moving around, planning things around his schedule, and trapping me in cities and states where I knew no one let alone how to get to the grocery store, I was finally making choices for myself. I could not imagine where he would fit in.

I tried to let him know that I would always love him that in fact, I was breaking up with him because I loved him. The fact that he wouldn’t marry me was proof he did not love me on quite the same level. Dramatically, I wanted to free the one I loved but, when he actually did come back, I did not hold tight. I was stupidly acting the martyr. I know now what we were losing, what we lost.

I remember how he made me loathe him with his pleading and crying. I thought of him as weak and defeated. I thought he was only pursuing me because, in the spirit of the game, he could not bear to lose.

The last time I saw him, he came to my townhouse to visit me. As he sat down on the couch and started sobbing and pleading with me, I knelt down in front of him bringing him into my arms holding him, trying to comfort him. I think it hit him then that there was no use; I pitied him now and there was no going back.

Finally, he didn’t call anymore. The love letters, mix tapes and flowers stopped. Resigned to the fact that I was not coming back, I was relieved; I hated hurting him.

I met someone new and eventually persuaded him to marry me. He was just as reluctant but buckled under my ultimatum. We married ten years ago and have a son together. I love them both of course, but in a very different way.

It seems that the older I got the more that I thought of him. On bad days, I would often imagine what life could have been like, what he could have given me, and the places his traveling life would have taken us. I would dream of him almost nightly, usually of us reuniting. Waking up most mornings with a profound sense of relief only to realize it was just a dream and sinking into deep remorse with the reality of it.

Obsessively, I would comprise lists of songs that reminded me of him. I would write countless letters confessing my unrequited love for him and asking him for forgiveness, trying to explain why I couldn’t go back when he wanted me to, never sending a single one. Countless times I would pick up the phone to call his mother only to stop, overcome with shame.
I looked for him everywhere, gathering information about him through researching address records. I knew where he lived and to whom he married.

I was tortured by regret.

I am convinced that we are doomed to continually meet in lives yet lived falling in love only lose each other again. Eventually, I pray that we will break the cycle and remain together for eternity.

***************************************************

I had been practicing Astral Projection or out-of-body experience (OBE), for 20 years, off and on. I had become fascinated with it in high school when my sister and I successfully left our bodies, our souls meeting up in a different room in our house, and upon returning discussed it confirming the experience.

OBE is described as being achieved either awake or via lucid dreaming or deep meditation. The concept assumes the existence of another body separate from the physical body and capable of traveling to physical and non-physical planes of existence.

One morning after waking from another particularly disturbing dream, I thought about trying to contact him via OBE. It had occurred to me several times over the past few years but I did not feel confident enough to do it. In my desperate state, I decided I would finally try it.

I yearned to see him; to know what his life was like without me. I had to know if seeing him would change me in someway, make the dreams stop or make him love me again.

When I would usually do an OBE, my soul would travel around my body, observing and interacting with my immediate environment. I have on occasion visited people locally that I know, being nighttime when I would usually travel they would be asleep or doing something very mundane so I wouldn’t stay long. Plus, I always felt like I was intruding, which I was. They never saw me though, that I know of; I wasn’t sure if it was even possible to see me in that state.

The night I decided to go visit him, I was so anxious that it didn’t work. To succeed in separating my body from my soul I had to remain calm; to capture that moment between wakefulness and sleep and utilize it. I tried on several occasions after that but my adrenaline would keep me in my fixed state.

Finally, one night I was successful. Like countless other times before, I felt myself lift up through my body as if a marionette having its strings snipped one my one, the roof of my house rushing at me and the dark summer sky opening before me. The waning moon glowed white and iridescent as stars hurried toward me like the oncoming headlights of celestial vehicles. Liberation and joy flooded me as it often would with OBE; soon I was soaring within the night air.

I wasn’t sure if I could find him. I had studied maps and routes to his home but from up there it was hard to make out familiar landmarks. Drifting for what seemed like hours, I finally found his house. It was very dark, the lights out. I decided to go in through the front door not knowing where I would find him.

Passing through the big wooden door into a living room, I could see pictures of the two of them, him and his wife. He looked happy and she, very beautiful. I could see a picture of a child as well. I thought it looked like a little girl with eyes like his and a mass of dark curly hair. Feeling a perverse sense of jealousy, I thought that this should be my child.

Drifting up a flight of stairs and down the hall I found a large master bedroom. I could see red lights glowing from a bedside alarm clock and an old rocking chair in the corner that I recognized as one we had bought together. Nostalgia racked at my heart.

Diaphanous moonlight illuminated the room as I looked at the big four-poster bed and there he was sound asleep, breathing slowly. The sight of him was surreal, he appeared the same. How many nights in our past had I lie awake watching him sleep? It felt like 15 years had not passed between us. I fought the urge to crawl into the bed next to him.

I crept closer, my heart aching with excitement and fear. He kept his hair short in the same cut. His face didn’t show any wrinkles, time had been kind to him. I noticed the scar on his finger from when he was a child. He told me he had broken it on a glass doing dishes with his grandmother. I recognized the familiar pattern of moles on his skin. I saw his strong hands that I used to love to hold and study. He was the same man.

Moving in I knelt down close to his face. I studied it for a long time wondering what it was about him that had captivated me all those years ago. Was it his dimples now in sleep just crescent-shaped shadows? Or his lips full and wide? Was it his muscular jaw sprinkled with a slight shadow of new growth? Or the fringe of long lashes fanned across his cheeks?

He opened his eyes.

I crouched there in front of him unable to move. I was thunderstruck. He was looking directly at me. Could he see me?

Confused and afraid, he stared back at me blinking, his brow furrowing, eyes squinting as he tried to focus on what was in front of him; attempting to rationalize the eerie manifestation before him. With realization and shock, his eyes opened wide as he held my gaze for a moment.

“What?” He said jerking up and backing away from me.

I couldn’t hear him. I could see his mouth make the words but no sound came to my ears.
“Am I dreaming?” He said looking at me with a confused and terrified stare.

“No,” I said. “It‘s me,” trying to convince him. I could tell he couldn’t hear me either.

“What?" He sputtered shaking his head, “How?”

His wife moved in the bed next to him and he glanced over his shoulder at her. She continued sleeping but hearing him roused her a little. Assured she was still asleep, he looked back at me.

“You,” he said incredulously, “are here right now?” pointing to the floor in front of me.

Relieved as I saw the fear ebbing from his face I nodded and smiled.

“I can barely see you,” he said squinting again, trying to focus on my face.

He reached out a hand to touch my face and it passed right through me. I sensed a breath of feeling, a sensation like a spider crawling on my skin; just the slightest brush of sensory. He pulled back his hand in horror.

“Are you dead?” He asked fearfully tears welling up in his eyes.

“No…no,” I said shaking my head trying a soft comforting smile.

“Then how?” He questioned again.

His wife stirred again moving up close to his back to snuggle.

Reminded of her presence, he looked at me uneasily. He had another woman in his bed, she was meant to be there of course, but the look was no less a guilty one.

A bittersweet smile played on my lips and I looked at him knowingly.

Suddenly, I felt an urgency to get back to my body.

“I have to go,” I said trying to mouth the words very slowly so he could read my lips.

“OK,” he said still dazed by my presence.

“Will you come back- can you?” he urged.

I felt myself surge with joy, I nodded and grinned.

Baking away I hovered near the center of the room. Recalling my physical body, I concentrated on bringing myself back, in an instant I was in my bed. Opening my eyes I lie there for a second restlessly trying to grasp what had happened.

All at once, I jumped up from the bed and ran to the bathroom. Flicking on the light and slamming the door behind me, I rushed to the mirror looking at myself. Tears began to pool along my eyelids, squeezing my eyes shut I felt them spill out onto my cheeks. Opening them again, I peered back at myself and stared at my blurry reflection. Mixed feelings of remorse, guilt and happiness washed over me. Seeing him again brought back sensations and memories, the shock of it vibrating my body seizing me with excitement and trepidation.

I wondered what he thought of seeing me. If he thought I looked the same. Did he still find me as beautiful as he once did?

I thought back to our conversation; he wanted to see me again. I was flooded with happiness.
A few nights passed before I was able to leave my body again. Yet again, apprehension and adrenaline kept me rooted to my physical body. When I finally could leave, it was easier to reach my destination. In a matter of seconds, I was at his front door.

Moving through the front door and into the living room I found him lying on the couch sleeping. No lights were on except for the TV.

Moving up to him, I bent down near to his face. I wasn’t sure what to do to wake him. It wasn’t possible for me to make any noises to alert him. Then thinking that maybe he could sense what I felt when he touched me, I lightly caressed his cheek and forehead. He swatted me away as if I was a fly, I kept it up until he was pestered enough to wake.

He sat up drowsily shaking a dream from his head as he looked down at me, seeing me, he smiled.

“I felt that,” he said surprised caressing his face where I had touched him.

I smiled and nodded.

“Can you feel me?” He questioned lightly touching my arm.

“Yes,” I said watching as his hand pushed through the fuzzy transparency of my skin, “a little“.
“You look like a ghost,” he said grimacing.

“I’m not,” I replied giggling.

“Good...too freaky,” he confessed, shyly smiling embarrassed by his cowardice.

“Yeah,” I said happy to see him smiling back wishing I could hear his voice.

I moved to sit next to him on the couch, gazing at him enthralled by his company. Feelings came back to me with a rush; memories of our last encounter seizing me with guilt.

“Can I hug you?” he asked bashfully.

My heart skipped a beat as I nodded in reply.

He stretched out his arms, as I moved into them they circled around passing right through me. I felt the slightest sense of something just under my skin, like a muscle spasm or a tic.

Pulling back I looked at him sorrowfully.

Looking down at his hands he frowned, “I can’t feel you very well,” he said looking up at me.
“I know,” I said hopelessly bowing my head.

Moving off the couch, he walked up to an end table pulling out the drawer, withdrawing a pad of paper and a pen he held it up for me to see.

“This should make things a little easier,” he said with a smile flashing the items in the air.
Yes! I thought, beaming at him nodding.

Sitting down beside me he thought for a bit then began writing something down. Finishing, he held it up for me to read. In handwriting that made me sigh with recognition it said:

I miss you
How are you doing this?
Can I do this?
Where is your body right now?
Do you miss me?

Looking back at him, unable to hold a pen in my state to write down my answers I, instead put fingers up to acknowledge each line of his note:

1. I put my hand over my heart and smiled
2. I mouthed the letters ‘O…B…E’
3. No
4. Home in bed
5. I nodded and said, “Yes, that is why I am here”.

Staring at me with an anxious smile on his face, we sat for a few moments looking at one another, searching for things to say.

“You look the same,” I said finally.

“Yeah, so do you,” he replied, a quick spark of passion flashing across his eyes.

Continuing to gaze at one another each contemplating our situation, I was overcome with need, I ached to touch him; I craved his touch. Touching my lips and kissing them, I reached out laying my fingers against his mouth meeting his skin, he closed his eyes.

Feeling a small tingle in my fingers I savored the sensation yearning for it to be more than it was. Slowly, I pulled my fingers away.

Opening his eyes he stared back at me, that flicker of passion burning brighter.

Moving his fingers to his mouth like me, he kissed them. As he touched me, small prickles pulsed on my lips.

Gazing back at him his fingers lingering at my lips I was struck as I saw ardor, confusion, and sadness wavering in his eyes.

Putting his had down he took up the notepad and wrote:

I love my wife.
I love my daughter. She is my world.
I would do nothing to betray her love.

He showed it to me with a remorseful smile.

Reading it I looked at him considering the sincerity in his eyes. I nodded feeling guilty at the mention of his wife and child.

Then he wrote:

But I will always love you

I looked up again, my heart bursting, his deep brown eyes now filled with tears and said, “Me too.”

“Why then,” he begged, “Why didn’t you come back to me?”

“I was foolish,” I said ashamed, “and too young“.

“What are you saying then?” he said with a hint of spite in his eyes.

I shook my head and looked down shrugging my shoulders, defeated.

“You don’t know?” He said doubtfully his eyes flaring with hostility.

“Please,” I said looking up imploringly, “not now.”

Staring at me with pleading eyes, then softening his look in surrender he said, “OK”.

"I have to go," I said immediately feeling my mind stirring in my physical body, threatening to wake me.

“Wait- will I see you again?” he asked.

“Yes, if you want,” I said.

“Yes, but when?” he asked anxiously.

Shrugging my shoulders I said, “I’m not sure.”

“When I can,” I assured him and smiled.

“Alright,” he conceded.

We waved goodbye as I moved through the door.

When I got home, dogs were barking outside my window, the probable cause of waking me. I moved to close the window and scanned the night sky.

As a couple, his lifestyle would often keep us apart. While talking on the phone hundreds of miles between us, we would often look out to the night sky to look on the same moon, keeping us grounded. I knew at that moment, that, like before, he was gazing out across the sky as well, both of us searching for one another on the opaque surface of the moon.

When I returned to see him a few days later he wasn’t in the living room as before. I moved up the stair to his room. When I got there, he was making love to his wife.

Shocked, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Looking up he saw me, his wife’s head buried in his chest unable to see me. He stared at me with empathy and lust in his eyes.

“You,” he mouthed.

As he tenderly kissed, caressed and moved with her he said again, “For you”.

While keeping a steady gaze on me, I watched as he slowly and passionately made love to her.
Knees buckling with the weight of what he was showing me; what he was giving me, I collapsed to the ground. I imagined I could feel him in me, moving with me. I began to cry.

He came with his wife never once taking his eyes off me.

Shuddering and panting bending his head low beside his wife’s head looking to me he said, “I love you”.

I fled.

In the weeks that passed images of that night haunted me. : Dreams of him and me; dreams of her and him. All of them possessed me. I didn’t know what to do with what happened.
When I finally came back to him, he was again back on the couch but this time he was awake. He was waiting for me.

Startled, he said, “Hi”.

“Hi,” I said.

He quickly grabbed the notepad from the table and wrote:

Are you mad at me? You haven’t come for so long.

Looking at him I shook my head. A look of relief crossed his face as he sat back.

I just wanted to show you. He wrote.

“Thank you,” I said staring at him earnestly.

I moved to the space beside him.

Hearing a sound, he quickly turned his head and looked to the stair. I saw a little girl rubbing her eyes making her way down the steps. He jumped up to retrieve her.

Stealthily, I got up and moved to the shadows.

Watching as he scooped her up saying something in her ear consoling her, I crept farther into the darkness. She nodded to him; put her thumb in her mouth laying her head on his shoulder.
With eyes full of pride and love, he looked over to where I was and said, “My girl,” affectionately kissing the back of his child's sleepy head.

“Beautiful,” I said, “like you,” tears welling up in my eyes.

He smiled and moved to the stairs taking her back up.

I turned and went home.

Seeing him with his daughter brought a completely new light on the situation. Bombarded by mixed feelings I wondered what I would do if I were in his shoes. Would I allow this to happen? How far should this go? At what point does it turn into something else? Most importantly, what am I willing to sacrifice?

That night when I got back home, I crawled into bed next to my son. As he slept, I stroked his tiny hand holding it to my lips kissing it softly and wept. I cried for the little boy whom I loved more than anyone; even Him. I wept for everything I didn’t have and everything I did. Curling up next to him, cradling his little body in my arms, I fell heavily into a dreamless sleep.

After much deliberation, I decided to see him again. A few days later, I walked into the living room; again, he was awake waiting for me on the couch.

Without conversation, I approached him and pulled open my robe revealing my naked body. On it was written everything I wanted to say to him for the past fifteen years.

I wrote how I missed him and often dreamt of him. How I thought of him everyday. I confessed to him the shame I felt for leaving the way I did. I recalled some of the unforgettable moments that we shared. I wrote about his mom and how I missed her. I explained to him of my life now; how dearly I loved my little boy.

Displayed in front of him, tears streaming down my face I held open my robe so he could read the words written on my soul.

Finishing, he stared at me through glistening wet eyes.

“Thank you,” he said a look of bittersweet regret on his face.

Opening my palm to him, I revealed that last thing I had written:

I love you and will see you again, perhaps in another lifetime. Until then keep me here-

I closed my palm and held it to my heart; fading from his life once again.