Adventures in Synchronicity: Then I Met Him

I remember the first time I met him. I was on a date with one of his friends, who later became his roomate. I thought nothing of him; he was just some guy. A year later the guy I was on a date with was just a friend and we decided to meet up at a Halloween party. This other guy loves to have many ladies around him while he's trying to get with a girl, kinda like a wingman but a wingwoman. He had also invited the guy he introduced me to the year before. So, my friend asked him to talk to me while he went to see about a girl. Super nice of him, right?

We talked for a very long time. Neither of us was really enjoying the party which was a bummer because I had the BEST costumer ever; Lady Gaga. I decided to leave and he asked for a ride to his car which for some reason was on the other side of town. I dropped him off and we did not exchange phone numbers. Again, I wasn't really into him, so I didn't think much of it. A few days later I received a message from him at my work email. I had told him where I worked and apparently he had come to the place looking for me, but I had already gone home that day. I was shocked and giddy about the work he put into getting a hold of me. So cute. We exchanged emails a few times, but nothing came of it. No big deal; I wasn't invested. 

A year later I was on Facebook, when I saw an update "Friend is now friends with Friend." There he was; I immediately sent him a friend request and sent a message, "what happened to you?" He had gotten back together with a girlfriend right after meeting me and thought he should try to work on that and didn't want to get side-tracked. By that time I was dating someone else and I was like, well we can be friends. And for a few months we were. I wasn't super into the other guy I was dating; he was just hotter than the sunshine so I kept him around for appearances. We had our first date on Christmas Eve at Side Pockets; it was the only place open. Since it was Christmas Eve, we gifted ourselves two pitchers of beer. I was still seeing the other guy which I know is a terrible thing to do, but I didn't feel it was the best idea to break up with him around the holidays. Seriously how cold could I be? Cold enough to cheat, just not cold enough to break up around Christmas... he didn’t deserve that, more importantly he deserve to be cheated on.  The guilt of it was heavy on me and I ended things on New Year's Eve. Worst person award goes to me! 

Something told me this new guy was different, as in he would be an ideal candidate for marriage. I was 32, all my friends were married, and I was running out of people to hang out with. I started to worry that I'd never find anyone. I instinctively knew this guy would marry me. I mean, he told me within a week that he loved me and wanted me to have his children. This was it; I introduced him to my friends, and they approved. 

I would love to think I was smitten, but the fact is that I approached this relationship matter-of-factly. I was afraid to be left behind, and a life of singlehood was terrifying to think about. I needed to find someone to grow old with; who would never leave me. This was the guy.

My therapist asked me a few months ago how many men I had been in love with. Only three, and I then named them. She was astonished that he wasn't on the list. I loved him, but I was never in love with him. I convinced myself that I was in love with him. He is a good person, but our relationship was held together with alcohol. 

I spent 9 years with this man. We got engaged after 9 months. We were married for eleven years, and we were separated for three of those years. We have a child together. After I left, I wanted to try to make it work, but I couldn't. I was suffocating and needed out. I wanted to feel again; I wanted to really love someone, and I knew this wasn't the one God intended for me if I was going to pursue my personal legend of finding love. 

It took me almost those three years of separation to finally file for divorce. And I did so because, well, I wanted to be with another man. 

Again, always, always, always... I need a fallback. How unhealthy is that?

Adventures in Synchronicity: Have you ever read The Alchemist?

I don't really know when I first read The Alchemist. One of my roommates in Cairo may have given me the book. I may have read it while recovering from heat stroke in Tel Aviv, or I may have read it in Paris later that summer, or the next year when I thought I needed to move to France. The most likely scenario is that I snatched my sister's copy while I was visiting my family in Fort Lauderdale. If I recall correctly, there was a bottle of wine and a hangover on the flight home in the story. I know I didn't read it on the airplane because not only was I hungover, I was battling allergies; a lovely combination.

All I am really certain of is that it was around that time I read it for the first time.

The Alchemist is Brazilian author Paulo Coelho's first novel, and largely agreed upon by critics to be his masterpiece. It swirls together whimsy with wisdom to tell the story of a shepherd boy, Santiago, from the hills of Andalusia, in Spain. Dreaming in an abandoned church, Santiago has a vision that he must travel to Egypt to find his treasure - his personal legend. The next morning he sets off on a mystical journey propelled by omens (or signs) through a variety of foreign lands and adventures to uncover the power of intuition and listening to one's heart so as to understand the language of the universe, which is love.

I love this story so much that I often forget it is a work of fiction.

This line should be the most famous (it's not even in the top 5, whatever), "when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”

Reading that line knocked me off my feet, metaphorically. We all have a personal legend, a treasure we are to seek out... I have spent the last 17 years trying to figure out what I've been seeking. 

I finally figured it out a few months ago, my treasure is love. The quote above reads like this for me, "you want love, and all the universe will conspire to help you achieve it."

My greatest desire has always been "to be loved;" to find my great love story, to share a passionate love with my soulmate. After my breakup that led me to Egypt wanting to solve the worlds problems, I had convinced myself that I needed to be what I thought was stoic at the time, avoiding emotions. That didn't really work for me, though, and after a few years, I was back to pouring myself into others to earn love. Changing myself to gain love. Succeeding in professional endeavors to win love. 

My personal legend has been a quest for love. I have found it, but have never really known how to receive it or really, healthily give it or even healthily share it with another. I have held it tenderly in my hand for fear it would and shatter into a million tiny pieces, and it did anyway. I have been suffocated by love. I have devalued love. I have discarded love over a misunderstanding. I have mistaken physical longing for love. I have squandered love. I have turned from love, fearing that I'd miss out on the love another wanted to give me. I have found myself on my knees begging to be loved. 

The quest has almost always ended in tumultuous heartbreak for me or the other person, mostly me. 

The last time I succumbed to love, I gave up the search because I was exhausted. I didn't think my heart could take any of the more pain love seemed to always bring. Since then I have approached every situation and relationship practically, matter-of-factly. No emotions, no feelings, just business. Climbing out of that last pit of despair, I vowed to never let it happen again. If I was going to be in a relationship it was only going to be for companionship. Open my heart again? Never.

Curled in a ball of agonizing misery, crying out to God to help me, to save me, is a place I never wanted to find myself again. If life could not be lived with full on love, giving up the search for my treasure was the most natural course of action. I built walls to protect my heart, for it could no longer take the pain. I numbed every emotion away with alcohol until I was the sturdy, unaffected, successful, intelligent person who could take anything and not care. I chose to start ignoring the omens because I had obviously misinterpreted them along the way. And I was tired, so tired of trying... and then I met him.

Neon Giza

Some Sundays I meditate with a group of delightful people. We circle up, read a devotion, meditate for 12-15 minutes, read the devotion again, and share our thoughts if we so chose. I always look forward to joining this time of relaxation and reflection when I can. 

A few week's ago, the flow of group was slightly different. Prior to our time of meditation, our leader gave us one instruction, "think of a mountaintop and focus on that." There were some other things said, but my ego obsessed brain could only think, I have tried to connect with God on mountains and failed. In fact, I found God in the desert, so this was a stretch for me. Furthermore, when I meditate I place myself kayaking a river cutting through tree-lined banks, the sun shining ahead of me my focus. When something distracts me, I toss it into the water. If it floats back I hold on to it for later.

One would rightfully think that the magnitude of a mountain overlooking the vastness of the world below would do the trick too. For me, though, seeing the winding roads that deliver you to the summit (of course not all can be driven up) is more resplendent. But alright, meditation is not all about me, I can try new things, so to the mountain I will go! 

I wasn't expecting to find myself in front of the Great Pyramids of Giza, mountains in their own right. Made by human hands (or are they???), but mountains, none the less.

As my eyes closed to search for a mountain I found myself transported 17 years ago to the outskirts of Cairo, walking across the packed sand up to one of the great pyramids. As I retraced my steps, my mind marveled at the magnificence of these structures. The foundation stones came up to my shoulder, and in my wonder and amazement, I swung my arm up over the ledge and leaned up against this marvel. As I did so, I looked up into the blue sky, shading my eyes to the sun rays that bathed the peak. I was there again, in that moment. Then, as if it never happened, it was over.

Emptiness surrounded me; darkness overcame me. There was no fear, just peace. Where was I? 

As I looked around, I began to see I was in the pyramid. The pyramids are not hollow, but for some reason this one was. The edges of each corner pulsated in tandem in an upward motion, as though pumped by a neon blue heart. And there, where the capstone should have been, was the most brilliant white light. I stood in this space, mesmerized, and the words escaped my lips, "the heart of the divine."

Perplexed by the calm, yet stunned by the splendor, confused in this unknown dimension, I returned to consciousness..."am I even still in the room?" My eyes flung open. Indeed, I was in the room; my friends still in their meditative stance. In dismay of my impatience that tore me from this holy moment, I rushed back, trying to find it again. Trying to control the moment... but it was gone. 

A few minutes later, the bell rang, and the reflections began. When it was my turn to share, I told them what I saw, what I felt, and how I fled back to the room. Then it became clear: even though I couldn't get back, I was still in the presence of the holy. While the pulsing blue edges were beautiful, I knew instinctively they represented the hearts of those in the room... Connected in this space and time, our hearts beating together as one to reach the heart of the divine. Our minds and our energy combined to reach this collective consciousness. And it was glorious. 

-----

Later that night, I almost convinced myself that because I was exhausted, perhaps I had found myself in the liminal space where consciousness and dreams meet. Isn't that just so human of me, to discredit an experience that can only be described as mystical, as Holy? I've chosen to not rationalize it because I don't really understand what happened. What I know is I felt peace, and isn't that what God promises?

4/13/2024 - today I caught up on my Richard Rohr devotions and Monday's devotion was about our tendency to be cynical when it comes to the spiritual. You can read guest writer James Finley's reflection HERE.

Adventures in Synchronicty: What it was Like

When I was 25 I met a beautiful man; I loved him. I had never been in love. I know now it wasn't love. It was my need for male validation manifesting. How fortunate I was to have found a gorgeous, intelligent (drug addicted) man, who loved me for me. I'm not sure when it happened, but by the time our year long romance was over, I was a nothing. I was a husk, the remnant of someone who once lived, someone who knew how to thrive. 

Our breakup almost broke me; it likely would have if not for my family and supportive friends. 

Throughout my teenage years, I knew I was depressed. I tried to voice it, but my parents always wanted to know why, but I didn't know why. It wasn't their fault; they didn't have the tools to help me navigate what was going on. Unchecked and eventually ignored, underneath the surface of my effervescence I was slowly devolving into despair. It is shocking, I know, that it was unearthed nearly 10 years after I first recognized something was off. 

I spent much time after the break up cycling through psychiatrists and therapists. I had to move to Florida for 6 months to come out from underneath the weight of feeling unloved, unworthy. What brought me out of it was Cymbalta, Clonopin, and IPAs. I wasn't ready to handle or even try to dig deep into my emotions to process them. Drowning them in prescription drugs and alcohol was the only way. It was in this emotionless state that my rational brain said, the only way anyone will ever love me is if I'm intelligent. 

During that year of what I now recognize as infatuation I became a yielding mask of the intelligent person I didn't let myself know. I let this man become me. Little by little I lost myself in him. This was not something he did, it was something I did to satisfy my ego, to make myself feel whole. The resentments have long vanished, but they directed the course of my life and my quest to prove that I am intelligent and worthy of love. 

When I returned from Florida, I re-enrolled in school and decided to get the degree I always wanted: History. One of the requirements for the degree program is a class in non-western world history. 9/11 had just happened four years earlier and I knew nothing about the Middle East or Islam, so I took a Modern Middle Eastern history course. It was confusing, but I figured out that the crux of the problem was this disagreement between Judaism, Islam and Christianity. The next semester I enrolled in another Middle Eastern History course, Intro to Ancient Judaism and Arabic. During the course of that semester I had the brilliant idea that I was going to learn as much as I can so I could work for the United Nations and change the world. Who wouldn't love someone that accomplished? (eyes rolling yet?)

The only way to really learn a language, though, is to immerse oneself where the language is spoken. So off I went to Egypt for two months. 

A month in, sitting in a small tea shop, a book on a shelf caught my eye: The Prophet by Khalil Gibran. 

I had seen the face on the cover a few months earlier when I read one of the poems at my aunt's funeral. I didn't know that it had been translated from Arabic. I immediately bought it. It was a sign that I was meant to be in Egypt and that I was on a path of discovery and wholeness. As I related this to the girls I was with, one of them asked, have you read The Alchemist?