Six Degrees of SeparationI know I should be writing about politics or the upsets in Sunday's football games--these are my typical topics of conversation. But lately, I've been so deeply enmeshed in my own personal healing process that it seems to be all that I can write about.
As a student of yoga, we 'believe' in karma; we intellectually discuss the impact of past lives; and we generally accept it as an explanation of how life works. And until recently, that's what it has remained for me--an intellectual, philosophical exercise. I had vague sensations of possible past-life experiences but nothing I could put my finger on. And even today, I can easily write-off what has happened as my creative imagination contributing to a story that helps me make sense of how I feel and helps me move toward how I want to feel--free! But with all the caution aside, I'm simply going to write about my experience. Take it or leave it.
I have never let things go easily. I hang on--to the bitter end it seems--even in the face of how much pain it causes both myself and the other person. So lately, I've been overcome, yet again, with my tremendous remorse at the loss of my 'beloved.' And I continue to ask, why am I sooo attached to him, to the idea of our being together, to the reality--in my heart of hearts--that he's my husband. I know intellectually that it's not happening; that it's not going to go down that way; that it's over. So--why?
I took this question to one of my healers today. And we went somewhere that I didn't expect to go. I don't 'believe' in past life regressions. I don't 'believe' in recovered memory. I generally don't 'believe' in any of the things that accompany this type of esoteric therapy. Nevertheless, we went down the road together and creative imagination or true past-life recall doesn't really matter. I had a tremendous experience that will, I hope, lead to a greater understanding of my grief, my panic, and my shock at the loss of him--again.
You see, he is my husband, or rather, he was. We were a family; but we were separated in a tragic and brutally violent way. The details are a bit too gruesome to share here--just imagine the most violent scenes from a war movie you've seen and you'll get a taste of it. It's not the details that matter anyway, it's the relief I feel now. The compassion I have for him and for myself for what we witnessed together--and the forgiveness I experienced by witnessing it again: forgiving myself for not being able to save our children and forgiving him for not being able to save me.
I see his photo now and I just smile, remembering how much love we had. I'm still a little shook at the vision I had--the terror we experienced together. But I can see now that we're here, in each other's lives again, not to relive it--the good or the bad--but rather to help one another heal and move on. So I'm sending him love and light and I'm allowing myself to let go and let God.
The mystery is great
and the chasm is deep.
Shine the light in the dark places
forgive what you can
and merge with God
for that is the only true healing
we can know