Meeting my twin flame – a physical letter

twins

And so my love for her and the fiery intensity I expressed in our correspondence were helping her

She was starting to remember what she had forgotten, lost

Her connection with nature, and her connection with her higher self

She told me that following my fiery letters she had tried having lunch alone once or twice, and had enjoyed that time much more

As she could take a walk and ponder on her day, instead of being forced to participate in mundane conversations as she used to

She proposed to see each other, to meet in Belgium that was kind of a middle, neutral ground

But she still was with her boyfriend and I asked her if she was sure she wanted to meet, even though I’d have loved to see her since it had been one full year we had parted

She replied my intuition was correct and that she wasn’t entirely convinced of seeing me, yet, and that she was afraid of pushing me away again

She told me about her boyfriend too, how he did not understand her, how he never showed or expressed his emotions

He had not even cried when his mother had passed away, and she deemed she had a similar emotional blockage related to the sufferings she underwent after the separation of her parents when she was seven year old

She wrote me that she wasn’t anymore sure she loved her boyfriend, but he was kind to her, and after two years together it was hard leaving him, and beyond that he was trying to do efforts to give her room to grow and understand her better

So, for now, she didn’t envision a rupture, especially that she hated so much breakups and conflicts

But she knew and admitted to herself she needed this connection with me, I was helping her to confront her fears, her blockages

Around that time I moved from Paris to Switzerland and started working, and immediately felt stifled because I had lost my freedom

I was used to ponder and walk and write for hours, and now suddenly I was chained to a chair and a desk with the obligation of being productive for nine hours a day, using only my rational, mathematical mind, and forsaking my creative, lyrical, intuitive self

I’d come back in the evening, exhausted, but my love for her and our correspondence were my beacon in the darkness

And every single evening I went running, through the hilly town, in the forest, along the lake, and my running times became sacred moments of inspiration and renewal into myself

All the tiredness and frustration of the day washed away, and I could think clearly again and focus on what I was going to write her, how I was going to help her confronting her fears and her blockages

At that time I felt all-potent, I was finally friend with her, and I was helping her, and she was accepting my shower of love, and had even told me she needed me

And she was writing me and writing me, and with every letter I felt some progress

At that time I had the inspiration for writing her a Valentine’s poem, the first and only time I’ve written anything on this occasion

 

This is not the fourteenth

And you are not my Valentine

And I am not your charming prince

And there are no red roses

 

There’s nothing

Nothing at all

Just a breath of wind

Carrying a dried leave

And a tuft of words

 

In my country

There are no roses

Nor tulips, nor flowers

Only thorny rocks

Sharpened by the howling wind

Gray needles

Ready to skewer

Absentminded feet

 

All around my land

The roaring sea

Boundless and ireful

And the sky

Low and dark

And heavy

 

I sit down

On a dead trunk

In the middle of a small meadow

But there is no grass at all

Only barren earth

And rocks starting to peak

Underneath

 

My body shivers

In its struggle

Against the mighty wind

No, mother

Time has not come yet

To snatch this letter

And carry it

On your goodly wings

 

And the wind to reply

Hurry, hurry, you fool

Do you think that out there

In the real world

They will be waiting for you?

Every day, they write history

They work

They enjoy themselves

And what does my poor boy?

He’s content

Staring at emptiness

And with ink

He stains his hands

Goddammit!

Did I give birth to a man

Or a shellfish?

 

I bow my head

And say nothing

A disappointment

I will always be

 

The letter

I hide in my pocket

And I kneel down

Chilled by my discomfort

 

There are no warm words to expect

For my father the rock

Is impassive as always

And shaved clean

From the green moss

 

All day and all night

The wind sings

Her hideous threnody

Punished

I was punished

For my foolishness

I loved the rock

The dumb rock

And, as I turned my back

To rest at night

He welcomed the rain

Breaking his vows

Water he wanted?

Of water he shall be deprived

Until he will crumble in dust

And the island

Will no more be

Will no more be

Dissolved in the sea…

 

I stop listening

As silent tears

Blur my eyes

I cry not over my fate

But over that of my little island

My little rocky island

I bear in my heart

Each rock and each peak

Each stump and each cave

In their frozen silence

They each have a name

A melody to themselves

And a story to tell

 

I cry not over my fate

But over my sweet memories

Blurred with my fantasies

Once upon a time

There were rising suns

And laughing meadows

And singing rivers

And dancing forests

And lulling birds

And inebriating fruits

And enchantress flowers

And I knew their language

 

The roaring sea

Stands between the past and me

And now I smile

Whenever from dark

The clouds turn gray and white

And I imagine myself

Sitting one of these cozy pillows

And my legs swaying

In a pool of golden light

Warm and sweet

Like honey

But soon, the twinkling disappears

Drowned in a cohort of clouds

Cold overwhelms me

And I shiver and shiver

Like a rustling tree

And I dream of warm beds

And thick blankets

And blazing fires

And lavish soups

And loving arms

And sometimes, I scream

Startled by my own voice

And waves reply

Shattering on the hollow rocks

Until I regain my countenance

And the quiet acceptance

Of my fate

 

All my secrets, all my pains

I’ve whispered to my little friends

For years and years

They were here for me

With their angular and odd beauty

Whirlpools of raging wind

Could not uproot me

And with their silent presence

I sufficed to myself

 

Yes, I sufficed to myself

Until the first time I dreamt of a different world

Nothing to do with all the stories

That the wind brags about

It was a strange dream indeed

Since then, every night, I made the same dream

I wake up and can’t remember almost anything

There are orchards and pastures and valleys

A house of white stones and blue wooden shutters on a hill

It looks mysterious and enchanted

I step in, and I cross countless rooms and galleries I can’t recall now

I climb narrow staircases stairs, find a secret passage in a wardrobe

Then, I arrive in a dusky library

It is small, but there are bookshelves all over the walls

Thousands and thousands of dusty volumes

Their smell is marvelous

And a sense of wonder invades me

I start hefting book by book

Trying to find the perfect one

Why, I don’t know

But I can’t find it

And I become restless, desperate

And I start throwing all the books on the floor

And then, my dream ends abruptly

Or maybe, I don’t recall its end

I can’t tell for sure

 

In the gray mornings

I wake up full of bliss and despair

I want to go back to that house

To that library

And find its secret

But I can’t

Even the wind can’t take me there

I daydream about it

And swish this story over and over

To my friends the rocks and the stumps

But they can’t understand me

 

This morning I woke up

With a firm idea

Writing down my whole story

And sending it with the wind

To whomever it might be due

 

I don’t know which journey it will take

Which worlds it will explore

Which strings it will caress

Which eyes it will intrigue

 

Whoever you may be

Remember that I had no flowers to send you

Only a dried leaf

Golden embroidery

From the last standing tree

Which death

I am already crying

Look carefully at its head

For it is a map of my homeland

Feel its structure, its asperities

The veins that irrigated its joyful times

And the drawings it bears

Feel it, live it

But don’t keep it

Set it free to the elements

To the whim of the wind

To the river and the ocean

For it came from thence

And there it shall return

 

After sending her the poem with the post, I felt increasingly well

She had told me she didn’t plan to leave her boyfriend, but I made a dream where they were leaving each other

I was looking for an accommodation, and suddenly, almost miraculously I found a small room with all I needed on the fifth floor giving on a small and wild courtyard planted with trees, promising the quietness I was looking for

And the same day the sky was overcast with whitish gray clouds and the weather was dried

I entered a small garden, by chance, and found a thorny plant with red berries reminding me of my childhood, of Christmas times, and love spread into my heart and at that moment a few flakes of snow fell dancing silently around me

It was a short and magical moment, and I knew that I was living a fairytale

When I went out from the garden, the snow stopped falling

But the same afternoon I went running and I saw the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen, the clouds having partially cleared meanwhile

It was in Switzerland, a landscape of lake, mountains and snow, but there were colors of Africa, of savanna, or at least as I imagined it

And my heart beated faster and I felt something extraordinary was about to happen

A few days passed, and Monday started with a hazy depressing weather

But as the day went on, my good feeling grew and grew

And when I opened my mail she had written me, a letter called incomplete, as it was very long but did not say all she wanted to tell me

It was her longest letter, she had written it in several days, and she told me how touched she had been to visit a tree cathedrals in the Dutch countryside

It was almost drowning in the mud from afar, but it had a magnificence in it too only natural things can have

And she remembered her old passion for cemeteries she liked to visit because she could tune in to their energy

And she described me the cloudscapes of the Netherlands and asked me to tell her about the clouds of Lebanon

And she ended up her letters by telling me she and her boyfriend had split out of mutual agreement, the physical attraction had waned, and what she had thought at first love wasn’t in reality

They were not done for one another

But it was hard, and while writing me her letter her eyes were wet

And incredibly it was the first time she had seen her boyfriend crying too, and had felt close to him

And when I read all that elation spread through me

Finally the last obstacle of growing into her true self had been removed, I told to myself, and afterwards we would be together

I responded to her the same night, to offer her my strength

And the next day she wrote me again, replying to my physical letter with a poem

One of the most beautiful and touching piece she had ever written me

You can read the next chapter here meeting my twin flame – the vulture and the hare

If you’re new to this story, you can read chapter 1 meeting my twin flame: the dream, or the previous chapter meeting my twin flame: a long lost connection

“Twins” is a drawing by Chantal Peguiron

About Erik Vincenti Zakhia

Dear all, I will share with you many of my poems, short stories, drawings and paintings telling of my journey of self-discovery and my reflections about life, love, art, spirituality, sexuality, kundalini rise, and twin flames. They all fall within the realm of Hazen. May you have an inspiring visit!

2 comments

  1. Pingback: Meeting my twin flame – a long lost connection | Erik Vincenti Zakhia

  2. Pingback: The Vultures and the Hare | Erik Vincenti Zakhia

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