Reuniting with my twin flame – Dance of Emotions

the butterfly block_twin_flames_chantal_peguiron

It had been a summer of extremes

I had felt a deep elation when my twin had told me she loved me too

but I also had felt hurt several times by her behavior, and I alternated moments of happiness with moments of intense sadness and anger, the two intermingled

and for the first time I wrote her without censure all my emotions, I literally painted for her everything that happened within my spirit

and she read me eagerly, with hunger, despite our confrontations that never lasted more than a few days

The second half of August was marked with a change

I wasn’t anymore so blinded by my own emotions, by my own hurt, and I started to see a hint of the truth hiding behind

The first step was managing at not shouting at her all my oppression, trying to transform, transfigure it by writing it down in the form of a poem


A raw anguish

A tight oppression

I don’t want to give it any color

Any physical representation

Because it deserves none

Is it possible to capture?

To squeeze it

To catch it and let it dry like a jellyfish on a beach

Or maybe it can be trapped in written words

Locked in verses, in a poem

Albeit dry and uninspired


Poems hold magical shapes

Crystal or carbon structures

Impossible to break once formed



Emotions are like seeds

From which poems and drawings can sprout

Surrounding them, wrapping them

Becoming their vehicle, or their prison, their slow death

Depending on the seed’s strength of life,

The shallowness or deepness of its roots

Its truthfulness or untruthfulness


The same night, she mirrored me and wrote me a poem too

which she sent to together with a drawing she had done

Her drawing consisted in nine faces

ranging from a neutral face in the middle

to a face that was laughing so hard it wasn’t clear whether she was happy or crying

and a face distorted by anger from the other side

with other less extreme emotions in between

and in the poem she told her story

how she had always worn a gray neutral face

and in my eyes, in my heart

she had seen her truth, she had seen all her other faces she had always refused

I was a mirror of her truer than she had thought at first

and she rejoiced that all these shades of emotions would soon be hers again, and that her picture was drawing this future evernear

Her poem warmed my heart like nothing else could have

not only did she love me back, but we both were realizing how deeply our emotions were related, and this future where we’d be in balance and able to truly live this love was getting nearer and nearer

again, my impatience fooled me, I thought that her poem was already fulfilling itself, when instead it had been a premonition of all the phase to come, like the poem I had written her I realize, because afterwards I still related some of my feelings to her, accusing her of repressing her emotions

In the next days, the haze returned behind my eyes and I left my family to come back to Switzerland

and strangely I felt more anguished and I knew something was wrong

Her new semester had just began and as the president of a university club she had extra responsibilities which perhaps she enjoyed one year before but she now hated

that’s what she told me in her next two little mails which were spaced of several days in time, while I continued writing her on a daily basis

She was hating this beginning of semester, and she was very much divided internally between her heart who wanted to quit her studies and her mind which said it wasn’t reasonable

and since she has this capacity to dam her heart, that’s what she started doing, getting out the captain version of herself to control her emotions

and I felt it in my, I was much more stressed by everything, by time, and oppressed and anguished

and sometimes I felt an intense anger and jealousy and sadness directed at her without apparent reason

still in my endeavor to quiet my anger, I wrote her this little poem called A battle


Oh my dearest and tenderest love

Of anger you are in want, in dire need

Of anger I seethe, I overflow

It is a battle I am fighting

It is a battle I must win

And then, this precious weapon will be yours

Yours to use and cut through the rocks and the walls

Yours to use and fray your own path among brambles and ravines

Too long have you been deprived of its might in your hands



Oh my sweetest and generous love

I have already received a small taste of your gift

The tears that burn through my throat and seep from my eyes

The tears that melt the iron holding my heart

These tears are marvelous indeed

And I regret not swapping my anger for them


The next morning she wrote me a lengthy email

where she described to me all what had happened during that first week

and indeed my anger and jealousy had not been without reasons, as she had seen the boy with whom she was going out the times I had experienced these feelings

she told me she had never felt so much physical pleasure as she had now, as her old relationships had not been so fulfilling since she didn’t dare to take charge as she liked

but she realized she did not love this boy and that was a painful and important confession she made to me, and to herself

she had already told me beforehand that her challenge with this boy was not to erase her personality in front of him, not to fear judgment, to try being her true self whatever she did

and she had drawn a drawing representing her current relationship to Chantal

She was walking with a step that did not resemble that of the boy, and they were in contact only with one hand, pushing each other

and she had one node around her legs whereas he had three nodes trapping his body, and from the drawing it seemed this relationship would help her get rid of this last node around her legs

In the mail she wrote me, she told me she didn’t know what to do with him, she’d probably continue to live her attraction, but she didn’t like how lazy he was

and she told me too about her newfound resolution to finish her studies

a professor had asked her what she’d like to develop for her dream, and she had said, knowing people better, discovering them

and so the professor had proposed she do her master project about going interviewing common people, finding extraordinary in the ordinary, to later become able to create correlations between the type of architectural spaces they lived in and the lives of these people

At first after her mail I felt suffocated by despair

she had told me that she did not find me attractive and I could start cursing the clay from which I was born, and that she’d think well before being with her twin, so true a mirror that reflected in her face all the things she didn’t want to see

she had said she didn’t love the boy, but still wanted to continue with him

and I felt so tired and fed up that this pattern would repeat over and over

already one year and a half before she had gone with the vulture and that had caused our communication to be interrupted for months

now I feared the same would happen, and I felt I was imploding from the inside

Afterwards I just wrote her a very brief prayer, feeling I’d never be able to write her again

Prayer is the only thing left

I pray to find my peace

I went on a run, but afterwards I still felt so oppressed I decided to write her again and set all my deepest defenses aside, it was called Understanding Despair

I wrote her in an entirely honest and vulnerable way, telling her all my strong opinions about things she were doing, but also putting myself in her shoes

My long email ended with the following sentence

Your confession that you do not love him – yet – reassured me, but I already knew that it would be so. I even hoped that it would have already stopped. But I’m almost always too optimistic. I like that you are being more true to yourself, even with a love companion. I realize that if you were entirely true to yourself, I wouldn’t mind you having other companions. But this sentence makes no sense. And it’s absurd that I would like you to leave him when I know that you are healing things together, that he is helping you and you are helping him. Chantal told me so, but I knew it already. I’m sorry for my jealousy. I am being unfair, and that’s why you are unfair too. Send him my warmest words, for helping and being helped by my tender, beloved sister.

I gave her acceptance, acceptance for her life choices, understand, even if I couldn’t digest them

An hour later I felt like writing her again, a much more fiery mail where I told her she was still fleeing from her truth

The two mails I wrote were in apparent contradiction, but in fact they were the two sides of the same coin

And afterward I felt a very strong determination, as though a wind of change was blowing in her and in me

and the next day, this intuition concretized

she wrote me another long mail, way more tender than the one she had written me just one day before

she told me that for the first time she had felt entirely loved, entirely seen by me, and for the first time she had been able to fully reciprocate this love

she told me that if she saw a way to quit her studies she would do it, but she didn’t see any, but still, she’d try to make the most of this meandering path parallel to mine in the forest, and she’d explore the undergrowth

and she assured me that my voice, my words, were too precious to be lost, and that we’d continue corresponding all the year long

she ended her letter by making me a key confidence

she said that when she felt an unwanted emotion she blocked it in her throat, and she tried to swallow it

sometimes it was too strong and burst out making her cry

other times she managed to digest it, and instead the opposite emotion appeared on her face, which meant that if she was angry with something, she’d repress her emotion, until a few days later she’d laugh of a false laugh about the thing

and she asked me how did I relate to the two persons I saw in her, the captain, and the faerie princess

and she told me she felt her nose curling up in disgust, but she didn’t know why, and felt it was related with the unwanted emotions

And there I understood that each of the extreme emotions I was feeling, anger, despair, sadness were hers

all these emotions were hers but she was repressing them

I understood that when she was with the boy she felt angry at him, angry at herself, for not living her truth

but she dammed that anger and I felt it

she felt sadness too for being parted from me

and I felt it

if we were in balance, I wouldn’t feel anger nor sadness

and I understood I needed to write her my emotions, her emotions, so she’d start living them again

that’s what she had meant in her poem of seeing her emotions in my eyes, in my heart, and cupping them in her hand to feel them too

a couple of days later she told me she was sick with the tonsils, something that often happens to her as all her emotions remain trapped there

she told me she had decided to end it with the boy, she had realized he sucked away all her creativity as a black hole, hence the anger against him

she sent me a painting by Escher, Bond of Union, which had fascinated her several years ago, and she told me she now understood why she had loved so much replicating it in a three dimensional model for her architecture studies

it was before meeting me when she was with her first boyfriend, and during a full day despite being at his house he had fallen into the background, as she worked on this beautiful image visited by a sunray on the sofa where she was sitting

just writing me had allowed her to retrieve that memory and understand all its significance

The next day, we wrote each other at exactly the same time

I had written my mail and clicked on send and I saw her mail arriving

my mail was slightly anguished about the past, her mail was anguished about the future, about whether she’d become a writer or not, about her desire to live as a witch and take and leave sex partners as she wished, telling me she’d not dare do it unfortunately

only the end of her mail was comforting, and strange, because she told me it wasn’t her who was writing these sentences, as though she was not yet this faithful person

she told me that our physical ailments would heal in due time and not to worry about them, and she told me she loved me, her dear, weird twin

I confronted her again after her mail

The next evening I felt a warmth in the heart that I shared in a short message with her, and she replied back that elation was hers and it was spreading in her heart, and she invited me to dance with her

That was a peak in our relationship

as starting the next day seasons of confrontations started again

each time I felt the haze, each time I felt anger, I sent her a whatsapp and even when she doesn’t connect regularly she knew exactly when I wrote her and connected herself

and these confrontations became tiring and unproductive, but I felt all my life was stressful because I was all the time feeling emotions that were not mine that I needed to share with her

several times, she replied in a confrontational way too, and once she wrote me a lengthy email outpouring her anger at me, and telling me she didn’t care if her words hurt me as a thousand ants bite

she asked me to disentangle myself again, she told me the anger was mine not hers

and it was confusing because I didn’t know where her emotions stopped and where my emotions started

after her very harsh mail, all my anger vanished, and I drowned into a deep sadness

for one night I cried and cried, and I felt as abandoned as a parentless child

and I knew it came from her, I knew it was how she should have felt when her parents divorced

It was so painful I couldn’t write her until the next dawn, a small mail called A ribbon of sadness

I feel helpless. Unloved. Filled with a wrenching sadness. That must be close to how a child feels when she thinks herself betrayed and abandoned. I cannot repress my emotions or rationalize them. I just can live them, praying for the night to end, praying for something to happen, to change, that won’t. I have no taste for sleeping, nor for eating. That’s the pitfall of accepting to live my emotions to the fullest, discarding any kind of external defense.

Your letter struck me and killed my anger, the only emotion I could have used not to feel that despair. I had nothing to say in reply, nothing to defend myself. I could just accept the blow. I laid down and let the kundalini work and the tempest of cracks in my head and the wrenching tension in my neck and in my throat. And I cried strange, silent tears without sadness. I felt almost well at that moment.

But right now I’m left to myself in the depth of the night. The weather is wretched outside, the wind too cold to find any comfort there. I tried writing you because that’s the only sense of peace I might find.

It’s a half lie that I don’t rationalize emotions, because I still do. Your letter was deserved. I thought it would have to happen. Riding your full anger like I rode mine and striking me. Accepting to feel its depth, to then be able to feel the depth of other emotions as well. And yet knowing – assuming – all that is of little comfort to how I feel. I feel unloved and trapped between cold walls.

I send you a whispering ribbon of sadness through the night, so that it might be your lot too of feeling it tomorrow. It is a curse, and a bless.

I love you and try to smile to you.

Afterwards our communication became irregular, it was already the end of August

constituted of small messages on whatsapp which were confrontational half of the time

and of wrenching moments of sadness I felt, crying like I had not cried

One week later I told her me and Chantal were thinking to come visit her in the Netherlands

she told me not to come, to rather go to the costa del sol in Spain where the weather would be more agreeable

I asked her, more out of a challenge for my own fears, if she’d give us a shelter in her room

she said it was out of the question we stepped inside her room, that it was her cozy burrow where only people superficial enough could enter

and she surely didn’t want me to disintegrate all her comfort with my gaze

she told me she knew she loved me and our fates were intertwined, but as to the how and when she ignored, and she absolutely didn’t want me to impose my views on her

and she told me that when she’d feel ready to hug me without fears, she’d come to me, but that moment was not soon

That should have discouraged me to go to the Netherlands, but it didn’t

I knew from past experience that what she wrote me was something of the past sometimes, and that perhaps in one week she’d feel we had come at exactly the right time

What decided me to go is that in addition of not having seen her for a long time, I felt my life was crippled with her emotions and problems, and I thought I needed to confront her to help her sort them out, and perhaps allow her to cry again

And I wrote her a poem called A dance before leaving Switzerland

It’s a dance we are dancing

Parrying, attacking

With streaks of words and notes of silence

Striking and being stricken in the most painful places


It’s a dance we are dancing

A dance of love and justice

A dance of joy and misery

A dance of laughter and anger

A dance of sadness and vulnerability

A dance of power and mightiness


We dance and dance and dance

And as the opponent moves

We discover the next step of the choreography

A spontaneous move

And yet a mirror one

A mirror of a mirror

Reflecting yet another mirror

This is a dance of vertigo

A dance where the echo of every step is reverberated

Propagating from the hand to the body, from the heart to the mind

Filling them with an urgency of motion

Filling them with an explosion of emotions

Yet to be returned and echoed in the beholder’s heart


This is a dance of distance

A dance where the dancers are close and far

Where they learn to measure the space between their steps

To count the rhythm of the beats of their heart

For there’s no other music than that of their heart

No other tune than the tune of healing

This storm inside that travels from limb to limb, from organ to organ

This storm inside that reestablishes the sacred unity

The unity of the mind and of the heart, of the body and of the soul

This storm inside that tears and polishes

Destroying and eliminating the roots of death

Clearing and reawakening the vessels of life


This is a dance of balance

A dance danced on the beats of the storm inside

A dance that brings the dancers closer and closer, closer and closer

Dancing on the edge of a circle that becomes narrower and narrower

Narrower and narrower, with just the emptiness behind their back

No other possibility than to continue dancing, or falling

It is the dance of the fearless

A dance that brings two flames together

A dance that kindles a fire impossible to extinguish

A dance that illuminates everything around

With the blazing magic of creation and life


Meanwhile, Chantal and me went to see the painter

and we spent a long day together with him in his atelier, talking

I sat down in front of his large canvas symbolizing the love between twin flames

and let the kundalini work in my body as I felt it raging in my left ankle, and in both my feet

while Chantal and him were attempting at communicating

I saw attempting because they seemed to be mirroring one another anguish and doubt, and for the first time I saw that very clearly, as it had happened with my twin too

Chantal sat on the floor, the painter laid down on his couch, to let the energies work, as he too felt a sort of kundalini, even though he still was afraid of it

we discussed of his past, and each time Chantal asked him a question or told her something about herself

I felt tingling sensations in my body, or pain localized in some places

until the pain in my left ankle became barely bearable

and I told them about it, and encouraged them to speak to help me dissolve the node

the painter told us how he had become homosexual, how he had been with a girl at first

he told us about his previous companions

Chantal told him about her lack of acceptance of all his and her sexual experiences

and I tried to be the intermediary between them, when Chantal became too anguished or irate with what he was saying

The painter told us he had left for good his ex boyfriend at the beginning of August, and now he was determined to live alone, and he also was organizing the last exhibition of external artists in the end of September, and afterwards he’d focus on painting

that surprised her, brought us joy, because it was something we had felt strongly he should do, and he had finally done it, all on his own

we laughed a lot that afternoon as thorny question after thorny question were asked, replied to, or dodged

in the evening the node within my feet finally started melting and I could rise again and walk, after all this pain I had felt

and he invited us for supper, cooking pasta with ginger and lemon which was absolutely delicious, especially after being famished since we had not eaten at lunch

and there he looked slightly worried, as I was myself sad and my mood had dampened

we all saw the amount of work on ourselves that needed to be done, and it was quite a depressing thought, when I had thought we were almost arrived before seeing him

I told him we’d all help each other and that seemed to reassure him

We left running to catch the last train, and he proposed to us to sleep there if we missed it, but we got it at the end

“Twin flames, The butterfly block inside the throat” is a drawing by Chantal Peguiron

You can continue your reading with the next chapter of this story, Ultimate Rejection

Instead, if you’re new here, you can start reading this story from the beginning with chapter 1 – The Dream, or the previous chapter Emotional Turmoil


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. You will also come across many paintings by Chantal Peguiron that are intimately related to my artwork. They all fall within the realm of Hazen. If you like it, don’t hesitate to subscribe and follow me on social media! May you have an inspiring visit!


  1. Pingback: Reuniting with my twin flame – Emotional Turmoil | Erik Vincenti Zakhia

  2. Pingback: Reuniting with my twin flame – Ultimate rejection | Erik Vincenti Zakhia

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