by jeff brown
And I thought I had it hard.
She turned to kiss me, and then took out her penknife and flashlight and climbed on in. She actually still fit.
“Gonna slay a dragon with that penknife?” I asked, in an avoidant attempt at lightening the mood. Why do we always have to lighten up uncomfortable truths?
“No silly, something much sweeter. I loved it here. The trees were my friends. They shaded me from the madness of the world. Come, look inside...”
I went around and stuck my head into the hole. Sarah turned on her flashlight. Inside there was a small space with a flat area to lie on. I could imagine a little Sarah sleeping in here, undisturbed by humanity.
“Look, Lowen, “she said as she pointed at one of the inner trunk walls. Carved into the wood were the letters…
S.H.
+
“I carved those there when I was eight years old, my very first nature writing. I knew that one day I would meet my soulmate... and finish it.” With that, she reached for her pen knife and carved my initials:
S.H.
+
L.C.
“There, finished,” she said, before reaching over and kissing me tenderly. I had never been kissed inside a tree before. Well, I wasn’t entirely in a tree, but my lips were. We kissed like that for some time, before the darkness slowly crept in. It was time to go back.
On the walk back to the car, I couldn’t get her story off my mind. “You really were hiding in the woods at eight years old, sweetness?”
“Earlier, actually, it began around five.”
“Wow, you saw so much madness so early.”
“Yah, but think of the benefits...” she said pointedly.
“The benefits?”
“Yah. I learned how to find the light in the strangest of places.”
Her smiling eyes lit up, and she turned to face me. “Loving Ogdo is evidence of that.” It took me a moment to realize she was ribbing me. By the time I caught on, she was already sprinting towards the car. I tried to chase her through the woods, but my little tree nymph had lightnin’ in her feet.
When we got back to the house, her parents were sitting in their matching recliners watching an old musical on their rabbit-eared television. Sarah and I went into the kitchen and played checkers for hours. Now and then, Ma would get up and pass me nibbles of buttermilk pie. I don’t remember ever feeling more comfortably at home anywhere.
Fifty Million Shades of God
Sarah and I set out for a day hike the next morning. Little did I know, she had a picnic planned. Little did she know, I had something planned, too.
About a half-hour in, we heard the sound of barking dogs coming our way. Turning around, I saw Smoky and Bear racing up the hill like they had just seen a ghost.
“They always wait till I am long gone, before they race after me,” Sarah said as she crouched down on one knee to greet them.
“Can’t say I blame them. Your absence does leave a mighty big hole,” I said while fending off Bear’s face licks.
We continued our hike, now as a family of four.
As we stepped into the forest at the end of the road, our souls deepened in intimate conversation. They had been talking for months, but we had only scratched the surface of our lexicon of soul-speak. Something about the forest always called us deeper.
We moved crisply among the blue spruce and cedar, hiking to the beat of our own unique drummer. As we walked, there was this unforgettable moment when I felt myself die to everything inside me that was not love. I just died to it. I was watching Sarah walking ahead of me when my love for her exploded into eternity, fervently consuming all that was unlike itself. Leaving a tranquil sea of love, everywhere.
In a heartbeat, I entered an experience of vulnerability so star-tlingly naked, so absolutely present, that I knew I would never be the same. I had never before felt so transparent, so fully open. My heart was so wide open that the whole world fit inside it. The whole bloody world. I felt the love, the joy, the sorrow of humanity pouring through the gateway. No filters—I felt it all.
There was no question in my mind. This state of complete and utter love is our collective birthright, the state we are born to inhabit, the way of being that is eagerly awaiting humanity at the end of a long, perilous journey. We either walk toward love as a way of being, or we walk away from it. There are only two directions. This decision shapes our life and our world.
After about an hour, we stopped near a small creek to rest. Sarah stepped in gingerly, leaning down to splash water on her face and upper body. “Freezing!” she cried, while motioning me to come in and join her. I hated cold water, but how could I resist those warm, inviting eyes?
I stepped into the rocky creek, working my way over to her cautiously. Smoky and Bear soon followed, splashing and drinking like mad monkeys. When I reached her, I leaned in for a kiss. Not just any kiss, but a kiss of particular tenderness. If my soul had lips, this is how it would kiss.
I opened my eyes to look at her as we kissed. Her eyes were open, too. Eye-to-Eye, and I-to-I, one universe after another rose into view, each one more vivid and expansive than the last. What felt like unity consciousness at one stage of opening was revealed as a mere fragment of possibility in another. Then to my wonderment, I had the distinct sense that our love was not simply revealing a new cosmos—it was actually helping create one. Our love was more than a portal into, it was also a weaver of new galaxies, a crafter of new possibilities, a brilliant artist with an expansive and limitless imagination. Fifty million shades of God.
Whether we chose or were chosen, Sarah and I were clearly blessed to walk this path. We were carriers of a divine seedling of possibility, two adventurers who had been granted a glimpse of the new earth that awaits humanity. Not a planet riddled with affectless detachers—masters of self-avoidance masquerading as realized masters—but one characterized by heartfelt connection as the path home. This was a relational dance, not the solo performance perfected by the isolation-ist masculine. Not one limited to the vertical Kingdom of God, but also the horizontal Queendom of Goddess, a receptive and heartfelt temple of delight that only opens its gates to us when our minds are asleep and our hearts wide open.
In just a few moments with Sarah, I encountered a much more relational, inclusive God than I had ever experienced in isolation. Clearly, there can be no God without Goddess. Can’t have one, without the (M)other. God meets Goddess meets Human Being.
I had to wonder, what if LOVE—not mindfulness, not detachment, not disciplined focus, not perfected asanas—is truly the great door opener? What if relationship is the primary mode of transport on the royal road to divinity? What if our experience of God is actually more complete when we co-create her together, when She arises alight and enheartened on the wings of our love? What if we are here together not only to keep each other company, but to show each other God? And even more startling, what if God actually IS relationship, in all its myriad forms? Such imaginings!
At the same time, I also glimpsed the weight of the challenge. As I looked deeply into Sarah’s eyes, I saw both the power and the fragility of this degree of vulnerability. The consciousness I accessed alone may not open as many gateways, but it felt easier to sustain than a relational weave. It was already so challenging to navigate my own consciousness, so how to navigate the vaster co-creative consciousness generated by our love?
I couldn’t help but wonder whether relational ascension has to be mirrored by cultural ascension before it can be sustained as a way of being. If the world around us is still egocentric and toxic, can this kind of relationship survive? Where’s the model for how to move through the torrent of triggers and arrive safely on the other side? The state we were co-creating was so subtle, so tenuous, and so entirely out of step with the more pragmatic vibration of the world. Did we need training in vulnerability before we could plumb its depths? If so, had we met too early in our individual development? Or was this happening exactly as it was supposed to?
/> With great intensity, Smoky and Bear busted through my thoughtful reflections with a flurry of barks. A hare had caught their attention on the opposite shore, and they ran at it full throttle. They jumped out of the river and into the forest at almost the same moment, hunting bunny like we hunted love. We quickly lost sight of them, though their barks continued to echo through the valley. Sarah began walking her way back to the river’s edge.
“Shouldn’t we wait for them, baby?” I asked, concerned they would get lost in the wild.
Laughing heartily at my urban naivete, she replied, “No need for that, sweetness. They can smell us just as well as they can smell bunny. Let’s get back on the trail. I want to take you somewhere.”
A Picnic with a View
We walked for some time. Sarah stayed just a little ahead, giving me the perfect view of her perfect backside. Once an ass man, always an ass man. I admired her from every angle, but this one was particularly luscious.
Every now and then, Smoky and Bear darted onto the trail at breakneck speed, crisscrossing back and forth in front of us before sprinting back into the woods. They felt like our dogged guardians, touching base to be sure we were okay before racing back to scout the periphery.
As we worked our way to the top of a mountain, the trail grew steeper. Sarah moved up it with skillful ease—she obviously had been here many times before. After a particularly rocky ledge, we arrived at the summit. I longed to lie down and catch my breath, but Sarah motioned me to follow her down a small rock face.
“We’re almost there, city boy,” she said with a teasing smile, “just a few more steps.”
I carefully followed my mountain goat beloved down a steep path between the rocks until we landed at a spacious clearing on the mountain’s edge. I turned to look out over the most beautiful valley I had ever seen. Magnificent Colorado! When I turned back around, Sarah had disappeared. I looked up. Nothing. I looked down. Nothing. Mountain goat nowhere to be found.
Then I heard a giggle from the rock face. Moving toward it, I found her lying on the ground in the shadow of a giant boulder. The boulder leaned against the cliff face in such a way there was a space beneath it. Clearly Sarah had been here—the underside was covered in her writings, including a few sentences with my name in them. She noticed me noticing them.
“I come up here to visit with you.”
“I’m honored.”
“Other than inside your heart, this is my favorite place in the world, Lowen. I come here to get away from everything.”
“How many hiding places do you have?” I asked.
“Many, but this was more than a hiding place. It was my sanctuary. This is where I would come to regain my faith when the world closed in on me. Look up...”
I looked up and saw exactly what she meant. There was a hole at the top of the boulder where the sun shone through. But it didn’t just shine through in a single linear ray. It fragmented into a beautiful colorful prism. I felt like I was looking at a crystalline reflection of our connection. One wave of ecstasy after another, each with its own distinct luminosity, like a multifaceted diamond.
When I looked back down, Sarah was again nowhere to be seen. Lightnin’ Foot had vanished. I peeked my head outside and saw where she had gone. A red flannel blanket lay on the ground at the edge of the clearing. On top of it were two cardboard plates and three open containers filled with leftovers from last night’s dinner. She had prepared the perfect picnic—a picnic with a view.
Happy Birthday
While eating, I was again overcome with the knowing that all my life struggles were intended for this reason: to live in the richness of loving her. She was the culmination of millions of steps my soul had taken to arrive at love’s door. I closed my eyes and imagined us old and gray, eating coconut ice cream and drinking sweet chai by the light of the silvery moon.
I knew it was time.
I reached into my bag, and pulled out my surprise. Then I got nervous and put it back in. Scared shitless, I began talking about trivial things before catching myself and going quiet. It’s never rude to interrupt your false self. I wanted to be genuine, but I was afraid. My toes were tapping wildly.
I closed my eyes and centered myself before reaching for the surprise yet again. While Sarah was looking out over the valley, I placed a small red box with a gold bow in front of her.
When she turned back around, her smiling eyes exploded with delight.
“What’s this, Ogdo?”
“It’s my way of saying sorry for missing your birthday,” I replied.
“My birthday?” she said, perplexed.
“Yah, all twenty-six of them.”
I reached down to pick up the box, holding it in the air between our close faces, smiling at her. Sarah looked confused, but curious. Then I opened the box slowly...
“And it’s also my way of saying that I want to be there for the rest of them—for all your birthdays to come.”
I pulled the ring out of the box. It was a simple ring, one that called to me from the back of an antique jewelry store in Kensington Market. It wasn’t large, nor pretentious, but it was truly our ring—two small diamond hearts woven together as one. It had always made sense to me: the deeper the love, the more subtle its presentation.
I leaned forward with the intention of getting down on my knees to formally propose, but my speech evaporated into nothingness. I became a gushing pool of adoration. Sarah’s eyes flooded with tears. There was nothing to say that wasn’t already said.
Then we gazed into each other’s eyes for as long as our hearts could bare. Our gaze said it all—the bridge exit was closed. There was no going back. Then her eyes smiled and she reached for the ring, seamlessly sliding it onto her ring finger. A perfect fit. When the real one comes, you don’t have to think about commitment. It just is.
Although we had only known each other for a few months in this incarnation, we had known each other forever. After too many lifetimes apart, we couldn’t wait a moment longer to seal our union.
Right after the ring went on, Smoky and Bear began to bark down at us from the summit. Were they getting nervous up there all alone, or did they know we just got engaged? Sarah and I packed up the picnic and readied to go. Just before leaving, Sarah pulled out a piece of chalk and turned to face the boulder. She began to write...
When two hearts beat in the same direction
before handing me the chalk.
I turned to face the boulder and wrote:
They become one.
We climbed down the mountain in silence. When we reached the blue spruce forest, Sarah began playing with the ring on her finger. She seemed to have something to say.
“I love the ring, Ogdo. I love it. But we don’t really need this, you know? I mean, we’re beyond the worldly idea of marriage. We already got married somewhere else. The place where it really counts.”
“Yes, but don’t we meet here, too? Can’t we span both places... ALL places?” I inquired. Then I was struck by a flicker of worry. “You’re not having second thoughts are you?” I reluctantly asked.
At that, she stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face me.
“Never,” she said as she reached for my hands. “I just don’t want us to forget where we meet when we bring our love into this world.”
I understood. She didn’t want the world to corrupt our love. She didn’t want us to forget the source. She didn’t want our ageless love to be confined by a social institution. She didn’t want us to forget the place where we truly meet. I shared her concerns.
“We won’t. We will always meet there,” I said with a certainty that belied my uncertainty.
We fell back into silence and walked the rest of the way hand in hand, our hearts interlaced like the two diamonds. Only the dogs spoke, celebrating our engagement with their triumphant barks.
9
Dark Night of the Soulmate
Sarah and I agreed to move in together later that autumn, making our home in my apartmen
t in Toronto. She was initially hesitant—her unstable early life made moving a shaky proposition. Finally she succumbed to my constant assurances. Then, not thirty minutes after she gave notice at the nursing home where she worked, she got into a fender bender with a car with an Ontario license plate. Not just any car, but the same make and color that I drove. Cosmic collision.
In my part of the world, the black squirrel she had befriended on her first visit kept peering into my bedroom window, tapping on the window early in the morning, as if looking for his friend, Sarah. Crazy squirrel—was he nuts... or seeking nuts... or both? Also, the female cardinal that was affixed to the tree had finally met her fiery red mate. And feathers kept landing on the ground in front of me at the oddest of moments, often when I was thinking of Sarah.
It would have seemed strange if we hadn’t passed this strangeness marker long ago. By now we were officially intimate with soul-endipity. It was the way this love-train rolled.
While waiting for her, I prepared the nest. A nurturing part of me that I didn’t know I had suddenly kicked in. I remembered everything she loved—sea salt chocolate, beeswax candles, organic bath oils and sandalwood incense—and made sure I had plenty in stock. I repainted the bedroom the fuchsia color she loved. I created space in my armoire for her wardrobe. And, to the great chagrin of my inner frat boy with his proclivity for objectifying, I took down my favorite naked heartthrob poster and threw my lesbian porn collection in the garbage. Oh he whined, and whined…
In the meantime, time stretched and twisted me miserable. I experienced an agony I had never known in another’s absence, as my soul cried out for its source-spring. So eager was I to feel her near that I sometimes imagined her delicious scent wafting through the house. Be still, my yearning heart.
The day before her arrival, I couldn’t sit still from excitement, so I went outside and walked for hours. This wasn’t the same city I remembered from my bleak childhood. Through enheartened eyes, Toronto felt like a living response to my state of being, with its city lights clearer and more vibrant, the people more smiley and connective, even the traffic lights seemed stuck on green. My heart was in a state of ‘go.’ Everywhere I went, I was met with a wave of goodness. I was truly happy, like an artist who had finally come home to his canvas after decades of wandering.