Have you ever fallen asleep and dreamed that everything was better? Have you woken up and imagined that there would a different reality than the one you left an hour or so before? You know that heavenly moment between sleep time and wake time, when you're warm and cozy and loved and complete? When you're wrapped up in your cool white duvet and the sun is pouring in and you've forgotten, temporarily why you were so sad when you closed your eyes?
I'm now at my desk on a sunny Sunday afternoon while Minky is sleeping off her horrible virus (but she is home with me, yay!) and the sunlight is making patterns on the pink wall in front of me, and there is a glass of sage and chamomile from my lovely friend Reza who brings me things from the Hollywood Farmers Market. I am sitting in my bikini because it's a warm day, and I'm looking at my white marble Kuan Yin, Goddess of Compassion, who sits in front of me surrounded by candles and roses and small, round tangerines. Everywhere I look there is a reminder to be compassionate, to be loving, to be grateful. There is a quiet breeze in the olive trees, the sound of water running. Yet, inside me, there is a tumult, a giant, furious sense of righteous indignation. I think that that's the word. The thing you feel when you feel wronged. And I know I should breathe and meditate and listen to soothing music, that I should forgive and move on and love again, but I am stymied today, on this sunny afternoon.
I met a man with whom I had what they call "chemistry." It's that thing you can't put your finger on, the thing that makes you want to hold each other's hand all day long, and stand next to each other, and stare into their eyes when they talk. The kind of thing that makes you laugh for no reason and walk around smiling so hard that strangers stop you and comment on it. And every picture you take you're so happy that it's shining out of you and people tell you how beautiful you look and you think, secretly, I know why, it's because I'm in love. People asked me if I'd had work done? (I haven't). If I'd just had a facial. If I'd been on a cleanse. No, none of it, I was just hook, line and sinker, head over heels for this clever, funny, odd, lovely man. I don't know why I found him or he found me but we fit together perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle. And oh, we pushed each other's buttons perfectly, too. Our demons had a riotous party together. Like a perfectly choreographed gymanstic set piece, in-sync, harmonious and hellishly, hugely discordant.
And here's the foolishness: after three years of trying to heal from the sadness of my marriage disintegrating, I was so ready to give it up and embrace happiness. I was ripe for the picking (that sounds a little disgusting, I will admit). I was full of relief and the naive belief that I could stop looking, that I'd found my mate. And I do realize that I sound like an idiot saying that, but it did really tick all the boxes. This was a man I could imagine going on adventures with until we were old. This was a man I could imagine taking care of, cooking for, talking to. A man that wouldn't bore me and man who seemed kind and good (if a little damaged but then we all bring baggage, sometimes large trunks). And every moment with him was fun. Of course it was. We only saw each other for a few days at a time. And the parts in between were hard but there seemed to be enough to look forward to that it was worthwhile. And every tea time I'd hear his voice on the end of the phone saying goodnight to me and calling me by the name that no-one else knew. And it was lovely. It was really lovely.
But here's the rub, he wasn't me. And I wasn't him. And as much as I thought we were peas in a pod, we weren't. I'd imagined a whole future for us like a silly girl reading a fairy tale. Complete with white horses and dogs and a rose garden and vegetables we'd grow ourselves and swimming in salty oceans together and reading to each other and dancing and laughing. It was a fantasy. A child's fantasy.
He was the first man I kissed after my marriage ended. And like a character from a book, I fell for him in a big, fat, swoony, leg-wobbling, smiley, birds suddenly appearing kinda way.
And everyone warned me that I would be hurt. Even my mother who wants everything to be okay for me, and was cautious in such a sweet way, never ever being negative about him, just concerned about me. My children, too, asking in concerned voices whether I was being treated properly. My friend Chris, who is fierce and terrible in his own relationships but gives the best advice. "What's Greek for lose my phone number" being one of his best. And Mr F in England, my photographer friend, who has become my rock and who I nursed through his divorce, every single day on the phone with advice. And Vivien, who has known me since I was 12. "Don't pick away at it like a scab" she said. I didn't listen. And my ex-husband, going through his own break-up, who sat here in the house over a cup of tea and listened to me in my anxiety-filled stupor. He knows me better than anyone.
It takes a village, doesn't it? It takes so many people to get you through these things. And then everyone here, the voices on the blog, you, the readers, who follow and listen compassionately and will me to succeed. It's so powerful. All these angels in the world that want good to rule, that want love and harmony to be the abiding state of things. My yoga teacher, the lovely Sikh community, promoting only love. The music we listen to. The poetry we read. The energy of the earth. All of it combining to create a harmonious, ordered beauty to the world, propelling us all forward to find love and happiness, only.
And the more I step away from it, the more I see that it's just wrong place, wrong time. As simple as that. I was in Montreal and he was in Tokyo. As easy as that. Whoosh, right over our heads, punctuated by moments of pure loveliness when were together. And if it's meant to be, it's meant to be. I am back to the trite truths.
I said the other day that if a man wants to be with you, he will find a way to be with you. I know that paints me as naive. I do know that. But I believe it. I believe that if someone wants to be with another person, their worlds, the angels, the energetic spirits, the higher Gurus, will come together and make a plan that works. Like that time, between sleeping and waking, where you believe that you are exactly where you're meant to be, in exactly the state of bliss we're all entitled to.
But for now I sit here with my righteous indignation and my sad, heavy heart, and I try very hard to channel Boudicca, Queen of the Ancient Britons. Love never smited her.