A Twin Flame Journey
Desire is blinding.
Each raindrop a kiss of my beloved.
Desire is cruel.
My heart freezing.
Due to heavy rainy snow I am drifting into a cafe nearby. A place I usually just pass by to run some errands or pick up packages at the post office right next to it.
The owner is screaming into his cell phone. Wildly gesturing in baggy washed out jogging pants. His whole attitude shows off: My place, my sitting room.
Most of the tables are empty. One of the few older men, who seems to be a regular customer in „my sitting room“ tries to strike up a conversation with the owner’s wife about the weather, stifled by the overbearing word volleys her husband is shooting into his phone. On top toddlers are running around squeaking.
I am determined to pour my quest into words. I really wonder why I should start right here, right now. I am about to abandon my lukewarm chocolate and just get out of here. An unexpected memory glues me back to my seat.
Many years ago this weird place had been a hip nightclub. It turned into a cafe afterwards with changing holders. There had been a time when I was sitting here as often as I could. I was in love with the bartender. First I got to know another guy, who was working here as well. It seemed to be a nice, superficial but very harmless connection. It stopped being nice and definetely being harmless when he invited me for a cup of coffee to his flat. A man unintentional intentionally touching my body with trembling hands and glazed eyes. A woman hyptnotizing the with terracotta plastered walls while trying to defuse the unbearable situation with light conversation:
“ Cool these walls, like, ehm, like in the Toscana.“
If I only could imagine the right spell to let these raw stones reveal an exit into freedom. Open, Sesame. Take these glazed eyeballs away from me. The un-unintentional grabbing. Sesame, relieve me from the solidificating claws of disgust and shame. Sesame, why have you imprisoned me in here? Sesame, please, set me free. Somehow I escaped from this horny stone louse in his Terracotta cave.
Shortly afterwards I actually was intimate with the other bartender, I had a crush on. Intimate regarding physical activities, completely impersonal within the meaning of true caring. When you are dancing with your shadows nothing is personal in the meaning of genuine affection.
The owner had stopped screaming into his mobile. He is now talking in broken German to one of the elder men who wanted to chat before: „Weather shitty. Rain. No snow Christmas. Not diz year.“
I had not expected this flash into my past. Especially not at this dozy place with lonely old men, who seem to recharge their empty existence with human warmth. Temporary filling station. Grave of rotting memories. Welcome to the shabby Saloon Berlin Schöneberg. I won’t come here anymore.
I am stumbling on the path of love. Therefore I should accept my wounded weakness. I even might fool myself again. I will nevertheless continue my quest against all odds. I can slowly forgive my lack of courage and self-esteem by celebrating my determiation to see.
It took me a long time facing truth without excuses. I am painfully aware, that I am in an unpleasant romantic entanglement right now. Again. No true intimacy. No intimacy at all with the man I deeply love. Not any man. He is not just another guy though.
We are one soul spark of divine light. We are Twin Flames.
Nevertheless this seems to be the central issue at the moment: Accepting the past by letting go of old behavioural patterns that were rather guided by scarcity than sacred truth. The internal scream, to be finally held that turns into a violent impact onto reality, trying and trying in vain to cling onto the untenable walls of my wishful dreaming. Others might proudly stride on the quest for love. Well, we have noticed: I stumble.
This time I slightly unclosed the door to a true connection. I don’t have to delude myself into believing, that it needed to be widely open for him to walk through.
I still have to admit, that I hadn’t been able to make more than this tiny movement. Not now.
I allow my grief to flow through me. I allow to notice my sweaty hands by envisioning that it might lead into a real conversation and an optional intimacy after all. I realize my fear to be truely close to someone else, truthful communication, deep commitment.
Loss of control feels like dying. Every time.
I sense a playful part in me as well who would fancy to face this challenge. Again and again. Stretching my matrix. This part in me actually loves to live. It is suffering under my self-designed betrayals more than any challenging uncertainty that reality offers. This drum in my chest remembers a different story that has already been written by my soul.
I leave behind my limping desires and crooked experiences in the twilight of this sluggish place. I thank them for staying with me along those times where I thought I could not bear life as it is. I thank for their clerk of illusions surrounding me. It fibres have not warmed me. But obviously this is what I needed. Get comfy in this corner. This location seems to be quite a match. Those old guys in here might be very favorable towards you. Farewell!