That drowns the tender reed
Some say love it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed
In the last half hour, a global meditation event, Nature's Call, took place, and I sat to commune with hundreds of others around the planet. As I'm not a seasoned meditator, it made sense to sit down early and get myself settled, so when my heart jumped a few minutes after first closing my eyes I looked at the clock to find it was exactly 12.00, when the event had been scheduled to start. I followed the directive given, and found a few things coming to mind of their own accord.
All wild creatures are either monogamous or polygamous. Either way, their thoughts are consumed with each other, they are constantly connected and think nothing of it. There is no-one to tell them that they should not think a certain way, or what is good for them and what is not. They simply exist in cohesion with others of their kind in ways which work for their particular species. For some, like gazelle and fish and starlings, the ability to act as one gives them protection, with lightning responses in the presence of predators and a confusing mass-motion ensuring the weakest link will be singled out. For others, the shadows of darkness provide cover for their lives, and there are many more permutations of formulas which work.
As humans, we have a take on life which is confused in itself, will all kinds of principles warring for supremacy. But at the heart of who we are, our relationship on the quantum level is undeniable, and it works. We behave, on the whole, very much like quantum particles behave. And while the wild world wouldn't give this a moment's thought, we can appreciate the chaos of quantum foam and our unique place in the scheme of an unfathomable Universe - a place that has a journey based on learning and on Love, an energy we seek to understand as it takes us to where we need to be.
Four years ago yesterday, Quantumology went to press.
An endless aching need
I say love it is a flower
And you it's only seed
When the book was finally published later that year, I knocked on a door belonging to a love I'd held beyond reason for more than thirty years. In 1982 I met a man I'd known forever, and without knowing why I did this, every decade or so I had made a habit of knocking on his door, partly to see if he was still alive and partly to give him something I felt was important - a reminder that I still cared. Each time, he had been married and couldn't ask me in, for as he once put it, "How would I introduce you?". This day was different. Before long, as I stood there with my book, he invited me in. This time, he was alone. And for the first time, I crossed the threshold into his house with a heart beating like thunder and a brain that couldn't think. For eight months, I stepped through that door every fortnight in pretty much the same condition.
It wasn't long before the quantum principles I'd been learning to trust started to come to life. Uncertainty made sure I would never know what was going to happen, and that the same thing would never happen twice. Synchronicity, a phenomenon that had forced itself upon me mercilessly at the turn of the Millennium, flooded back into my world like it had never left. And most tellingly of all, non-locality and entanglement began to produce physical sensations - rushes - that flowed through me like electric water when we were thinking along the same lines. And I could voice none of this to him, because in his company I could barely speak, for my heart and brain were still not really talking to each other.
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken who cannot seem to give
And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live
It wasn't long, it seems, before he tired of the pantomime programme and broke me completely. I had spent several months dancing in the kitchen every day and getting used to him being on my mind. I had also written an avalanche of letters detailing the contents of my heart and head as best I could, and given him gifts of various kinds in the hope that they would mean something to him.
One of the things I gave him was strictly on loan - a book by Dr Wayne Dyer, a signed copy of Real Magic, and when I discovered that he'd been busily courting another woman in the process of getting rid of me, I went back to that door for the last time, to retrieve the book and start the next phase of my journey (after he'd tried to physically throw me out of his house before his new lady politely produced the book he had pretended to have burned) in the excruciating certainty that after 35 years of loving him more than life itself, I had got it all wrong. We would never dance together, after all.
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that with the sun's love
In the spring becomes the rose
This love unfurled the truth about a situation I had often thought I would never resolve, a paradox of events spanning half a lifetime that I had often wondered about and until then been unable to piece together. Now I could finish the jigsaw. That didn't stop the torture - pain was the price I had to pay for where heart and mind had led me. Only this time, I could be sure of something deeper than the soul. There are certain kinds of love that do not die, that cannot die, for they are rooted not in the fabric of three-dimensional reality, but in the core of consciousness itself.
They say the twinning of two souls who are mirrors of each other incarnate lifetime after lifetime to learn lessons together. For my part, the mirror has yet to free itself from smoke, for as my path takes me further and further from any desire to step through that doorway again, it becomes more difficult to identify symmetry. Having said that, the rushes are still there, and I expect while we both live, they will remain.
Follow your heart, wherever it takes you. Should it be broken, find it in yourself to live through the pain - don't throw in the towel as we are often tempted to do. There is a future, for there is a reason. The reason doesn't make itself apparent until after the event. But something inside you will say, quietly and clearly, that you know what's coming even though you don't. Those entities who took me through nursery school had a lot to say about Love long before I understood it, and assured me that I would learn all I needed to know about Fear. When I had lost faith in virtually everything, the little voice that said there was a reason would remind me softly of a long way back that couldn't be taken, and a long way to go that needed me to be strong.