Under the darkness I slept, transported into a dreamscape of someplace wonderful. In the expanse between this space and time’s horizon there is nothing but perfect crystals poking through the nighttime sky, and I am a man transported from mortality to eternity. I feel the pulsing of my heartbeat against the stillness of my mind, my body both awakening and resting as the cool breeze brushes along my skin. In this slumber I hear the rustling of the trees just outside my door, and it seems my breath tries to keep pace with the natural rhythm of the Earth’s gentle winds. I’ve dozed here, surrendering to subtle pleas for rest and, hopefully, for a chance to find her once again.
I miss her in these moments of our separation, and when I can’t touch her hand I reach out for her in my dreams. There was a time when she was but a wish, a formless mist in the pulsing of my heartbeat, the rhythm of a breeze that had me looking for her everywhere I could. I’ve searched for her in the lonely trails that took me from someplace low to someplace high. I called for her in the lush canyons and heard my heart’s echo in reply. I felt her coming near as pieces of me fell away, as my soul shed those needless bags and blunders that once defined who I was. Those pieces left a trail as I walked and, somehow, I felt she was following them straight into my waiting heart.
Soon, I realized I was not walking a path just my own. She was leaving a trail as well, and the pieces we were leaving looked very much the same. It seemed as though each stone I turned in my search for her was a stone she had left behind, and each echo made in canyons was not my own voice, but her song reminding me the path I was on would be so worth the effort when we finally met. Our poems sometimes seem written by the same hand, our hearts seem to know the same breeze, our embraces seem to somehow have always been. If there were lifetimes before this one, I’ve known her there. I’m pretty sure we’ve walked together before, or flown the same skies, or swam in the same oceans. My soul knows hers, and hers mine. We’ve been this way before.
I miss her in my sleep, and often rejoice when I awaken in the night to see her silhouette nestled nicely among the shadows. I can find her form in any disarray, the way she rests and hides herself from the noises of the night. I sometimes just stare at her in this portrait, the pixels of time and fate mixing into the rhythmic breezes and hopeful prayers of a warrior who has found his home. Not wanting to disturb her, I caress her in my heart and whisper my truth through the ether into her waiting heart. Then I drift off again, content in the peace of her presence and in a love that has been in our dreams forever.
On this night, I rest alone in a dream of my own making, breathing in a mystic’s rhythm with love pouring from my grateful heart. Then the miracle arrives, and I hear her call out my name. I lay with that sound, the vibrations coursing in the stillness creating little ripples in the puddles of my mind. I stir a little, then feel her hand on my shoulder.
“Come to bed honey. I miss you.”
I smile a warrior’s smile. It’s the kind of smile of a grateful man who finds himself wedded to perfection smiles, that type of smiles that crests on a once-starving man’s lips once he’s feasted on something far superior to bread alone. I stir, excited to lay next to that perfection and feast on my own gratitude.
I can hear her say “I’m not perfect” and utter my truth.
“You are to me. And you need be nothing more than yourself to be that perfect.”
Her being her has never been anything less than perfect for me. I may be challenged in my own frailty while standing in her light, but her light has always shown me another way. I may feel fear in walking on trails I’ve never walked before, but I’ve never doubted the safety of our space. My black and white may be challenged by her gray, but she has always steadied me in those transitions from what I know to what is possible. I’ve never viewed those challenges in terms of being right or wrong, for in this love I’ve never been wrong in trusting her. I’ve never been more right either.
I sit up to make my way up to bed, realizing I was dreaming just the moment before. I turn toward the stairs, half-expecting to see her standing there waiting for me to follow her. There is nothing looking back at me, not a shadow, not a glance, not a smile; just empty air. I grumble a little sigh, feeling the sadness that often comes when realizing that beautiful dreams sometimes don’t match our reality. I stand, and head toward the stairs and up to bed, realizing that nightmares don’t match my reality either. I can’t help but smile in the lesson.
When I was securely swaddled in my blankets, I breathed deeply to say my “good nights” and offer my well-wishes. Something dawns on me in this pre-slumber ritual. I was in peace, the type of peace that I feel when she is near me. I looked over to the empty space on my bed, and instead of sadness I felt that beautiful peace. I could not feel her skin, but I could feel her. I could not hear her breathe, but I could feel her breath in my own. I could not talk to her in the shadows of this night, but I could talk to her in the light of my soul. My body wanted her near, but in the caverns of my soul we lived together, never to part even as our flesh went in different directions. My mind is troubled in our separation but my Being is never far from hers.
A man in the truest spaces of love must learn to reconcile the cravings of his mind with the knowings of his heart. He must learn to breathe with the rhythm of her nature. He must find gratitude in the breezes of togetherness that cool his skin after he’s been baking in the Sun of solitude. He must trust the process of life to bring him to loving waters when he thirsts, peaceful feasts when he hungers, and contentment’s rest when the fatigue of longing becomes too great for him to bear. He must trust in a truth – sometimes he will leave his footprints for her to follow, sometimes she will leave hers for him, and in other times they will etch their time together on the same trail at the same time. Either way, he has found her and she him, and they finally know each other again. How far they’ve come since the days when they could only dream of one another, and hope for that arrival.
I miss her. In that there is no lie. It’s a solemn truth that makes itself known in every hour of our separation. There is also another truth. I have found her, and in doing so have become the luckiest man alive. On this night, both truths have mixed into one, my black and white has transformed into her gray. What more could I ask for?