We Are Created Of Love, By Love, To Love.
The house finally still, we soaked up each other and this moment as we’d absorbed soft, meandering kisses on the shore of a quiet, midnight walk. Relishing the compartment in which we separated ourselves, we knew it was mere hours or minutes until chaos returned. Yet this moment had the power to last forever. And so it did.
Bodies pressed against each other through thin cotton clothes, we held each other close until we felt less like two entities and more like one matching heartbeat, one pulse. We lay like this, and talked. I had told him the night prior I wasn’t going to sleep with him, expecting him to move on.
Yet something in the depths of our eyes told us both that we spoke the same language. That we were made of the same fiber as the ocean, threaded together by the enchantment of depths unseen and unheard, only felt.
His arms hugged my frame with a gentle gripping, and I felt simultaneously small and large, whole and fractionated, warm and cold.
He peered down at me through long, dark lashes, and asked, “Who are you?”
I paused. Contemplating how much to reveal to this near-stranger; but then again I’ve only ever been able to tell the truth, and so I warned him of the craziness of it and said my answer was simple: I am love.
He pulled away and looked at my face, long and deep. A glance into the soul. The sides of his mouth curved, and he said, “You are crazy.” And then he pulled me closer.
I arced my neck and placed my chin on his chest, observing the dark outline of his face, illuminated by the stream of moonlight emanating through glass pane, and returned his query, “Who are you?”
He muttered something about being a man, hardworking, strong, and then he elaborated more about his job, ambition, etc. — the same story I’d been listening to on repeat all weekend. I placed my head back down, burrowing my face into the musculature encapsulating his heart.
I held him close, and my heart whispered directly to his, “No, you are not. You are not those things. You are far simpler. You are composed of love too.” But I knew it was not necessary to speak the words aloud. I just held him close, wrapping his being in the promise of finding something more.
And so these soul-destined encounters go. Not knowing why or how, just that we needed to meet when and where we did, the interaction compulsory for both of us.
I held tight to his body, immersing myself in the beauty of that moment where connection happens and I am seen. Seen for who I am — something more than a human body, the soul beneath the flesh. Seen for all the wonder of spirit, light barely captured by language and only truly able to be summarized by one word: love.
We all have them. People we are inexplicably drawn to, or they to us, like a moth to flame. Often unexplainable, sometimes built on physical attraction but in reality composed of a far deeper substance.
I’ve heard it called chemistry. But my belief is that it is our soul yearning for theirs. And together, once our souls connect, some greater learning occurs. A deeper message composed of stuff far greater than that stemming from our human world.
Know that the connection established with these soul-contracted individuals is real, however fleeting it might be. Trust it. Follow it. Leap into the depths of the eyes that see your soul, and don’t look back. Don’t second-guess opening yourself up to these people and these encounters.
By leaping into the ocean, a whole new, mystical world unravels. Full of magical-seeming coincidences you know deep down were orchestrated by a greater being. Dances of love, and life, and laughter, and pain. Out of the deep dark pits of pain, light is born again.
For I have seen the end. And when I faced my own bodily culmination, I realized not an ending, but rather the beginning of a new, far more alive way of living. I was sent a message, crystalline as rays of sunlight piercing through a cloudy cover.
My time here on Earth was not complete, human existence holding a deeper meaning. I am here to love, and to be loved. To rediscover a love the likes of that of children, undoubting and pure.
The message was so clear, and so simple. It always has been, and always will be. Some of us just need a stark awakening from the slumber, to uncover what we’ve always known deep down. We are love.
Lately I’ve found myself writing, unintentionally, on this topic — love. It took a close friend mentioning how her writing helps to shine light on what’s really going on, to make me realize that perhaps I should ask myself, Why love? Am I looking for love in my life? Trying to validate that I have it?
I guess maybe I am, and probably always will be. Because it’s a constant search. Love is not something you find once and then hold forever. Love is something we all must circle back to, again and again. The practice never ends. The practice of reminding myself — I am created of love, by love, to love — never ends.
Bretton Keating is a Yoga-fanatic, clean-eating junkie, artist-because-she-doesn’t-know-how-to-be-anything-else. She never sought this lifestyle, rather it found her; after years of attempting to be ‘normal’ she realized that simply doesn’t work. Now she strives every day to live from a place of authenticity, and aims to inspire others to do the same both through teaching Yoga and through her words. Bretton grew up immersed in stories. Through years of practicing Yoga and meditation, she has learned to ground back down to Earth, and realized that she has the power to live her own story. She is passionate about sharing her experience and the process of exploring this life, particularly in the realm of mind-body-spirit health, however she can. She writes because, quite simply, she knows that she must. For more of her musings on Yoga and life, check out her blog.