Soul Mates

Google the words SOUL MATE and watch how thousands of sites line up in readiness to teach you how to meet and find your Soul Mate.
If there is one void that humanity seems to share it is the seemingly eternal search for one’s SOUL MATE. I must admit to searching for the relevance of meaning of this term in my own life.

The word 'soul' stems from the Old English word ' sawol' meaning the spiritual and emotional part of a person. It first emerged in literary public around the year 725 in the tale of Beowulf. Obviously your MATE has been regarded as being of spiritual and emotional importance to you as opposed to simply being functional for the pro creation of offspring, maintenance of an economic base and to hold lands and chattels in a genealogical hierarchy forged in a familial foundation.

Soul Mate is a term we all popularly use to describe someone with whom one has a feeling of deep and natural affinity, friendship, love, intimacy, sexuality and compatibility. Some people believe these are souls we have met and lived with in many life times. They have been our lovers, spouses, mothers, fathers, siblings, teachers, students, family and friends. Somehow we have a contract with these souls to return to earth together for learning and evolution.

One theory of Soul Mates, presented by Aristophanes in Plato's Symposium, is that that humans originally were combined of four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces, but Zeus feared their power and split them all in half, condemning them to spending their lives searching for the other half to complete them.

It seems that we feel closer to certain souls, because we have attracted them into our lives as they are on the same frequency or because we want to work out issues with them.

The Law of Conservation says that Nothing is Missing – your Soul Mate is therefore either in the form of the one or the many. I can see that in my life my Soul Mate lives in the many – about 20 beautiful men in my life – all together – are my Soul Mate. Now before you cast aspersions on my admission – (No I’m not a Skank) my Soul Mate is according to the hierarchy of my values – therefore these men provide great feedback for my particular value system and clearly demonstrate who I am and what is important in my life right now.

I get to spend time discussing and philosophizing with some of them – Scientists, Healers, Conspiracy Theorists – Intelligent brains with words instead of juices flowing between us – just as exhilarating but less messy. J The Mediterranean and Middle Eastern men in my life bring out the Goddess in me as they flaunt their masculine energy with me feigning and feinting - opening doors and killing spiders – the ancient game of the warrior rescuing the maiden (swoon) - and the sacred dance (if I so choose J ) My fitness freak posse accompany me on adventure hikes, mountain climbs and marathon runs. As a fag hag, my gay friends (yes they form part of my Soul Mate) share retail therapy and home decorating sprees. My business buddies wheel and deal over endless cocktail lunches with me, exchanging project concepts and beta testing plans together. I have men to go to social dinners with, boys to take to chick flicks, fellows to suffer endless family events with and buddies to party, dance and rock with.

Nothing is missing – all forms are there – in many faces and places. What I love about my Soul Mate in the MANY is the freedom to have NO expectations other than of myself.

As a child, I had this bizarre belief that one day I would meet my Soul Mate walking down the street one day, he would seem familiar and a white light appears between us then boom ….we live happily ever after. My own parents did not provide me with a balanced view of Soul Mates or even a loving Relationship, so my benchmark was drawn from fairy tales, TV and movies.

And so fuelled by a Boy Meets Girl Fantasy, at the tender age of 20, I married my first husband and had children very quickly. I still regard him as family – wonderful person - however he was not what could be termed The One. However, he remains part of my collective Soul Mate and for that I am truly grateful. At the age of 30, I married my second husband. He is one of my business partners even now and I still regard him as family – He Taught me SO much - however he was not what could be termed The One. Yes, he forms part of my collective Soul Mate and I continue to learn appreciation of him.

My children are part of my collective Soul Mate for they are truly great loves of my life. They express what I suppress and give me the opportunity to love all the things I disown about myself and my parents and our families. I find it hardest to love them without expectation as theirs is the love that stings and rewards the most in my life – my greatest obligation and my dearest joys.

I look back over the relationships of my life and see that there has only been one person that I truly opened my heart to. I was SURE he was the one – all the signs pointed to him being my twin flame. It was a lesson steeped in synchronicity and destined to change me forever. But I was wrong - he wasn’t the one – I was – and through my love for him, I learned to love the one person I never really knew and never took the time to love – ME.

It has been two and a half years since we parted and I have met the most beautiful men since that time. I could say that no one has captured my heart like he did, or perhaps I have just been unwilling to open my heart again. All I know is that the great mysteries of life must be experienced; they must be lived. Duff writes: “The Nahuatl peoples believed that we are born with a physical heart, but have to create a deified heart by finding a firm and enduring centre within ourselves from which to lead our lives, so that our hearts will shine through our faces, and our features will become reliable reflections of ourselves. Otherwise, they explained, we wander aimlessly through life, giving our hearts to everything and nothing, and so destroy them.”

Now looking back, seeing that for me there has been the ONE (past) and the MANY (present), I appreciate the power of the Soul Mate in whatever form I create and see that my heart shines through my own face now.

It feels like there are so many levels of Soul Mate – well I guess I am collecting data about this right now J.
At the base of the Soul Mate pyramid is the Got To– The Physical Attraction – derived from the Cell and the Amoeba.
The next level is the Should/Ought To – This is our search for the Right Person (i.e. fitting into our Fantasy and Value System)– derived from our Pre Amphibian selves.
Then we find the Need to level– This is our Emotional Need – the search for Romance - derived from our Amphibian centre.
Next level is Want To – This is all about the I – the EGO – everything is the way I Want it - derived from our Reptilian selves. Many people never move past this phase.
Then we move into the Desire To level – This is beyond the EGO – Beyond the Physical, Emotional, Romantic, Material – we enter the realm of REAL LOVE only when the first phases are complete – this is derived from the Mammal part of us.
Once we truly love ourselves as we are with no changes and no expectations that another will complete us, we enter the Choose To level – This is a Conscious Commitment – a Value of Self Beyond the Ego without dependence on the other – this is where we become more Human and less Animal.
And finally we enter the Love To level – Unconditional Love – No Rejection – No Expectation – Nothing to Lose or Gain – Nothing is Missing – we are inspired by pure Spirit.

According to theories popularized by Theosophy and in a modified form by Edgar Cayce, God created androgynous souls, equally male and female. The souls split into separate genders later, perhaps because they incurred Karma while playing around on the earth". Over countless reincarnations, each half seeks the other. When all karmic debt is purged, the two will fuse back together and return to the ultimate.

There is obviously a karma aspect – what I don’t love about myself I will attract a Soul Mate who owns that very thing in him. I hope that for me, a Soul Mate – the ONE – is someone I can share my life with, in freedom, integrity, grace, without judgement or expectation, with two open hearts, walking beside each other on similar paths – where living in my highest values serves his and vice versa.

Lao Tsu called it the trackless path. Jehovah translated means “I am.” In Genesis, God says to Moses, “I am that I am.” Perhaps our Soul Mate is the ME in us and will only appear in another form of ONE when we appreciate our Soul Mate in ourselves? For now, I appreciate that my Soul Mate is all around me and there is nothing missing in my life while I still hold the Fantasy of the One Soul Mate who I will meet walking down the street one day, he seems familiar and a white light appears between us then boom……... :-)

My Irish Tree

For years I had a dream where there was a magical tree in the South of Ireland where I could find and sit in and all my ancestors would come to life and flow through my blood – it would re awaken my Celtic blood. I would see all generations behind and in front of me. Answers for my questions would float above me and I could easily slip into the otherworld if I so chose.

Arriving in Dublin, my first priority was to book a day tour in the Ring of Kerry. My bloodline can be traced back to 1192 in that area and I felt that I may find my tree in the majesty of the Ring. There was one tour available – 17th – I was in! Awaking 6am, I made the Heuston train station by 7am and caught the train to Mallow. A storm the night before had disabled a signal and we sat on the tracks for an hour midway between Dublin and Mallow. Finally, my tour guide disembarked me at Mallow with strict instructions for the next train to Killarney where I would meet my tour group taking me to the Ring of Kerry.

In true Irish fashion, we missed the train, they sent a bus and it broke down, the next one didn’t come and the next train was delayed. I was told to return to Dublin. No way. Bugger Off!

I simply HAD to find that tree so I waited. In a state of no idea where or how – I got on the next train eyes closed fingers crossed – arrived in Killarney – no map – no clue – arrived and walked around the town. It was misty and raining and I discovered a walled garden and decided to look inside. It was the National Park and it ran for hundreds of miles – framed by mountains running rocky down onto fingers of lakes streaming out into the Irish Sea and the North Atlantic Ocean. Wildlife – deer, birds – fauna and flora – tiny cottages dotting the landscape – raindrops dripping from every tree – as I walked alone through this forest and out into the wide expanse where nature had created a theme park just for me.

I found my tree – freshly budding – even in the Irish winter – painted with lime green moss, roots reaching up through the ground and settling at the base of the trunk. Leaves rustling, bark peeling – I could have climbed it and never reached the top where a canopy of the forest trees met to chat about the strange Australian tourist carrying a Union jack umbrella oohing and ahhing as she slipped in the mud along the tracks of this National Park.

I stood firm against the trunk and heard a beating heart. It wasn’t mine. The branches almost wrapped themselves around me as it spoke.

“Get to the Other Side” – the first words – now my mantra.

“Just get to the other side.”

“The other side of what?” I asked incredulously.

“Everything. Every challenge. Every action. Every person. Every situation. Every plan. Start it, get to the middle, look back, look forward and get to the other side. Only then will you see both sides and by the time you get there, it will be what you want.”

Then the tears came.

Oh how I cried!

I cried as this tree took me through every moment in my life and showed me where I actually HAD gotten to the other side and helped me to look back and review the experience.

It showed me my history and the bloodline history flowing through my veins. I saw myself in other lives and saw the same faces always surrounding me.

I crept inside an opening in the trunk and saw pathways and tunnels and doorways to any other world that I chose to create. However the tree reminded me that every opening held the same challenges that I was experiencing now. And I was half way through these challenges.

All I had to do was get to the other side. Every challenge and every life is the same.

There is no more greatness in another body or another time or another country or another life than in mine right now. There was nothing to change - absolutely nothing.

The tree repeated itself over and over.

“There is nothing to change. Everything in your life is perfect right now.”

It said that I was the true master of my life – not any teacher, books, programs, business, individuals, groups, governments or external authorities – but ME. And if I had or did or experienced or found or saw or realised or decided – than it was the right thing because it was me – and I was the true master for me.

In all my challenges - business, family, relationship, health - as with every other soul, the experience was created by me - and as the master, there was a greater purpose for the experience. There would be as many benefits as drawbacks no matter what I did. Trust myself and appreciate the experience. Get to the Other Side by putting one foot in front of the other and not explaining or planning or trying to change. Just be there, do it and love it!

Now that I am home in Australia, everywhere I look, theIrish tree is with me every second. It has taught me more than any book, teacher, school, university or person ever has. And it is ALWAYS following me.
I look at my backyard with new eyes. It looks similiar to the Irish Forest. I drive past the Toowong cemetary every day on my way home from the office. It looks similiar to the Irish Forest. I walk along the Brisbane River each week. It reminds me of the lakes near the Irish Tree. Everything looks different - better. The mundane looks extraordinarily beautiful!

So whenever I feel - ugh - or ggeeeezzzzz - or ggggrrrrrrr - I hear those same words "Get to the Other Side" and somehow the world looks greener and prettier and my heart feels lighter.

Be It Ever So Humble

Tuesday 22 January – today is my final day here in Ireland and I intend to make the most of it. Naturally it was raining and colder than any day I had experienced so far in the UK. I dodged the raindrops while the now familiar sound of seagulls sounded above my head and shunted up to Suffolk Street and purchase my Hop off Hop on bus tour. This is always the best place to start. We struggled through the traffic on past O Connell Street, down beside the River Liffey across the bridge and past the Dublin Castle, Christ Church, St Patrick’s Cathedral, several ancient churches in ruins, Dublinia, the Old Jameson and the Guinness Storehouse. There is astronomical amounts of reconstruction happening in Dublin at the moment.

Several times we became stuck behind a truck as it unloaded building materials at a site. Not only is there a beat here, but a large Euro sign hangs above the city showering it with opportunities and resources. It feels rather exciting watching this city reinventing itself in this way. We took a small side street on the way up to one of the city museums and took beside a backhoe and a truck. We stopped. The bus was wedged between a bus stop sign and a monster pothole. It took 2 hours and 20 men in fluorescent shirts to move the bus and the passengers sitting on board. Not one person was bothered, as this is becoming a daily experience. You know in retrospect I should’ve taken this for a sign of things to come.

Freedom came at a price and time was running out so at St. Stephen's Green I disembarked checking out Merrion Square, the Writers Museum going into the Green itself and hanging in front of the Oscar Wilde statue, walking through the groves of Oaks and watching as the rain dripped its final farewells to me on the greenest of lawns and sweetest of tiny buds slowly but surely emerging from their winters sleep in hope for a looming spring. Outside the park, I ambled along the Georgian Square amid the oddly colourful doors in Merrion and past the National Gallery.

Then up to Trinity College for one last time, crossing the road in front of poor Molly Malone’s statue still trying to offload those old smelly cockles and muscles. One last time I walked over the bridge into O’Connell Street where THE shopping for Dublin is done and checked out a few shops buying too much stuff – imagining how I could squeeze more space out of my already heaving long suffering suitcase. O'Connell Street is the main thoroughfare in Dublin City and one of the widest streets in Europe – and it has certainly seen its share of action throughout history. The warring Irish had a rebellion here a century ago and some monument was destroyed in the process. Replacing it now is the very impressive 120m Spire of Dublin, a needle-like self supporting sculpture of rolled stainless standing directly behind the Daniel O Connell monument – a nice haven in the furious rain. My very british umbrella was suitably noticeable and I hid my face as I sheltered under it in the teaming rain. How silly am I?

Walking down beside the Liffey river, those seagulls that I have been hearing each night are congregrating on the boardwalk. How close are we to the sea here? Very unusual sight. Ambling across the bridge and up towards Christchurch, I checked out the Viking displays in Dublina and found myself sitting inside St Patrick's Cathedral to take a moment and dry off. A large parish priest wearing a purple dress sold entry tickets for 6 euros at the entrance in front of a large souvenir stand at the rear of the church. Bath Abbey was the same however St Patrick’s did challenge my childhood catholic roots. I was surprised at many plaques for Freemasons who were also parishioners. I realised that the churches with their plaques were effective marketing machines.

My hotel was directly around the corner so through the rain across the park at the rear of the Cathedral I tramped knowing my time here was almost over. A lovely final Dublin lunch at 2.30pm and my loyal taxi driver took me to the airport chatting to me about the joy of parenting a sixteen-year-old boy with a taste of independence and centre of self-focus. I got this same guy each time I caught a cab – and he was a fabulous Dublin guide – from him I learned much.

We got to the airport in good time for my 5.40pm flight – I checked in and waited patiently to board. At 5pm a delayed sign began to flash across the screen and I asked the customer service desk the obvious question. Apparently there was an air traffic controller’s strike and our allocated slot to land at Heathrow had been compromised however not too worry – we’ll open soon. 5.30pm arrived and I began to feel concerned. I called the Australian number on my Flight Centre itinerary and was put on hold for 30 minutes until I reluctantly realised they wouldn’t answer and hung up. After much questioning and researching I discovered the Malaysian Airlines desk number and advised the lady of my dilemma. She wasn’t too concerned and gave me until 9.30pm to get there. At that stage I was feeling optimistic so decided to let it go.

By 7pm however, more customers were freaking out and bombarding the airline staff who were suitably stressed and frustrated that they could not make a solid announcement. I tried calling Flight Centre again and after holding for another 30 minutes simply gave in. Poor Manny – I woke him up at 5am and begged him to call the Australian number for me and thankfully he got through after only 20 minutes and re booked my flight for the next day.

By 8pm, the airport was a scene from a horror movie with some passengers screaming abuse at the airline staff, others silently panicking and others simply sitting back in grim assignation of what seems now to be a standard occurrence in Dublin public transport interruptions.

By 8.30pm we boarded the plane by 9.30pm we landed in London yet my nightmare was not over. Everything in Heathrow closes around 10pm. The BMI desk steadfastly advised that my missed flight was not their concern and it was my responsibility to find a hotel at my own cost. So I looked for the hotel reservation desk and it was closed. I called a few hotels and was advised that there were no available rooms within a 20-kilometre radius of the airport due to fashion week and a large number of conventions. Then my mobile phone battery died.

There were no staff around to assist, I had no clue of where to look or who to call, and got myself lost in the maze of renovations and levels in Heathrow itself. For a moment it looked as if I was spending the night on the streets with my luggage.

FREAK OUT!!!!!

I no longer looked positive or strong and began to cry quietly to myself when an American guy walked past me and asked if he could assist in some way. At the moment of weakness and ultimate honesty, help arrived. So after blubbering my silly story, he advised that his friend had similarly missed his flight from New York for their conference and his room was still available at the Crown Plaza, which was ten minutes from the airport. He called a taxi shared it with me and organised the room with the hotel himself. It cost 250 pounds sterling for what amounted to a six-hour sleep BUT IT WAS WORTH IT.

I’ve not encountered many challenges in this trip – none when the boys were with me – and to miss my international flight home due to no fault of my own was inconceivable. To not be given any offer of assistance by the airline or airport staff was unexpected and I was suitably freaked out in a way that I hadn’t been once during my trip. So I guess on my final day, losing it under these circumstances was quite an achievement.

The little things truly are significant. The mundane of showering, charging the mobile phone battery, sleeping in a horizontal bed, changing out of skanky clothes and breathing in your own private space for a few hours – for me, at midnight I was in heaven.

At 3am, my phone rang and I woke up with a start. One of my sons called me from Australia for no apparent reason – just to say hi. I sensed that something was wrong however he wouldn’t expand and so I drifted off back to sleep a little longer.

Back at Heathrow at 8am, it took an hour to line up to check in. Then my new ticket had not been updated correctly in Australia so the Heathrow staff could not check me in. After an hour of haggling with them I called my partner to see if he could phone Australia. That’s when my nightmare REALLY began. He was at the Wesley hospital with the son who called earlier who was very ill, high temperature and connected to a drip and was being tested and closely monitored. It sounded serious. His violent bashing by the neighbour had caused a devastating affect on his health and thousands of miles away, I feared the worst.

Eventually after looking at their training sheet, together the staff and I re entered and administered my new ticket, I checked in and awaiting my boarding. The 12-hour flight to Kuala Lumpur was agony as I collapsed all the possibilities for my son and faced an unthinkable scenario 100% out of my control. My entire body changed form in those 12 hours and every molecule charged on another frequency from that point.

Arriving in Malaysia, there was a part of me that didn’t want to call Australia, as I couldn’t face receiving bad news with another long flight ahead of me. But call I did and it was such a relief to hear that my son was out of danger and released from hospital, still ill but at home and improving. That was a moment to remember forever.

Nothing else mattered after that.

Life is melted down to its very foundation – the love for your child will always take precedence over anything else.

My remaining flight to Sydney and finally Brisbane drifted by me and before I knew it, my youngest son was greeting me in the lobby pf the International Airport.

I loved my adventure in UK and Europe for Xmas, New Year, my Birthday and my work – it was a true success. However I have to admit that for the very first time, I am so happy to be home. Just to be here, at home, with my family, doing nothing of significance other than mundane basic human activities. The magic of my experience is here in Brisbane with me now while I tend to a sick child, prepare for the new school year, clean up my very messy and neglected house, catch up on business work, marvel at how I wore the same clothes SO many times as I attend my laundry and just BE in my home with all my stuff around me.

There truly is no place like home.