Circle of Love

by SprinklinThoughts

At times, tears would form in his eyes as he thought of, “…what is, must, could, and will be.”

The light fog, for it was just a tad less than a gentle rain, hovered then floated down gently, soaking everything it touched. Amy could barely feel its touch upon her skin, but had no trouble feeling the drops of water running down her cheek like tears. Still, it wasn’t that bad. The sun shone through the mist just enough to take the chill out of the air and warmed the small group a bit as they stood waiting for the ‘walk’ light. Amy watched the cars pass by, their cargo barely visible behind steamy windows. Each, like some intelligent robot, appeared to have a life of its own, this one going straight, that one turning left, and this dark one growling as it passed.

In the middle her reverie, Amy was bumped to one side by an older woman dressed in a green-gray skirt and a neat green blouse with buttons that looked like rough cut round jade. She was a few inches shorter than Amy, just under 5 ½ feet. Her hair was white, her face healthy with good color and a slight tan. Her chin had that small extra layer of skin beneath it that cannot be hidden and belied her true age. Yet her striking emerald green eyes sparkled like those of a young child in the middle of opening a gift. In her right hand she held an open umbrella to ward off the mist.

At first Amy thought that perhaps the woman was in a rush and was being rude as she leaned to her left, against Amy, just a bit too much and reached out with her left hand, trying to grab Amy’s arm as a buttress, to keep from falling. But it was too late. Had it not been for her daydreaming, Amy might have reacted quickly enough to help the woman, but as it was she could only try to keep her own balance and watch helplessly as, in slow motion, the woman tipped over and fell off the curb onto the puddled street. Amy heard the crack of breaking bone as the woman’s hip hit the pavement and then she heard a dull thump as her head followed. The woman’s umbrella arm slowly unfolded from her side into the wet street as one of those self-propelled robot cars swerved to barely miss it.

Time sped back up to regain its normal speed. Amy focused. People were jostling each other to get a better view. One woman gasped and then stifled a scream. A man yelled, “Call 911!”

Amy’s adrenal glands pumped their perception-enhancing magic into her blood and she shifted into a higher plane of consciousness. In her mind she dug down, pulled up an old emergency training exercise, and went to work. Her immediate cursory check showed that although the woman was hurt pretty badly, her injuries were not life threatening. The woman’s forehead was bruised from brushing against the curb as she fell. Her eyes were open and looked up at Amy with a slightly dazed expression asking what happened? Judging from the odd position of her legs in relation to her torso and remembering the crack of breaking bone, Amy guessed the woman had broken a hip bone. She reached into her white plastic shopping bag and pulled out two of the four bath towels she had just bought, rolled them up tightly, placed them under the woman’s head, and said, “Just relax now dear, you’ll be fine. But just relax. No, don’t try to get up now.”

The woman struggled to get up, let out a small “Oh!” and put her head back down. The man who’d cried out to call 911 said, “They’re on their way, but in this traffic it’ll be a while.”

Amy tried to make herself comfortable, sitting on the curb, holding the woman’s head in one hand and her hand in the other. Then she heard the voice. It wasn’t like that of a policeman – authoritarian, expecting to be obeyed. Nor was it like a doctor’s – claiming respect and cooperation. It was quiet and low, not quite a baritone, and well… solid. The kind of solid as when a soft sledgehammer hits hard against a boulder, or when a large heavy wooden door shuts firmly against the jamb, or solid as distant thunder booming and rolling across the sky. Solid and no arguing with. There was no pleading in his voice, no demanding. Just a simple direct, unarguable, “Excuse me please.”

As smoothly as actors in a play, the crowd of onlookers parted in front of him – no commotion, no bumping, and no hesitancy.

As he stepped forward, Amy drew in a breath. It was him! He knelt down beside her, and said again, politely, “Excuse me please.”

Amy could feel the reason the crowd had parted so easily. It was like being pulled along – similar to when a car careens around a turn. She still held the old woman’s head and could only move slightly to one side, but every part of her being tuned in to giving him room. By now he was looking down into the woman’s eyes. It only lasted a second, but Amy saw the woman’s eyes brighten with wonder for a brief moment as he touched her bruised forehead gently and said, “Be whole.”

That was it. He got up slowly or, more accurately, with a gentle, fluid grace, offered the woman his hand, and helped her up. She made no extra effort as one who is injured would, made no sound of agony as one with broken bones might, not even a flicker of pain crossed her features. He helped her up, she brushed herself off, and gave him a polite thank you just as if nothing more had happened than she had tripped and he caught her fall.

He said, “You’re welcome,” with that quiet, solid voice, turned, and walked away. It all happened so quickly that the crowd had not even had time to gather back around and gape. They were still standing where they were when they parted with the first “Excuse me please.” He walked out the way he came. No one stirred. They all just stood there as if frozen in time. Someone whispered, “It’s the one who is never followed.”

Time stopped. Amy’s mind, still pumped with adrenaline, took a snapshot of the scene and inventoried it. He wore faded blue jeans that were not new but had no holes in them and a natural white, light tan shirt with the top two buttons undone. The sleeves were rolled up to just above his elbows. He wore brown boots, not hiking but the cowboy kind without laces, a thick brown leather belt, a plain brass oval buckle with a black leather insert in the middle. The belt ran under it, not through it like ordinary buckles. His graying shoulder length hair and beard were longer than most and seemed too gray for someone who looked so young. But the most striking thing about him was that he was dry. Although the floating mist had been soaking everyone, he was dry. Even more odd, though the air was still, his dry beard and hair were mussed – as though a gentle breeze was constantly blowing through them.

“Love? What do you know about love? Probably as much as the next guy – nothing, if not less,” she teased.

“Oh I know about Love,” he replied, adding even more quietly as if it hurt to say, “I know about Love.”

“Really? You keep saying you know what it is. So tell me. Go ahead. Tell me what Love is.”

“OK. You want me to tell you about Love? OK. Love? Yeah I know about Love. But I’ve never had anyone ask me, so give me a minute. Love. Well, let’s try this… Love is the first and most basic manifestation of life.”

“What? Are you kidding? Come on! I’m talking about Love not the meaning of Life!”

“Look. Just bear with me a minute OK? Life is multi-dimensional right? You know, it goes up, down, around, and even moves through time.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Well it also goes further than that, further than just your basic four dimensions. It’s deeper than that. It’s like, it’s multi-planer too. It exists on different planes or other dimensions that we don’t understand.”

“Like spiritual & physical?”

“Exactly! Or like, from our viewpoint, it goes inward – nerves, muscles, bones, molecules, dna, atoms, etc. And it goes outward – planet, solar system, galaxies, and maybe even universes. Right?”

“OK.”

“Well, so Love is the first manifestation of life as it becomes what it is and it remains that in life, and throughout life. God wills life and the first form that appears is Love. But it’s a form that is in a dimension with which we are not too familiar. Love is that thing or moment just after God wills something and as it becomes. Except what it becomes is itself, Love. Love is the flower called life that is unfolding itself before itself, for itself, and because it is itself. Well, anyway, that’s getting too deep.”

“Yeah, you bet it is. What’s all this got to do with your ‘Real Love’?”

“Well the thing is that what we call ‘Real Love’ is when you see all of that and more. Oh so much more. You don’t just see it. You feel it. You know it. But it starts with meeting your true soul mate and recognizing Love. Or maybe it’s having Love recognize you. It’s an awakening. Love pours into you and you become a part of it. Then Love lets you see all of that about herself.”

“So how do you know it’s real? How do you know she’s your soul mate? What is a soul-mate anyway?.”

“Geez! You ask hard questions! Well look, if Life and Love are what they are, then you could say that one dimension or form of these is, oh let’s say, like a stream. The stream is one of many because each part of life is it’s own stream. Your life is one. Mine is another. Even that squirrel is another life stream flowing along. Or it’s just another life form unfolding. Well life, streams, trees, and other life forms, all have trunks and branches – either they are unfolding along these or running into these. A soul mate is one whose life/Love stream has unfolded from the same ground water as yours and is flowing into the same river as yours. A soul mate has the same roots as you and bears the same fruit but is still an individual branch. Soul mates were one and are becoming one. Soul mates are joined but separate – the same but different. Parts of One. But all this is not haphazard stuff that happens. It’s an intelligent process. It’s meant to be. It’s that basic and so, so beautiful. I saw Love – once – and she was the most beautiful thing and person I’d ever seen. She was more important than even my own body. I could feel her pain, her joy, even her thoughts. To me, she was the crowning glory of life itself – life’s highest and best, its most beautiful fluid and functioning form. She was Life’s purpose for being, it’s Joy, it’s Beauty. Her golden brown eyes mesmerized me and when they looked, with love, into mine I was enveloped and lifted up into a world that was and yet could be. She just made life real – only it was so much better in many ways. Her hair smelled better than the best perfume. I would rather look upon it than the most colorful sunset. Her skin was so smooth and radiated such gentle heat that I’d rather have it against mine more than even the finest silk. Her n… Well I think you get the picture.”

“So OK then! But lots of people feel that way and then they find out it wasn’t the real thing. So what makes it different for you?”

“I don’t know really. Maybe they only think they’re there. But the real thing is just that – real. When you see it, feel it, you know it, and you know it’s real. There’s really no doubt or even discussion. It’s there and it’s real and you can’t argue with it. So real that it’s almost scary. You can actually feel yourself falling – only it’s not physical. It’s just one of those things – you know it’s Love. It’s like having your eyes closed when the sun comes up in the morning – you just know its the sun & its up. Maybe you’re not ready for it or maybe you get scared, but it’s still there – staring at you, laughing at you, laughing with you. Me? I can’t see my way to lying to myself and saying it wasn’t real. I tried and I just can’t do it. So? Maybe she wasn’t ready, but I know she saw it and I know she felt it.”

“Maybe she got scared?”

“Maybe. Only thing I do know for sure is that she knew it was real too. Don’t ask me how but I just know it. She said it once and I’ll bet if you asked her now she’d say it again – unless she still couldn’t face it. So did she get scared? Maybe, I don’t know. So far, the best I can do is figure she was just blinded by everything else around her. You know, she ‘fell prey to the lies.’ I think she was so used to hearing lies that when the real thing stood in front of her she just couldn’t accept that it was not a lie.”

They fell silent and walked along the wet, cracked, concrete sidewalk, watching the squirrels – each thinking about Love and how it is so often lost or missed.

“One other thing I know.”

“What?”

“That something so real can never die. She won’t even let me speak to her, but I know it’s not over. It’s like, like we banged together and needed time to step back and shake off the stars in our heads. It’s like Love just exploded between us like fireworks – we were caught breathless and now we have to catch our breath. It’s just the beginning. It may not happen in this life, but it will happen. I know it. Because she’s the one.”

“Maybe,” she started, but then pointed ahead and exclaimed, “Look!”

Through the light mist, up ahead on the corner, they saw a woman fall into the street.

“Oh. Hold on. Wait here OK? I have something I have to do. Be right back. Just wait here OK?”

“OK, OK. I’ll wait.”

He walked up to the crowd and said “Excuse me please.”

As smoothly as actors in a play, the crowd of onlookers parted in front of him. There was no commotion, no bumping, and no hesitancy.

As he stepped forward, Amy drew in a breath. It was him! He knelt down beside her, and asked again, politely, “Excuse me please.”

She could feel the reason the crowd had parted so easily. She still held the old woman’s head and could only move slightly to one side, but every part of her being tuned in to giving him room. By now he was looking down into the woman’s eyes. It only lasted a second, but Amy saw the woman’s eyes brighten with wonder for a brief moment as he touched her bruised forehead gently and said, “Be whole.”

Amy could feel the reason the crowd had parted so easily. It was like being pulled along – similar to when a car careens around a turn. She still held the old woman’s head and could only move slightly to one side, but every part of her being tuned in to giving him room. By now he was looking down into the woman’s eyes. It only lasted a second, but Amy saw the woman’s eyes brighten with wonder for a brief moment as he touched her bruised forehead gently and said, “Be whole.”

That was it. He got up slowly or, more accurately, with a gentle, fluid grace, offered the woman his hand, and helped her up. She made no extra effort as one who is injured would, made no sound of agony as one with broken bones might, not even a flicker of pain crossed her features. He helped her up, she brushed herself off, and gave him a polite thank you just as if nothing more had happened than she had tripped and he caught her fall.

He said, “You’re welcome,” with that quiet, solid voice, turned, and walked away. It all happened so quickly that the crowd had not even had time to gather back around and gape. They were still standing where they were when they parted with the first “Excuse me please.” He walked out the way he came. No one stirred. They all just stood there as if frozen in time. Someone whispered, “It’s the one who is never followed.”

Time stopped. Amy’s mind, still pumped with adrenaline, took a snapshot of the scene and inventoried it. He wore faded blue jeans that were not new but had no holes in them and a natural white, light tan shirt with the top two buttons undone. The sleeves were rolled up to just above his elbows. He wore brown boots, not hiking but the cowboy kind without laces, a thick brown leather belt, a plain brass oval buckle with a black leather insert in the middle. The belt ran under it, not through it like ordinary buckles. His graying shoulder length hair and beard were longer than most and seemed too gray for someone who looked so young. But the most striking thing about him was that he was dry. Although the floating mist had been soaking everyone, he was dry. Even more odd, though the air was still, his dry beard and hair were mussed – as though a gentle breeze was constantly blowing through them…

…She remembered their love, how she had been blinded and had pushed him away. She knew she had to see him, could not let him walk away from her life like she had walked away from his. But she was frozen still, her mind would not, could not, will her body to move.

She felt like she was being pulled up into the air and looked down on the scene, watched him walking back to someone waiting on the sidewalk. She was drawn back down – not to where she was standing but toward where the other woman was. She blinked and blinked again. The scene was different. It took her a moment to focus – she saw him walking down the sidewalk toward her.

As he arrived, he continued their conversation as if it had not been interrupted.

“Thanks for waiting. Like I was saying, I didn’t know how or when, but I knew it would happen. No way I could’ve guessed it happening this way – looping back like this. But, hey, here we are. So hello Amy.”

“Uh… yeah. Hi.”

“It’s been a while, huh?”

“I think so.”

“You okay? Catch your breath yet?”

“I think so.”

“Good. I missed you, you know. Want to get an ice cream?”

M

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