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A Tale of Two Soulmates


A few days ago, I received notification from a wonderful organization called International Spiritual Experience that my essay submission was a winner in their Valentine’s Day Soulmate writing contest. I’ve hesitated about whether or not to post, as it is quite personal, but my angels are insisting… (and you know how that can be!)


Enjoy! With Love, Rev. Nina



A Tale of Two Soulmates


Never have I written about a topic so close to my heart as that of how I came to be with my beloved soulmate. As I sit at my desk with the sun streaming in, a muse appears in the form of a courageous pheasant braving the sub-freezing temperatures. He is squawking his encouragement and approval of this task before me. I am fearful of touching upon a subject that is of my deep soul essence. An amusing story, yes, but this part of me traces back to the place where my soul contract was formed before the beginning of time. The image of my beating heart fully exposed to the world causes hesitation. And there again …the persistent sound of the pheasant, a symbol of fertility and couples. A sign the angels present to me when I need to remember the power, the strength and the purpose that is inherent to my eternal bond with Peter.


I first set eyes upon my twin flame when I was a sophomore in high school. He sat there on the couch looking so withdrawn, so scared to be sitting alone in the student lounge of an all-girls school waiting for his ride home from his brother who taught chemistry. It was abundantly clear that his experience with the opposite sex was mostly limited to his mother who had died three years before. Though his sister-in-law was a loving feminine presence, his heart was wounded. Every cell of his body screamed “vulnerability” and I thought to myself, “this is Mr. Roe’s little brother? Hunh.” Something within me stirred, but could he recover from the death of both his parents who were killed in a plane crash when he was just 13?


My attraction quickly cast aside doubt and grew fierce. My soul felt a tug that expressed itself through an untamed girl with raging hormones who wanted something she couldn’t have. Peter attended the “brother” school to my all girls alma mater and at the age of 16, I became a stalker. I admit it. I followed him around under the guise of a mere “soccer team fan” (he was the star goalie). I took classes I wasn’t interested in at his school just to be near him for the 7 minutes before the bell rang. I hounded my best friend to arrange for multiple double dates at the local Dunkin Donuts through her boyfriend. (Or can you call them dates when one feels coerced and is really just doing a friend a favor?) Ultimately how we got together didn’t matter to me; I just wanted to be near my soulmate. Even if it was over bitter coffee and a gut wrenching micro waved coffee roll dripping with fake melted butter.


Of course, now I understand that it was fate that relentlessly drew me to Peter for the remaining years in school. After failed attempts at a lasting relationship, and my weak effort to replace him by dating two other “Peter’s”, we parted at graduation. His words in my yearbook were like the epitaph on my tombstone, “Sorry things didn’t work out, but I want you to know that I respect you a lot. Have a nice life.” (I tried to erase his photo and stuck pins in his candid shot, but our children are proof it had no effect.)


Our common friends kept us loosely connected for several years as Peter and I each did our “growing up” thing. The summer after our second year in college, some of our high school friends rented a big house in Boston and invited us both to join them for the summer break. My pining heart had mostly recovered and I was dating someone from college who decided to take off for the summer to work in a fishery in Alaska and explore the many benefits of dropping acid on a daily basis. (Trust me, I never partook…definitely not my thing!)


A few weeks into this living arrangement, as Peter loaded his Ford Escort in preparation for his trip to Indiana for a July 4th celebration with his family, he sat me down on the back steps of the house and said, “I’ve thought a lot about us and I want you to know that I love you. I want to be with you forever.” And then he got in his car and drove 1000 miles away.


Now it may come as a surprise to you that it took me the week he was gone to make up my mind. “Should I stay with my druggie, but cute, boyfriend from college? Or, should I take Peter up on his offer and develop a relationship with my soulmate?” Obvious to most what the answer should be, I can be a logical person who really needs to think things through. After all, my perspective was buffered by a 10 foot mote filled with hurt feelings, denial and terminal scarring from past communication like those words from my high school yearbook, “Have a nice life!”


Thankfully, after many hours in tormented deliberation between my ego, my heart and the angels, the battle was won. When my beloved returned from his vacation, I dragged him into his room (not unlike a cave woman), threw him on the bed, bounced on top of him and said “YES!”


And it was the best answer I have ever given…even – or should I say especially – after 27 years and however many lifetimes together! I love you, Peter!

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