Same story, different timelines

It was a mildly warm summer night in June, around the solstice, when the light was close to its peak. The world, at that time, was in a collective unease as it was in the middle of “c0v1d p4nd3mic”

I had recently befriended a woman who had entered my life. Let us call her Bonnie. I understood that her role was temporary but purposeful and to my own reckoning, she functioned as a shapeshifter, allowing another energy to move forward and take form.

That night, in the Icelandic wilderness, we decided to take mushrooms. One gram each to be specific, which is not heroic doze or anything but not a micro dose either. What followed was one of the most exciting and alive assignments I’ve ever had while taking pshycadelics. A narrative in which I was cast, quite involuntarily, as protector and guardian of a feminine principle, that Bonnie happened to embody.

Much occurred that nigh, enough to warrant its own tale, but eventually the momentum carried us to the sea, to a man-made beach in Reykjavík called Nauthólsvík. I have long believed that places do not arise accidentally, and this place specifically, is definitely there acting as some sort of a threshold or holding the line for an energetic grid.

By the time we got to the beach, I was depleted. The car, a 2015 blue Jimny, had become our vessel, transporting us from wilderness to city and from airy vision to salty water. After we had released the story to the ocean and found some solid ground, Bonnie started to settle into the trunk, preparing a space to lie down. I remained in the driver’s seat, feeling resistant.

It was then I remembered a dream from the night before. Brief but very clear. I was sitting in a stationary car, again in the driver’s seat and in the back of the car preparing the space, was the woman I loved, asking me to come and join her with a slight and soft hand gesture.

The moment was repeating itself, and I was recognising it. Two layers of reality colliding. My soul in the middle.

I recognised the moment and moved into the back and lay beside Bonnie.

The intention was simply to lay down and sleep after a long night-shift, but this is where the story reveals itself.

I was lying next to someone I did not love and knew I did not love, someone I barely even liked. And yet I also knew she was fulfilling a role whose purpose lay elsewhere. My arms were crossed tightly over my stomac. I was closed and defensive. I thought again of the dream and asked myself what I would have done had the woman beside me been someone I loved.

So I tried it.

I untangled my arms and extended them fully, opening my chest, telling my system that I’m open to receiving. The mushrooms, vaining but still active, were not finished with me.

The moment I opened up, i transferred to a new dimension.

I was no longer in the car. No longer in Iceland. No longer with Bonnie.

I was everywhere.

I was in love in multiple timelines. Same souls, different bodies.

Same knowing, different country.

Same feeling, different era.

It was like that final scene in Lucy , where she was gaining about 90% consciousness. (go to minute 6:05 for reference)

I was always partnered with another girl. We were young and reckless, hiding in an old car from the early twentieth century, excitement mixed with uncertainty that the world would maybe find us. I heard sounds from Birds that were not there. I was in Seyðisfjörður in the 1980s, slipping away from a village dance with the girl I loved, our friends laughing somewhere behind us, while we disappeared into the privacy of stolen moments. Then Germany - 1940´s, Russia - 1900´s. And on it went.

I was everywhere, and there she was with me. I was every pair propelled by awe and mischief, convinced that nothing could touch them. We had met across lifetimes, carrying the same secret mission forward. No matter the era, the language, the danger, or the resistance, we escaped into our own worlds and we somehow endured.

It was the story of a boy and a girl. It was the story of love. Repeated and reshaped but never altered at its core. I was being shown the primordial movement of yin and yang seeking coherence, through the persistent act of finding one another.

So what am I saying? maybe love is not something that we create or experience, rather what we allow to move through us and is available at all times. I don’t know really. who deos? but one thing I do know, is that love does not announce itself politely, nor does it wait for ideal circumstances. It moves through whatever vessels are available, borrowing hopes and dreams to remind us of what had always been there, waiting for activation.

And if you will find yourself at the grace of divine and unconditional love (the greek called it AGAPE) you better make sure that you wont flinch, cos the moment will be gone before you know it.