Lies. Deception. Betrayal. Secrets. Affairs.
Familiar themes. Familiar characters. Going inside their minds gives me the chills.
I was there once. I made those same immoral choices.
Recognizable storylines, scenes, dialogues.
I too, in the distant past, was caught in that same web of confusion and complication — that all too familiar web of not knowing when and how to come out of it — to, once and for all, bid him farewell and wish him well, wish them well — him and his wife…and their children.
If I haven’t noticed my surrounding starting to brighten up a tad bit, as the quietness in my midst prepares for the break of dawn, I won’t think of resting the bookmark between the pages. I need to put my mind — and body and spirit — to rest. After all, it is four thirty in the morning. That’s right — four thirty!
And there’s much to digest. To reflect upon. To be clear about.
There aren’t any solar flares to ‘blame.’ It is simply me, fully absorbed in the words and sentences, thoughts and emotions, behaviors and actions contained in the page-turner that is No Turning Back, brilliantly woven by The Sunday Times bestselling author Susan Lewis, into such eerily familiar themes and storyline.
Lies. Deception. Betrayal. Secrets. Affairs.
There it is again — suicide.
Why does ‘suicide’ keep coming up for me?
Last month, I wrote a couple of posts following Robin Williams’ demise from suicide. I had then just started reading a book, Adventures of a Lightworker: Dead End Date, “a metaphysical Bridget Jones, according to Jennifer Hicks of ‘Never a Dull Moment’ radio show,” so says the book description. This mystery novel opens with one character dying from suicide.
What’s with me and ‘suicide?’
Am I, unconsciously, secretly, maybe even shamefully holding thoughts of suicide?
Or might that be metaphorical? Is there a part of me whose life I want to cease from its existence? To ‘die’ and be born anew — as if I haven’t been constantly renewing and re-birthing already?
Or is my well of compassion and understanding being deepened to allow me to be more compassionate towards those who have committed suicide or have had thoughts of ending their lives?
Or could it be that I am being summoned, once and for all, to put an end to that episode in my life? To put it to its final rest — that episode and that part of me who chose to be with this man and to be loved by him, even if he has, in ‘the eyes of God,’ already previously vowed to love, honor and cherish her, till death do them part? A vow that, all through our many years of togetherness, wasn’t showing any sign of being reneged by him?
My stomach starts to churn as questions flood my already now weary mind and spirit — and body.
I quickly get out of bed and pace back and forth while my breathing begins to accelerate upon the sudden remembrance of the email that he sent me two years ago.
It was brief. Vague. Sounded even almost like a teaser. It had been more than a decade since we last saw or communicated with each other.
(I distinctly remember that time when he sent the email. It was, not surprisingly, one month after the June 2012 Venus transit that will not happen again until 2117 — in more than 100 years. It was a rare astrological event during which, astrologers explained, old relationships and past lovers and friends may reappear in order for any unfinished business to be resolved. One month prior, again, not surprisingly, another ‘ex’ also suddenly contacted me. An old friend/colleague who is close to this past lover also contacted me at around the same time which caused quite a stir between us — me and this friend. I blogged about it here.)
The thought of him remembering me, the thought of hearing from him after the long spell of silence was enough to make my lips turn up into a gentle smile.
No resentments left undoubtedly. Maybe some sentiments. Some feel-good sentiments.
Yet, I didn’t respond. Not even a simple acknowledgment that I received his email or appreciated the gesture. Something was holding me back. Something didn’t feel quite right. What for?
I put off replying until I would be much clearer what to reply and why I would…till the thought was relegated to the background.
Was it a wise choice not to reply? Might there be an unfinished business there somewhere? Am I now being nudged to finally, albeit belatedly, send him a response?
After all, I do have a few things I’ve been curious to know. A few questions.
And yet, what’s the point of finding out the answers — if I, in fact, find them? What difference will it make? Will it matter? Will it give me closure and make me feel complete — assuming closure and completion is something I haven’t arrived at yet? Besides, can I not have completion without knowing everything? Can I not be complete even with some unknowns?
I let the book rest upon the bedside, as I reach out to switch off the light, wondering what insights will come to me when I’m finished reading.
Outside, darkness prevails, but there is a faint light that’s beginning to illumine the surrounding as I gaze at the window. I will myself to get some much-needed sleep as the soft light hints a glimmer of hope for me to hold on to — that I will gain clarity and that, the answers, in whatever form — and in their rightful and Divine time and timing — shall be revealed.
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