Love on the other side

[Tobi]

( is there no one who's had a similar experience to this ???

Yes, I have.
When there's a true and deep Soul connection, the idea of separation is unbearable. Unthinkable. And there's a difficult paradox between knowing you have a lasting connection with that Soul, and at the same time, you are living in two different realities.

Only the thing is, on one level you're not.
The issue can be looked at two ways. One that they are not with you and life feels hollow without them....and the second option of attunement to them, to the point that there is a clear and distinct joyful awareness that they have not really gone' anywhere. The heart floods with love and there is a 'meeting'. It's very real, it's very objective, and it can show you the bond of love cannot be severed.
All they have done is left their physical body.

To attune to them, it's important to focus only on the love, and nothing else. To listen to no doubts, fears or uncertainties, or let any other thoughts in. That creates a purity of connection, and energy flows both ways down it. Gentle concentration and stillness of the mind while holding onto the love. Not sorrow or agony, not grief, not fear. Pure love.

This can be done but requires discipline and fine balance. At times it's not always possible to do, but don't let that upset you. Just keep gently focused whenever you can.
Your Soul mate will be glad if you do.

This does not hold a Soul on the other side back in any way. They will begin to understand that you can go halfway to meet them in your Heart, and that this will span any 'distance' in the world where they now are. And knowing that will free them to 'be themselves'.
Also knowing that you can cope will help them emotionally.

You don't have to pass over to stay connected to them in Love.

But taking your own life abruptly may send you on a different track. I don't know for certain, and have no proof of that. But it is not an act of loving compassion, more an act of fear, doubt, impatience, disregard for your purpose in being on Earth. That may mean far more than we are aware of. The lack of willingness to learn the disciplines of loving attunement, even against harsh-seeming odds, may have repercussions in the afterlife, and for your Soul's learning.

[starnight1]

Originally Posted by Tobi

[i].and the second option of attunement to them, to the point that there is a clear and distinct joyful awareness that they have not really gone' anywhere. The heart floods with love and there is a 'meeting'. It's very real, it's very objective, and it can show you the bond of love cannot be severed.
All they have done is left their physical body.

To attune to them, it's important to focus only on the love, and nothing else. To listen to no doubts, fears or uncertainties, or let any other thoughts in. That creates a purity of connection, and energy flows both ways down it. Gentle concentration and stillness of the mind while holding onto the love. Not sorrow or agony, not grief, not fear. Pure love.

This can be done but requires discipline and fine balance. At times it's not always possible to do, but don't let that upset you. Just keep gently focused whenever you can.
Your Soul mate will be glad if you do.

This does not hold a Soul on the other side back in any way. They will begin to understand that you can go halfway to meet them in your Heart, and that this will span any 'distance' in the world where they now are. And knowing that will free them to 'be themselves'.
Also knowing that you can cope will help them emotionally.

TommyG, try this,
but this is difficult......
if u commit suicide it is fast u may go directly to link with your soulmate in physical body, but your spirit your heart still needs the attuement and this is the REAL goal for the soulmates to link---the Spirit.

and maybe one day u wake up to see actually this side and the other side/after death becomes one.

[vespa68]

@TommyG. I lost a twin soul 2 years ago which was extremely painful. I agree with Tobi. I have in fact had a huge spiritual awakening and can say I am a medium now and also a healer. Love can create a bridge. I think if one were to commit suicide that person would have to go to counseling for a long time. I am not sure the 2 could be together. They would have to be on the same soul level. There is usually a reason that one stays behind on earth, to heal past karma.

[pomsmom]

Originally Posted by TommyG435

Very lucky. I class myself as one of the luckiest people in the world to have found someone to share such a deep profound love with that I can't even explain in words. It's a shame you've had no luck have you tried many?

Time does go fast, just not enough. I'm only 24 so it seems like a very long time yet :( is there no one who's had a similar experience to this ???

No, I have not tried many. I tried a few and when you are all excited about making a connection with a loved one then the medium turns out to have no clue it can be very depressing.

Yes, you are very lucky to have experienced that kind of love. When I was 24 I too thought that time does not go fast enough, and if someone told me it did I would scoff at them. I now know that it is true.

I have lost too, and it leaves a hole in your heart. I have said I can not wait to be with them again one day, but I know that if I loved someone and I died before them, I would want them to have a happy life and finish their journey before meeting up with me again, so our loved ones I am sure want the same thing for us.

If you commit suicide, you will still see your loved one on the other side. However, your relationship will not be as you wish. Here is my story, not to hijack but to answer your question, "is there no one who has had a similar experience to this?" This is part of the letter I wrote my now wife a few days after I had met her:

Tenement buildings lined the street lifting poverty and hopelessness to new heights. Amongst the rows of faceless cells, one stood out; it’s anonymity shattered by bright yellow curtains that framed its second story window. It was here that they had called home for the last twenty-two years. Inside, their sparse belongings filled the diminutive, confining rooms almost to a point of clutter.

Thin beige wallpaper, its flowery print barely visible, had ceased to cover the walls of the living room and had long since become part of them. Well-worn hardwood was partially covered by runners that protected against the ice-cold floors in the mornings. Facing the single window, a small couch monopolized the room; it’s original color lost forever to the fading of years and the plastic cover that helped obscure it. Over the back lay draped an heirloom blanket, a bit of embroidery visible out of the folds; lace doilies cover the armrests.

Helping to frame the room, a large chair, and the newest piece of furniture, designed for comfort, sat generally unused. It was the apartments one hint of material excess in a life that otherwise was devoid of such things. The kitchen began as an extension of the room, and cubby-holing toward the left and behind the wall. A small but heavy wooden table served to share meals and had, till a near miss with a spilled glass of water, been the perch for the true centerpiece of the home, the radio. Since then the radio had been relegated to a table of it’s own between the two rooms, away from any other such mishaps.

The kitchens deep sink served to wash vegetables and clothes, dishes and hair. A clothesline hung across the kitchen; the stove that heated the apartment drying them overnight. There was the water closet, past both stove and sink against the back wall that consisted of a toilet only. Back in the main room a door led to a small bedroom that fit little more than the full-sized bed pushed up against two walls.

Sisters-in-law by marriage, each were all the family the other had left after World War II claimed both of their husbands. Alone and grief-stricken, they turned to each other. Beyond their respective battles with grief however, was the practical challenge of survival without a military paycheck. Both women worked, but alone neither made enough to survive. The financial and emotional desperateness of the moment forced them to share a small apartment. Eventually, as the years passed and their friendship grew, what began as a temporary solution had become a permanent arrangement.

Both were affected so deeply by their losses that neither of them had ever remarried; neighbors and co-workers went so far as to avoid discussions of the war in their presence. Even all these years later, few were boorish enough to bring up the women’s painful pasts. Such was their lie.

Some details were true of course, truths woven into the fabric of the grand deception. But there were no brothers, no marriages. They were two young seamstresses working in the mills in the years before the war and had quickly become friends. There was Lauren who was stocky, brusque and brazen and her complete opposite Mary, who could only be described as mousy: skittish, quiet - even her features were mouse-like. Their friendship blossomed and threatened to become something more, something that it wasn’t safe to become in 1936. Eventually, love made good on it’s threat.

Late in 1941, Lauren got a job on the docks following the United States inception into the war. They began to plan moving in together and their story began to take form. Early in the Spring of ’42 they moved into the tenement building and the last home they would ever have. Mary had just lost her ‘husband’ to the attack on Pearl Harbor and was going to stay with Lauren and her ‘husband’ when her returned. Two years later, Lauren’s ‘husband’ died on the beach at Normandy. It was a good story.

In the meantime, their love grew. It was not a pretty love. It was not romantic in any generalized use of the word. Life was a constant struggle. But both grew through and from their love for each other over the next twenty-two years. In the ‘63 pre-holiday season, days before the Kennedy assassination, Mary fell sick brought on by complications from childhood illnesses that had never been treated. The doctor prescribed bed rest but no one had any misconceptions about the prognosis. He hesitated to say whether she would live long enough to see Christmas.

Lori, as only she called Lauren, worked all day only to rush home and spend the evenings caring for her and admonishing her, in a newly found gentle way, for the things she had done around the house instead of resting. Christmas passed, then the New Year and into spring. Soon, no admonishments were necessary as Mary became too weak to even leave bed. In the morning, Lori would carry her out to the couch and open the curtains while she made breakfast for both of them. She would spoon feed and encourage her to eat as she watched the pounds fall off an already frail frame. As she left for work every morning she begged,

“You wait for me baby. I’ll be home in a little bit. Don’t you leave me while I’m gone. Promise me.”

It became their ritual. Mary would always nod; manage a weak smile and promise. Every day was a challenge. She would rest throughout the day, flitting in and out of consciousness throughout the endless days. She often woke up frightened and calling out for Lori, stabbing fear that she had died and not kept her promise. Most days she awoke to Lori on her knees over her, coaxing her awake.

“I’m home baby; your Lori’s home. Wake up for me baby; look at me.”

To look at her one more time was the only thing that kept Mary going. It’s probably noteworthy that Lauren had always professed to hate the name ‘Lori’ and yet it was quite possibly the only thing Mary never backed down from. Lauren hadn’t used the name to describe herself in the twenty-eight years they had been together, until now. By the end of summer, Lori stopped carrying her back and forth from the bedroom to the couch and had taken to sleeping on the floor at the foot of the couch so she could be close to her. She would sit on the floor and stroke Mary’s hair until she gave way to sleep, finally laying down herself, a breath away.

Lori’s touch was comforting and Mary felt herself relaxing deeply. Gentle breaths giving way to long moments without...and then another unrushed, unhurried breath and… her consciousness rolled backwards.

All newborns enter the world screaming; I entered remembering why.

I was born into a blue-collar, Catholic universe. There was no paradigm upon which to lay my memories. I had been thrust confused into a world I did not know. Only my dreams made sense and I dreamt of her every night for seven years.

Speech didn’t come quickly or easily for me. I was almost two years old before I could put together the words and demanded to know, by name, where my love had gone; where she was.

“Mommy, where Lori?”

“We don’t know any Lori.”

“I WANT LORI!”

“There’s no Lori here honey!”

I had heard the whispering of my dreams; and refused to hear another sound. Of course I was taken to the doctors eventually. Tests were run, specialists consulted. Ultimately it was determined that nothing physically was wrong with me and I would talk when I was ready. It was over a year before I spoke another word.

Only a few people in my life have I trusted enough to tell that story, and no one has heard it in anywhere near as much detail. I’ve shared it with my friend Larry – but not Jim. My children know; my father does not.

Of the very few I have shared this with, the only common question is, “Have you met Lori in this life;” this, whether they believed in reincarnation or not. I’ve always said ‘no’ or ‘I don’t know’ – I certainly never thought that I had, but it begged the question, would I even know if I ran into her? A few days ago I was absolutely, unequivocally able to answer that question for myself. It is what I meant when I recently said to you, “It was that intuitive, childlike part of me that went nuts when it saw you for the first time yelling, “That’s her!” It was instant. There was no doubt.

I’m not asking you to believe any part of this. I am simply sharing that this is my reality, my highest truth. As a result, you can expect me to behave accordingly. The falling all over myself to write you every day, the trying to share my entire life’s story with you in a couple of days… you know. I behave as if I’m trying to catch up because to me, that’s exactly what I am doing. For most of my life I have been waiting and hoping. To be honest, I had given up hope and then, all my dreams came rushing back fulfilled.

If this is a completely foreign concept to you, then allow me to share a bit more. My belief system, my faith if you will, tells me that it is very likely that two people with such a bond as Mary and Lori will have a profound impact on each other’s subsequent lives. Profound can take many forms: parent/child, best friends, etc. They are not locked into the same type of relationship – which is good; I have a feeling I would fail miserably as a lesbian.

It hadn’t occurred to me until today but I find myself wondering, though you may be the wrong one to speculate about this with… ~smile~ … I’m seven years older than you which would mean (to me) that Lori would have had to have died when I was seven – the same time the dreams stopped. Which would answer the ‘why did they stop so suddenly’ question I’ve had for many years.

I took some liberties with a story I told you the other day. Before I close this, I want to rectify that. I named my first and second lessons in love. There was no other way to describe it without this explanation. Those were actually my second and third lessons. My memories of Lori were my first and the yardstick by which all subsequent relationships were judged.

Namaste. My soul greets your soul. This has taken on a whole new dimension for me. I love you at soul level. At the physical, human level I barely know you and yet, it is through my humanity, through Angel – that I feel the love for a soul that is wrapped up in Michelle. I’ve never felt anything like it. It took me a week to come up with the last four sentences. I have no more words.