He is cringing already at the title, I just know it, but it is far too late — the word has been said, not once but many times and not just in jest but in the deeper truth that lies beneath the fear. Soulmate.

Not only have I never used this term with anyone in my long and not-so-illustrious relationship history, but I use it now with such certainty, such abandon, such restfulness that I can safely breathe past the wild pounding of my heart that tells me I am walking in uncharted territory. Soulmate.

Not only am I his soulmate but he is mine.

(Does that go without saying? Are there such things as unrequited soulmates? Is there anything more sad than that?)

My love, my beloved, walks with me in ways I have never before felt. Dreamed of, knew was possible, but never before experienced. Last week we walked in a literal circle, in a stalking meditation, around and around one another. This is a practice, the true effects of which we still have yet to learn, of increasing internal fire. I experience it as spiraling heart connection between us, growing stronger with every step. We practice this several times a week but last week I noticed how every step of mine was a step of his. We were perfectly matched, step for step. I felt his breath in mine, mine in his, our hearts beating in sync and our path the same, a growing spiral that emerged from some unseen central core, our lives linked in such a way that we met the day after last Thanksgiving. The shock of recognition of meeting someone I had never seen but who was already in my heart woke me up, seeing him standing that day on a porch in Seattle as I parked my car. The paths that drew us both to this place at this time were circuitous but sure. Step after step.


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