Breathing Out, I Smile

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Engulfment Fears: Running Away from Love Grass is Greener Syndrome

Breathing Out, I Smile

Breathing out, I smile.

My entire being, a phrase I use far too often, a testament to the intensity of my emotions, urges me to text these words to him. It's been a week since I sent him a text breaking up. Insensitive way to do it, a decision for which I profusely apologized and offered reasonable terms for reconciliation, but it was too late. The damage had been done. Our fears had won.

Breathing out, I smile.

I'm flying to Georgia for a Steampunk convention, and I don't want to be here on this plane alone. These conventions feel increasingly pointless, as does my life, the book sales are so small. Still, this one is a special one, and I get to see one of my dearest friends.

But in the wake of the third heartbreak in fifteen months, I don't feel like strapping on a corset and posing for pictures all weekend. I feel like being unconscious. Perhaps even dead. Anything to end the struggle. The pain. The emptiness.

Breathing out, I smile.

I open a book by Thich Nhat Hanh entitled Be Free Where You Are to a random page. The words "Wonderful Moment" lines the top, followed by a meditation so similar to one my sweet auctioneer and I did together, I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

When I stayed with my sweet auctioneer, we'd wake together in the morning light and bask in each other's presence for at least a half hour before finally making love. Sex with him was always passionate, always present, and often spiritual. The profound connection between us was unlike that I had ever known.

Together, we'd glimpse heaven.

Afterward we'd meditate, reading a passage from Peace With Every Step, also by Hahn. Facing one other, each on a bolster block, we'd close our eyes and mindfully breathe together, attempting to quiet our minds and be present in the love between us. When the harp alarm on his iPhone rang, signifying the end of our meditation, we'd slowly open our eyes and regard the other in our peaceful presence. Such love emanated from his eyes, from mine, between and through and around us. For a moment or two we'd breathe in complete presence. I always stayed there as long as I could, basking…waiting for him to make the first move into the day. When he was ready, he'd place his hands on my thighs and kiss me, never breaking that intense eye contact. We'd rise up on our knees, pressing our bodies together in a loving embrace.

Cereal with almond milk on his terrace soon followed. He'd lean over to kiss me before the first bite. Such was our morning ritual together.

How I miss that beautiful dream we shared.

One of our first meditations was a simple one. He couldn't find the passage in the book, and he wanted to give me this gift of peace that had helped him so often in the past, so he paraphrased: "Breathing in, I know that I am breathing in. Breathing out, I smile."

That mediation has stayed with me ever since, opening my heart to him and to peace whenever I think of it. One day, while we were both traveling in opposite directions for work, I texted him those words. It was a reminder for me during a particularly stressful travel day, and it reached his phone during a rather stressful business day. Together, on opposite sides of the country, we shared a moment of presence. Of peace.

How I wish I could give that gift of peace once again today, while we both recover from the end of the gorgeous space and love we shared.

"Breathing out, I smile," I'd text if I had the courage. "Wishing you peace today and a beautiful weekend. My love for you hasn't waned."

Then I would ask him not to respond because as much as I want reconciliation, as much as I want him back in my arms, as much as I want to believe this is a pause and not a full stop, any response other than "let's find a way, I love you" would be too painful at this time. I know he desires space and time to process, and I do, too. I know he requires something I'm unable to give at this time and vice versa. I know he must feel sad at the loss of something so beautiful, and I want to offer him the peace I find so fleeting. However, hearing from me might be anything but peaceful to him, so I refrain.

Breathing out, I smile.

Those words give me hope, peace, mindful presence.

Those words fill the void with love and light.

Those words help me feel grateful for my consciousness and the life inside me.

Then, I no longer want to die or be unconscious.

I want to live and love and experience joy.

I want to bring the depth and intensity of the love I feel to others.

I want to help those struggling in pain and crippled by their fears, whether abandonment or engulfment, face and overcome them.

I want to continue my work in overcoming mine, in learning to manage my emotions, not only for the benefit of relationships with others, but for my own peace.

Breathing out, I smile.

Thank you for that gift of peace, my love, my sweet auctioneer who I hold so dear to my tender heart. I will always be grateful for the time and love we shared.

And I will always hope we can find a way through our fears and conflicting issues so that we can come back together in the beautiful love we share, knowing with everything I am what tore us apart is truly manageable and ultimately so insignificant. Knowing nothing is insurmountable in the face of true love, it's just a matter of learning.

Because that heaven we glimpsed together…

That is what's real.

Breathing out, I smile.