Our Story – A Journey into the Maze of Sacred Union PART I

Starting a circle

I don’t actually know how to start this story, it’s a bit funny. I must have written thousands and thousands of words, countless clear and thoughtful sentences over the years, but now, when I find myself at a major turning point in my life, I somehow struggle with the words. How to start? How to start? Maybe it’s better if we go back to the very beginning.

My wife and I were born in the same time period, she in 1989 and me in 1991, pretty close in age, same generation, same kind of culture, same kind of upbringing… kind of. Even though we were born close in time, we couldn’t have had more different lives. She was born in Africa, spending her first years, her entire childhood, growing up in southern Africa and me growing up in a city in southern Sweden. Close in time but far in distance.

Even though it might seem like our paths were highly unlikely to cross, we found ourselves close during several moments in time. We both went to Australia at the same time, living just a stone’s throw (in Australian measures) away from each other over 15 years ago. Several years later, we again found ourselves in extremely close relation to each other. Back in 2014, when I arrived at the Royal Barracks in our nation’s capital, Stockholm and first enlisted in the Royal Dragons, she was living in her apartment just five minutes away from me. So close, yet so far away.

I don’t know, maybe I am romanticizing it a bit, mixing up present-day emotions with distant memories but I somehow felt like there was a purpose not yet revealed when I went to sleep in the army barracks that summer of 2014. Some kind of sensation that I was very close now to something very special. Perhaps she felt the same, or maybe not. The important statement is that for two individuals who pretty much grew up over 5,000 miles apart for over ten years (that’s 8,310 km as the crow flies), living very different lives indeed, to then find themselves decades later, not only once and not only on one continent, but at two separate occasions at the exact same times, at the exact same spots: once in the southern lands of Australia and then again at the same proximity in Stockholm.

Why?

How can that be?

Or I could also ask myself how it could be that by the year 2020 we had both abandoned Stockholm. Both of us had made plans to move south in Sweden and at the very same time, both of us, in our separate spaces in time, had decided to end our current relationships, both running for years and both highly negative for us in many different ways. 

Both of us, in a sense, gave up our current lives, took our packs and headed out in search of something old, new? I don’t know. Perhaps something different, or perhaps something very familiar.

When I finally chose myself after years of struggling to get out of my previous relationship, I had but one desire: to be as free as the wind, to breathe free air once again and to, hold onto your hats, to walk the length of the country of Sweden, from south to north. I don’t actually know why I felt like I wanted to do it. I had given away most of my belongings and quit both my school and my job and I suppose I wanted something unusual.

At the start of the summer, I stayed with a friend in Gothenburg for a few weeks. 

This was very healing in many ways for me. At the very beginning of actually taking the step out and leaving something and in this case, someone, was a major turning point for me. That had been my crutch for years: self-sacrifice. By choosing not to do that, I understood that I didn’t have to bleed to serve, that I could give from fullness instead of obligation and by choosing me, I was actually free to choose what would essentially take both me and my wife down a very intriguing path.

I was, however, very low the first few days and my dear friend did a hell of a job cheering me up. We drank beer in his apartment, talked about old memories (we’ve been friends since we were seven years old, so we share a lot of time in this lifetime), and laughed about everything. Then he got the idea that, as a newly single guy for the first time in many years, I should start a Tinder account. I wasn’t actually too keen on the idea, not that I didn’t like dating, it just felt a bit wrong and perhaps I wasn’t really in the mood, but I didn’t say no either. So Tinder, here I came.

I must say, I was surprised at how much I actually enjoyed it. The meeting of new people, those that might never have crossed my path, conversations, laughter and of course intimate encounters. It all felt so liberating, just enjoying life for a second without obligations, not taking it so damn seriously all the time.

It was at that moment that I started writing with a woman called Rebecca. She wore a white medical coat in her profile picture and had the most charming smile with the biggest, kindest eyes I have ever seen. It wasn’t, however, her appearance that caught my smile, it was the way she replied. I sent her a GIF (I don’t actually remember what it was, but it was something a bit funny) and she instantly replied with another GIF as a response. And so it went on: a whole start of a conversation expressed through GIFs.

I’m unsure how far we got before we actually started using real words, but by then I was, looking back now, smitten by her humor and her down-to-earth, easygoing logic and approach to life. We started writing to each other almost every day (she even named me “the GIF guy” behind my back, of course). We didn’t actually meet up since she lived in a different city, so it was strictly a phone conversation.

We eventually started talking about deeper stuff and I told her my plan for the summer, that I would hike the length of the country starting from the south. She was truly intrigued and it felt so nice having her cheer me on and encourage me. She even made a joke, though I suppose she might have been sincere, that she was going to fly to Kebnekaise and meet up with me at the end of my journey.

Eventually, when it came to the point of actually meeting up, she asked me if, when I had started my journey, I wanted to come by her place since her town was on the way north. I thought about it for a second and wholeheartedly said, “Hell yeah.”

I started walking from my hometown, stopping by in the middle of the journey to visit my father and then pushing on through pouring rain (I shit you not, as soon as I left my father’s place, it rained almost constantly all the way to Rebecca). Walking into town and following her directions on how to get to her place made my heart feel very warm. I have been in love many times in my life and had strong feelings; it’s easy for me to love and like people. But this time felt very different.

I remember it like it was yesterday. When I walked down the street, the same street where our son would be born years later and the door to the building opened, there stood a woman smiling broadly with pearly white teeth and dimples. A young woman who smiled not only with her mouth but with her eyes and what I can only describe as her heart as well. She said, “So, are you Robin, eh?” with a small, cautious laugh.

Something within me felt different at that very moment. I smiled and said something like, “Yeah, in the flesh and spirit,” or something like that. She invited me in and all of a sudden I found myself in the presence of someone who had taken great care in preparing this meeting for us.

She jokingly said that if we wanted, I was welcome to stay the night in her apartment, and if we fancied it, we could hang out on the beach the next day. The town where we met was famous for a really nice beach and she had told me over the phone that there were a lot of sand dunes there so we wouldn’t be disturbed. Then she caught herself with how funny that sounded and said, “Oh, well, haha, I didn’t mean it like that argh, haha.” My entire being smiled just listening to her.

It’s so funny, having left pretty much everything behind and deciding to simply walk out of my past history like a vagabond with no direction or goal, simply being in the present moment. Up until that point, I could honestly say I wasn’t too deep into spirituality. I’ve always been drawn to the mysterious and listened with great care when stories of past legends and myths appeared in my life. Anyway…

…Back to the story.

We shared the most magical day together, a day that could easily have been an entire lifetime. She brought so much of what I used to love back into my life: laughter (and I also mean politically incorrect jokes). There was no need for masks or roles. It really felt like I could just be me and that was more than enough.

For the first time in my life, a woman took me out for food. She arranged everything so perfectly and even said she bought shower supplies just for me. We talked for hours, spent more time on the beach (got really sunburnt, both of us and ended up in her kitchen drinking wine and talking about pretty much everything, high and low. I remember to this day that being in her presence felt very much like coming home after a long and sometimes dangerous journey.

I knew she was into yoga, breathwork, and even tantra, she mentioned it pretty early on. Back then, I couldn’t say I knew much more than the average presumptions, but being open as part of one’s personality meant saying yes to things, even when they were scary or uncomfortable. For crying out loud, I had spent years in the Royal Marines up in Stockholm (I don’t know if that was bravery or just being a naive fool).

This moment, however, was the first.

I remember asking her if she wanted to show me some kind of tantric practice or exercise and after some consideration, she agreed. I was told to stay in the kitchen while she prepared the space in the living room. There I sat, eager and a little nervous, I might add. She spent what must have been only fifteen minutes preparing, but to me it felt like hours.

Strange how meeting someone for the very first time could leave such a grand imprint on you, that already after just one tiny day spent together, such strong feelings would arise.

I missed her. Crazy as it sounds, I already missed her.

She rummaged around the living room for a while and my mind was racing. I jokingly thought to myself: what if she was preparing me for some kind of ritualistic sacrifice to the heathen tantric gods? Me being lured in and prepared to end my life in a mix of hot Kabbalistic, animal-like sex before my impending doom. I smiled at that thought and chuckled, well, if we all have to go someday, I wouldn’t mind if it ended like that.

She opened the door, smiled and said it was ready. What a sight. She had prepared everything with such diligence. There was a yoga mat laid out in the center of the room, with lit candles around it creating a cozy and warm feeling. She lit some incense and then asked me to come onto the mat with her. We sat down, and she introduced me to a very basic but powerful tantric practice called eye-gazing, where you pretty much lock eyes with each other. That can be a pretty intimate and scary thing to do, since most people avoid eye contact in everyday life. But there we sat, looking into her warm and cheerful eyes.

Then she asked if I wanted to try a sharing, which she explained was also a kind of basic practice, where you pretty much just ask the other person a question. It could be anything, from “How are you feeling right now?” to much deeper things.

I started and to my surprise, the only question that arose in my mind was: “What is the toughest thing you have ever been through?”

That question alone opened something I did not expect.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and a moment to collect herself.

Then she opened her eyes and told the most horrifying tale of what happened to a young and eager woman during her solo travels in Australia where she was seduced by a man who kept her as a slave, tormented her, tortured her and raped her. A grueling story of innocence trying to be broken down by malicious forces. The story was far more graphic than the brief recall I’ve shared here.

Tears found their way down her cheeks as she told me her story and me, I simply sat there. Every inch of my body and soul wanted to go to her, hold her tight and tell her that I wished I could undo it all. But I didn’t. I simply sat, respecting her space and honoring her decision to share. In a tantric sharing, there is no demand, you don’t have to share anything. It’s always a choice.

As she was about to finish, she closed her eyes again, wiped away her tears and took another deep inhale.

Then she said she was done.

I thanked her, mimicking her namaste (remember, I was still uninitiated back then, so I did my best). After the sharing, she said aloud, “Wow, I didn’t really think I was going to share that with you. That story I’ve only shared with very few people.”

I took her hands in mine and smiled, saying, “Thank you for sharing.”

And I thought to myself: I choose you.

(The Photo is from that very first day, the ones to the left are of me just hours away from her and the right one depicting the beer bottles is from an image she sent me, calling it: Your treat when you arrive :)

:)