EULOGY - Red Heart Wallpaper Pt. 2

Love is the Soul’s light - Rumi

When my mother moved us from Detroit (Pontiac to be precise) to Minneapolis (new home, new city, new friends), to be closer to her family, she allowed me to choose my wallpaper. Little Freya chose red hearts. Two walls of red hearts. Soon after, my sheets, comforter and favorite earrings were all red hearts..

Ever and always, Love. Freya is, after all, the Goddess of Love.

The ending of my first Big Love; the ending of my marriage; the death of the Freya as wife; none of these life experiences have dented my belief in Love. In fact, each trial, each joy, each moment augments my fundamental faith that Love is the soul of the soul of the soul...our essence love. If I wrote that  choosing happiness, staying open and being vulnerable was easy, it wouldn’t be fair to anyone. Good stuff in life requires effort. Mostly I wake in the morning happy. Happy to have another day to try to be my best self. But, my heart has been broken, shattered, millions of shards dispersed by the ending of my marriage.

From a Broken Heart comes an even more open heart; from a broken heart comes an opportunity to venture even deeper inside. To be cracked apart like a seed. Death and life are synonymous with each other each ending a new beginning. So what died with Wife Freya instead are the sets of unwritten, unsaid expectations that come with what we are taught to believe is our role; the smiling wife taking care of shit. Those very expectations keep us from truly SEEING and EXPERIENCING the other person (partner, wife, friend, whomever). In that paradigm, our primary occupation consists of projecting what we think we need and SHOULD get from them that we stop paying attention to who they are and who they are perhaps becoming. Guilty as charged!

(I could write a whole book on how hard these same expectations are on men, but I will save that for another day).

I loved my husband. Our story didn’t begin with a “coup de foudre”. We smoldered for a few months until, pow! These months of our arly courtship were perfectly introverted and gloriously self-serving. We saw each other when I felt like it. When the POW happened, somehow I shifted into a learned behavior of martyrdom; his needs always trumped mine. That’s what I thought love meant. Can you relate?

I loved him so much, I crossed the Atlantic to find him. My passion so intense, I learned a new language so we could speak. My devotion complete, I took a new nationality so as to never be separated. Along the way, Freya got left behind. Giving and giving and giving, I got lost.

Generally speaking, giving comes naturally to me. On the other hand, receiving represents an uncomfortable terrain I have no idea how to navigate. In Love, I gave him everything. Some things which challenge me to receive: compliments, gifts, attention, help, a cooked meal, okay basically everything. But, he was good at giving to me. I miss the casualness with which we interacted. The knowing.

But, I know now that I loved him conditionally. And, He loved me conditionally. He put me on a pedestal. And, I wanted him to be someone he isn’t. We stopped listening. We stopped hearing. We made each other into caricatures. Broken Hearts mend not by fusing the pieces back together. Mending happens as a by product of opening and allowing in. Something new forms from the process.

Just because that phase ended, does not equate to anger for us as Co-parents or me as an individual. His happiness still is important to me but not in the same ways though. Our Cosmic Contract is completed, the path forward is a separate one linked by our child and all the happy memories. I commit to deleting all the negative thoughts; unless I start to repeat bad habits with someone new.

I’m learning Love again. Red heart wall paper. Practicing Unconditional Love, with myself, too. Trying to learn to receive. Freya shedding lifetimes of karmic energy. Freya emerging the unconditional Lover she always has been. Walking this path is where I belong.

“Love is the bridge between you and everything” - Rumi

Freya InannaComment