TWIN FLAMES

Vanessa and George are having a violent quarrel. But, in the middle of all that, they stop, forgive each other and speak to each other of God and the Soul.

TWIN FLAMES

A Short Story by Charles E.J. Moulton

 

“I’ve already lost, babe,” I told her. “You’ve already made up your mind that I am a brute who means to hurt you.”

Vanessa gave me the evil eye and ran up the stairs.

“I was talking to you,” I said, softly.

She came running down again. “Yes, I know. You talk all the time.”

She ran up again. I heard her frantically organizing something. I supposed it was her clothes. Was she packing? I stood there for one moment, thinking, remembering how scenes like these would’ve driven me crazy in earlier years. Okay, that crazy emotion was still there. I still hurt inside and the crazy feeling of being left alone and having her gone, if that were a threat, still almost made me want to hang myself. But it wasn’t as bad as before. Thank God, I had been able to control my temper and remain calm.

Vanessa nowadays really mostly complained that I was too calm. But, by Jove, what was I supposed to do? Go nuts over small things? I couldn’t. Man, I was neurotic enough. I had to calm down.

“Vanessa?”

“Leave me alone,” she spat. “Just leave me alone.”

“I just want to talk about this, babe.”

“Don’t be bothered if I put my earplugs in.”

I sighed, slumping down on the stairs.

“Holy moly, girl,” I sing-songed. “First you throw this whole thing on me, how awful I am, and then you won’t let me defend myself.”

Vanessa rushed from our bedroom, screaming.

“When I cry at night and you don’t even react, why are you married to me?”

“I didn’t hear you cry, I’m sorry,” I responded. “Don’t you think I would’ve comforted you if I would’ve heard you?”

“You went to the damn bathroom shortly before you came, when I was crying, George,” she cackled. “Don’t you tell me you didn’t hear me cry. I asked you to hold my hand and you pushed me away. Don’t tell me that was all in your sleep.”

“It was,” I answered and ran after her. “I am not the only one in this relationship that is responsible for mistakes. You wake up every morning, every single morning and are upset about something. You have no concept of remaining calm. You have to remain calm.”

“You are calm enough for both of us, Bubba,” she shouted. “I’ve had it with you.”

“Come on, Vanessa,” I responded. “I have no recollection of anything you tell me. I had a very strenuous evening yesterday at work.”

“Serving people beer and steaks, strenuous?”

“What the heck are you about, woman? You know what goes on in that place. We had three hundred guests there yesterday evening. One guy even threatened to bring his lawyer if I didn’t serve him his wine in five minutes.”

“He was probably right.”

“Why aren’t you ever on my side?” I screamed, running down the stairs and slamming the living room door. I was going to get it now. Holy cow. I heard her running down the stairs with the washing. I just couldn’t help myself. She opened the door and stared me right in the kisser, throwing the washing down upon the floor. Now, the underwear and the T-shirt were scattered everywhere.

“Okay, let’s have an open war, buddy,” she shouted. “I’m ready for that. I don’t believe you when you say that you didn’t feel me touching your hand and didn’t hear me crying. “

“I was drunk, Vanessa,” I responded, trying to touch her. She moved away.

“Don’t you dare touch me.”

“What is it with you? I was drunk yesterday. I sat there after coming home from that warzone they call the restaurant and I sat and watched TV and drank a whole bottle of wine.”

“You think that is good behavior? Drinking wine until you fall asleep.”

“It’s a lot of stress. You seem to hate me all the time. What am I supposed to do? I can’t sleep when I get home. My head is buzzing. We have so much noise over there. That music is so damn loud, the guests talk, the colleagues make dirty jokes and everyone wants their food quick.”

“Then don’t you ever dare complain again that I go to bed earlier than you.”

“Have I ever complained?”

“Oh, yes.”

“When, Vanessa, when?”

“Last week,” Vanessa spat. “You came home from the joint and …”

“Joint? The most expensive restaurant in town? Okay.”

“Get with it, George, you know what I mean.”

“No.”

“Can I tell you this or not?”

“Sure.”

“You came home and I went right to bed, you said that you wished I would stay up and talk to you.”

“Exactly, a wish. Not a demand. I wish you would.”

“I don’t have your working hours, George. I just don’t. I’m not like you. You live in your own world. You only think of yourself.”

“Wait, wait, wait, Vanessa,” I countered. “That is so totally unfair. I earn most of the money here. The job overthere gives me so much money, because of the fact that it really is the most expensive restaurant in town and I get loads of tips from customers.”

“And I do nothing, is that it?”

“Have I ever said that you do nothing? Did I ever say that? You cook, you wash, you vacuum, you shop, you clean up, you do the garden, you make the beds. I thank you for every meal you cook. Every time.”

“Then why don’t you just once come up to bed with me in your free evenings? Huh, George? Since my father’s death I have been so awfully depressed.”

“My mind is always set on these working hours, Vanessa. I have been working over there so long now. We close up at eleven and before I am home it is midnight and then I can’t sleep until two. I watch TV, I do some work in the internet. I will try. But I lay there awake, my body still pumping, I try to sleep. But my body won’t settle down.”

“I know how that is, George,” Vanessa answered. “I worked in the evening shift myself. I couldn’t sleep. It is just that I am so lonely up there.”

I took one step closer to her, trying to feel her aura. Was she open enough for me touch her? Maybe. I touched her arm. Yes, she accepted me now. I took her hand and kissed it. She looked down and sighed.

“I’m sorry for my outburst, George,” she said. “It is just that it hurt me that you pulled away your hand and ... so on.”

I sighed, looking at her.

“Don’t succumb to the cliché of blaming me just because I am a man.”

“What?”

She seemed surprised now.

“Cliché. Man? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Look,” I explained. “I just have the feeling that people are playing roles today. People think that men have to be egotistical b******s and women are victims and if anyone is to blame it is the man. What do you usually hear? Poor woman. Never: Poor man.”

Vanessa caressed me on my cheek. “I see what you mean. We are not stereotypes, George. I know you work hard. I also know that you didn’t mean to hurt me. I trust you. Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Let’s sit down.”

Vanessa sat down before me by the table. The wine bottle that waited there for us to consume it received superior treatment from Vanessa’s fingers. For some reason, there were two glasses there on the table. Vanessa took one of them and poured herself a glass of Rioja red wine. She raised her eyebrows, handing me the bottle.

“You want a glass?”

I nodded, closing my eyes.

She poured me a full glass.

“You wanna have a philosophical discussion?”

“Yes, I want to.”

“Go ahead.”

I took the challenge. “Emancipation, I said. Let’s talk about that, Vanessa.”

“Does that have anything to do with me?”

“Well, yes and no. I mean we are all part of the modern world. But let me tell you about a young girl that I saw in the subway the other day.”

“Okay.”

“She must’ve been about seventeen. Chique, cool, beautiful. She amazed me with such an arrogant attitude. Told her girlfriends: My boyfriend is so stupid. But he does everything for me, so I stay with him.”

“You don’t know her story.”

“Vanessa, think about that for a moment. That is a pretty mean comment right there.”

Vanessa nodded. “Yeah. Well, it is modern society.”

She took my hand. “I’m sorry I got so upset. I guess I have been under a lot of stress lately. I didn’t mean it. I ... well ... I have had some trouble with someone at work.”

I sighed. “Norman again?”

She nodded. “We are sending some breadrolls and cakes to the local community church and I did the mistake of staying with him yesterday and closing up, doing the books, what not. He pulled me in with his tractor beam, wondering why the heck we give that stuff to the church.”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Exactly, George. That church is the main welfare center for the homeless. Without them, hundreds of people would be without food.”

“Why does he always want to complain?”

“He said that the church has done so much ill through the years, the inquisition and the crucades and the Borgia popes and the Avignon split church and all that, that he doesn’t can’t believe in God anymore.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him that the church is not God and God is not some white bearded fellow in heaven who only works through the church. I told him that God is over all religions and is as much a part of us as we are of him. I told him that all men and women have free will and that we are here to work on certain tasks and missions. We are maybe even here to pay off a reincarnation debt, meeting someone that we met in an earlier life, someone we treated badly that we might want to help. You can’t blame God for the church. I told him that we are eternal souls with a mission and that we have always existed.”

“What did he say?”

“George,” Vanessa laughed. “Norman stood there for one moment opening and closing his mouth like some damn fish. He couldn’t believe that a deeply philosophical sermon came from a chick looking like me.”

“Long hair, C-cup, long legs and hot?”

“Yes, I mean, that guy is a stereotype, if anyone is. He only listens to dirty jokes, he will only look at sports, his highest cultural intrest, if any, is American Idol, and his idea of having a nice meal is one evening with his rude pals at a fast-food-diner. That guy drives me crazy.”

“How did you end up dealing with that guy?”

“I told him, he could at least give me an answer. Then, he laughed in my face and said that people should be there for themselves and that the church is just a representative for God and if they don’t do their job well, then it is God’s fault and that means God does not exist.”

“He doesn’t know anything about the concept of reincarnation and the fact that we might be here for a reason?”

“No.”

“Then, maybe, you should tell him about James Leininger.”

“Who?”

“This was a kid from San Fransisco. As soon as he started talking, he began talking about airplanes and fighter pilots and what have you. He told his parents that he had been shot down in Iwo Jima during an invasion on March 3^rd 1945 and that his name had been James Huston. They went to visit the deceased pilots sister Anne Baron, who told the family that all this boy had actually told them was true. I mean, this boy even knew the exact spot where he had been shot down.”

“Wow, that is amazing,” Vanessa said. “Are there more stories like this?”

“Sure,” I said. “Not a few. Many. I mean, there are so many stories about people who come up with things that they never could have known. So many, in fact, that it can’t be a coincidence. A guy I knew, who had a heart transplant, told me that he had seen his donor, an African-American woman, during the operation. They were both hovering over their bodies, Vanessa. He was never ever supposed to know who his donor was, but he knew. He couldn’t have.”

“This is fabulous. The evidence for reincarnation is overwhelming.”

“Kids who wander into strange houses, knowing a strange language and knowing everyone inside, telling the people living inside that grandpa is back.”

Vanessa sighed, one moment trying to digest what I was telling her.

“I do believe, though, George, that a lot of people are fed up with the church because of history. If I really believed that God was the church or if God only belonged to one confession, then I would be really mad at God or discard him if I saw that church behaving badly. It is quite sad that you find when people miss the point.”

I poured myself some wine, took a biscuit from the plate and munched.

I nodded. “There is no mention in the bible, for instance, of original sin. There is no mention in the bible that sex was the actual reason for the downfall. The awareness of Adam and Eve being naked was apparantly the beginning. And a lot of people don’t see how wonderful it would be if they realized we are all souls on a journey. The material world is only an illusion and God is as real as the moon or the sun. We are spirits and we have created religion to meet God. The books in the bible were inspired by God and written to have people come closer to God. I love Jesus. God, that man is so close to me. But I bet that if he sees what people have done in his name, he has to shake his proverbial head. When I read about that Borgia Pope Alexander and all his mistresses, I want to puke.”

“But this pope is good.”

“Yes. Yes, indeed. He is fabulous. No doubt. I mean, the church is behaving nowadays. At least, for the most part. There just could be more cooperation. Neale Donald Walsch seems to be an author with lots of intention to raise a global awareness.”

“Yeah, he is great. Or this ecumenic Buddhist confession.”

“Shinnyo-En. Yes. They meet with lots of religious beliefs. That is what we need.”

Vanessa looked at me and smiled.

“You know what I need?”

“What?”

“For you to forgive me.”

I nodded.

“And something else.”

“I need to make love to you, show you how much my soul wants our souls to mingle through our bodies.”

“Glad to oblige,” I said, smiled and kissed and kissed my wife gently on the lips. “There is nothing as sweet as nuptial bliss. Marital sensuality is still the best kind. We are twin flames, you know that?”

“Twin flames,” Vanessa said. “That is nice. Souls that are meant to be together. I’d like to twin flame you right now.”

And with that, we had completely forgotten our quarrel from before, inspired to loveone another by ways of angelic grace and a truly spiritual discussion.

We made love and then fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next day at work, Vanessa got a call from her annoying colleague Norman.

He asked her to give him some more information about the spirit and how God existed through all the forums of mankind. Vanessa told him that you can find God in a synagogue, in a mosque, in a Catholic Church, in a Shinto-Temple, in the confession of Shinnyo-En or in an evangelic church or even on a field of green or even in the arms of your loved one.

He smiled and told Vanessa that maybe he was going to ask his girlfriend to marry him, after all. After all, he added, shyly, he had always wanted a big church wedding.

The Lord works in mysterious ways.

Author's Note

This story is my comment to the importance of spirituality.