veD OF aat'maa's (SOUL) TRAVELS IN THIS sNsaar OF BONDS OF MAAYAA.....A WESTERN PERSPECTIVE .....
Posted by Vishva News Reporter on May 5, 2004

aat`maa-saathi = SOUL MATES.....
HOW LONG DO THEY TRAVEL TOGETHER?

"The ties we forge with certain people
are created around gentleness of soul
and
 on levels we can barely perceive.
Friends come and go,
but it is these precious few from the past and of the present
 who help make sense of, and give comfort on this
unrelenting and mysterious trek toward old age."

How veDik is the above statement by Margaret McCoy...Those who study veD = SCIENCES OF CREATION AND LIFE on this PVAF web site would know what Margaret means......Margaret thinks soulmates reach out across decades....but veD tells humanity soulmates can not only reach out to each other but be with each other as spouses for seven life times or even for the entire klp of 4.32 billion years as is the case with vshiSH`TH-muni and his wife aruANdhaati.....

To continue reading Margaret in her article for Canadian Globe and Mail please click on the preceding red hilite or read it on this PVAF web site by clicking on the next line....



Soulmates reach out across the decades....
A few, precious people help us make sense of
this unrelenting and mysterious trek toward old age....
 in western civilization.


By MARGARET McCOY
Canadian Globe and Mail: Friday, April 30, 2004 - Page A22

I was roaming about the house at three in the morning, waiting for the chamomile tea to live up to its promise, and trying not to dwell on the horrors racing through my mind. Late night TV (even more scary than my angst-ridden thoughts) had no appeal, so I decided to check my e-mail.

The ghost in the machine began to take on a whole new meaning. A number of messages were from people whose names tickled the edge of my mind. People I knew in high school, people I hadn't seen or thought of in more than 30 years were 'just saying hi, here's a photograph,' and asking the usual: 'What have you been up to? Where do you live? Do you still drum?' Drum! I played drums? The messages evoked pale memories of summer evenings, sitting on the beach and talking over plans for the future, but I couldn't summon up any specific face or event from those days. All I remember about that last summer at home is the summer job (repairing books in the school library), the beach and waiting impatiently for my solo journey to begin. All of 17, and clothed (as Lynn Emanuel has it) in "elaborate nonchalance." The cold eye of middle-age sees these friendships as those of convenience. A group of teens held captive in a small town, making the best of a stifling situation. These were not the friends of my heart and soul, and so they faded away.

I did respond with a recap of the past 30 years. Startling, how one's life can be summed up in a sentence or two, and what a perfect way to attend my first and last high-school reunion.

The next night, an e-mail with a very familiar name arrived, that of my first serious love affair. University days, me living in a tiny, third-storey, walk-up flat. It was November, and I, ever the procrastinator, sat at the kitchen table, pounding out an essay on my Olivetti at two in the morning, drinking instant coffee made with hot tap water and chain smoking Rothman cigarettes. I had left the door open for air and a sense of space, and when I looked up from the page, a young man in the hall said, "You must be Pegi, I've heard a lot about you. I'm Andy, the house guest in 7-B." Indeed, Andy, long autumn-red hair, intense green-as-jade eyes, a great body and a book of e. e. cummings sticking out of his backpack. Thank you, great goddess. Cute, and likes poetry. I invited him in for a cup of coffee and we sat and talked until dawn, fell madly in love and stayed together for a year and a half. Then it ended. Changes, travel and other agendas. We were 20. I have a photograph. Life unfolded, and we fell out of touch with one another, but always he remained in my memory in the wonderful-men-I-have-known category.

The e-mail arrived and it took me three days to open it. Pounding heart, anxious and excited all at once. Why the anxiety? Haven't a clue, but I read his message and so many memories came blazing back. We now send e-mails to and fro, talk of our families, our personal lives, a haiku there, a political petition here. The bond that we created 30 years ago remains.

But who are we now? A person travels from 20 to 50 and certainly we change. Time and experience burnish and polish our psyches, hearts and souls to a deep patina not known in our youth. Yet here is this person who reappears in my reality, and I feel as if, perhaps, a week has passed since last we spoke. It must be that the connection we make with certain people over our lifetime is on a much deeper level than we realize. We have the good fortune to glimpse the soul or essence of another, and that is what lives in our hearts and memories, making reconnection easy and natural.

There is also an awakening of a younger self. Up she jumps from the shelf of Long Ago and tiptoes into this middle-aged life for a good look around. Amused, a little sad and ever hopeful.

Some think there is a danger in reconnecting with people from the past. One phone call and poof -- there goes your current marriage. A couple of e-mails and you're flying off to the long-awaited embrace of a long-lost love. I think not. Some people connect on a deeper level than the ordinary, but that doesn't mean that they want or need to live together. My ex-husband and I have remained close even though, or maybe because, we live 3,000 miles apart.

Though we do share the occasional dinner and monthly phone call, we have no desire to get back together. But what a warm and lovely place to drop in on once in a while. We've known one another for decades and we rely on one another the way old friends do.

The ties we forge with certain people are created around gentleness of soul and on levels we can barely perceive. Friends come and go, but it is these precious few from the past and of the present who help make sense of, and give comfort on this unrelenting and mysterious trek toward old age.

Margaret McCoy lives in West Vancouver.

 



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