Pilgrimage of Love

By Anaiya Sophia

Does “The One” truly exist?
This is the question that Scarlett O'Shea attempts to answer in this passionate, inspiring, and life-changing story of finding her Beloved. As she travels around the world calling in “The One”, an orchestra of events is set in motion that brings about their destined meeting. Along the way, she discovers that her Beloved (who is an well-known International “spiritual” teacher) is far more demanding than her international celebrity yoga lifestyle could have ever imagined. With flames licking at her heels, he invites Scarlett to leave her old life behind so she can fulfill her desire to know what happens when you say “Yes!” to love, no matter what the cost!
Ride the twists and turns of this rollercoaster in this hilarious, irresistibly romantic, and soulful journey. Pilgrimage of Love is a tale that will have you believing in love all over again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781291866322

Anaiya Sophia

Anaiya Sophia is a mystic, author and initiator of Sacred Marriage. She is a wellspring of both wisdom and experience and is known for her role in birthing New Paradigm Relationships, Divine Sexuality and the Awakening of the Sacred Body. Her books include Open your Heart with Kundalini Yoga, Pilgrimage of Love, Womb Wisdom, Sacred Sexual Union, The Rose Knight, and Sacred Relationships: The Practice of Intimate Erotic Love. She lives in the Occitan region of Southern France with her beloved.

Book preview

Beloved Journey Warning

Make sure you are seated comfortably, and your seat belt is securely fastened before we take off. Please pay no attention whatsoever to the emergency exits, as they won't open in time. However, an oxygen mask may drop down above your head in the extreme case of an emergency. There are no life jackets under your seat, as I do not find value in safety, but rather encourage all passengers to freely jump into the eye of the awaiting storm.

Are you ready?!

You are about to enter the roller coaster of Love, the most wild and dangerous of all rides that will send you heart first into a labyrinth of the most inflamed passion and rapturous love.

Everyone may have a Beloved, but whether they meet him or her in person is an entirely different matter. It used to be said that only a handful of people at one given time would meet their Beloved. Most of the time one of them would be incarnated on Earth, while the other would be a million galaxies away, guiding the other through life's challenges. There was, however, a price to be paid for those who met in person. That price was that they would only be together for a tragically short amount of time. Yet these Beloveds would stand out and mark the significant times within our history. I'm sure you're familiar with many of them: Solomon and Sheba, Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene, Anthony and Cleopatra, Helen of Troy and Paris, and more recently Romeo and Juliet.

Now, all of this is changing.

You will know, like I did, whether you are destined to meet your Beloved or not in this lifetime. I also know that by reading this book the vibration of its message will align and awaken within you the powerful magnetism that it takes to discover either your Beloved or Soul Mate. We'll cover both, as they are gifts from the heavens whose chance meetings are filled with grace.

The moment you meet, you know.

The moment you know, you meet.

When the time is ready, no one can prevent it. Not even you.

Below are my 'spiritually serious' (insert serious, straight-laced voice here) descriptions of the words Soul Mate and Beloved, so you can understand for yourself and navigate where you are in your current relationships. Please note: this journey is not for the faint hearted or the weak in spirit, as it takes balls and bravery, gentleness and genuineness to walk this path. When you pick up the gauntlet I have laid down for you, you may experience a love beyond words, a love that wipes clean all and every disappointment. You will discover the quality of love and intimacy that inspires the realization of all realizations, Oh, so that's what it's all about.

If I were to tell you now all of the twists and turns—all of the drama, all of the new and varied ways of making love—it would ruin your read. So I'll just say this: the chances of finding The One are increasing, and that's where you come in. By the end of this book you are going to be invited to embark on your own personal pilgrimage. And I have no doubt that you're ready for this, because you would not be reading this book if you weren't.

Sit back, relax, and enjoy the journey that is about to unfold, because soon it will be your turn.

Below are the definitions for both Soul Mate and Beloved. Let these definitions guide you, so you can feel into the possibility of merging with your Soul Mate(s) or Beloved in this lifetime.

You're being called. can you hear it?

Just say, yes!

Soul Mates

Soul Mates are souls that have been created within a soul family, so there is a family-type feeling of coming together. When you meet one another there is recognition, a familiarity that brings with it a wondrous joy and feeling of 'belonging.' Soul Mates are in each other's lives to offer support, love, and richness. There is a timeless feeling when together that is often acknowledged through the words, feels like I have known you forever. All Soul Mate relationships are for the purpose of spiritual growth, and the deepening and expanding of all spiritual attributes. Soul Mates teach each other how to love themselves and then how to love each other, thereby creating the most ideal situation for a conscious family. Not all Soul Mate reunions are sexual; there can be a genuine experience of having a purely platonic relationship where one actually places the needs and wants of their Soul Mate before their own. They can literally serve one another for years as they learn to embody unconditional love. Soul Mates prepare us for union with our Beloved, either in this lifetime or the next.

Hallmarks of a Soul Mate

A warm and comfortable feeling when together. A slow start with less intensity and conflict. Feelings of support, friendship, family, and familiarity. A strong attraction, you may adore and love the way they look, enjoying their entire being. But you will always be two, keeping your separate identities very much intact. No desire to merge; happy and content to enjoy individuality and two-ness.

Beloveds

Now, Beloveds are a whole other type of relationship. First, let's take a closer look at the word Beloved. Watch this: Be 'love' d. Yes, that's right, the Beloved will do everything and anything to push and pull you around your so-called neat, safe, and organized life, until you simply become LOVE. This is no walk in the park ladies and gentleman, this is The Full Monty. Only those prepared to 'bare all' will come out on top! But, don't be scared—the payoff is worth every bit of it.

Beloveds are two halves of the same soul brought together for the purpose of making an obvious difference in the world. For those meant to join with their Beloved, the incessant throbbing of desire and longing for the other is never far beneath the subconscious. They constantly crave a deeper, more meaningful love and will settle at nothing to find it. Beloved love is always steadfast and enduring. They are unable to not love one another; their love is eternal and continues way beyond their human experiences. They unite when there is important spiritual work or collaboration to be done, and there is a readiness and willingness to understand the full breadth of human connection. Both will carry out a mission together for the benefit of mankind.

When Beloveds come together, similar to Soul Mates, they act as two mirrors. But unlike Soul Mates, Beloveds reflect back each other's shadow self for the ultimate goal of perfect polarity integration, or ultimate unity. This can be a huge task for human beings, as we have learned so many ways of staying safe and protecting ourselves from being hurt. But this is the gift of the Beloved. The Beloved frees you from the controlling powers of the mind and sends you heart first into the ecstatic joys of the liberated heart, once you have faced and gone through a few select initiations (more on that to follow!).

Those who live lives of emotional detachment often do so when they are unable or unwilling to face their Beloved. It can be an overwhelming, life-altering experience to come face-to-face with the other half of your soul. Many people flee in emotional terror and allow emotional baggage to destroy the process. But when they accept this beautiful opportunity, it can be the most intensely transformative and powerful experience a person can have. Whatever the case, there is no force on Earth that can keep Beloveds apart—but emotional soul injuries can injure or even delay a reunion lifetime after lifetime.

Hallmarks of a Beloved

It is usually intense, challenging, light and dark, polar opposites of each other, with near Hollywood style showdowns happening within a highly attracting energetic field that you cannot fight against or deny. Every type of duality (pairs of opposites) will be played out, until there is nothing left but love, and an incredible desire to merge and become one. The idea of being two is completely repelling. Beloveds yearn to merge into one. It is their natural state.

Some people say that a Soul Mate is the starter, while the Beloved is the main course. I say they both taste good to me!

Are you ready to begin?

Chapter One

Shamballa Urban Retreat

The Metropolitan Hotel,

Park Lane, London. October 2007

The minute I heard my first love story

I started looking for you,

not knowing how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.

They're in each other all along.

—Rumi

Inhale deeply, and exhale completely. Allow your breath to dissolve all the stress and tension from your shoulders and neck; let it all go. Breathe out all your worries, anxieties, and fear. As you begin to breathe in, experience the possibility of something new being born within you.

I smiled as I watched this small group of people get comfortable as they left behind their high maintenance lifestyle, six-figure salaries and twenty-four seven careers, and drifted into a world of carefree peace and harmony; a place free from demands, free from their everyday identity, and full of new possibilities. In normal life they were high-flying international peacekeepers for the United Nations. Here in this moment, they had become the peace they were keeping as their deep purple fleece blankets emblazoned with the gold Metropolitan Hotel logo covered their blissed-out bodies. I watched from afar as all traces of stress dissolved from their faces, and smiled inwardly knowing the magic was working.

I had been teaching yoga for twelve years all over the world, and my clients read like a who's who in the latest copy of Hello magazine. I was now a private teacher for The Metropolitan Hotel in Park Lane, London, perhaps one of the trendiest and most expensive hotels in one of the most expensive cities in the world, the home away from home of the of A-list. This enviable position magically placed in my hands a year-long VIP pass for The Met Bar, the chic, glamorous hang out of the young and beautiful it crowd, along with a free room at the hotel whenever I wanted, discounts worldwide throughout their chain of hotels, free membership at London's infamous Yacht Clubs, and of course teaching the most high calibre guests at their sister resorts in Mauritius, the Seychelles, and Bali.

Celebrities and millionaires weren't the most grateful of students as I reflected back on the many divas and gangstas I had worked with over the years, like the Iranian Princess, who lived on the entire top floor of the Halkin Hotel, in London's Hyde Park Corner. She moaned and complained her way through every session, often getting up in the middle of class to answer her mobile and then have a complete hissy fit with the person on the other end. She had everything going for her and it didn't look like it was about to run out. She was young, beautiful, infinitely wealthy, and healthy. Yet her attitude towards life was that of a spoiled, pain in the ass teenager.

Then there was the cast of American Pie. These guys were hilarious to teach, just like their characters in the film, cracking jokes at anything that even hinted at having a possible sexual association. Inhale and lift up your breastbone, exhale and squeeze your anus, bend over all the way, became the green light for an all out side-splitting, pant-wetting frenzy. And of course, there was a certain American actress, who we all know as the star on the TV series Dallas. She would come to class totally made up, not a hair out of place, resulting in her refusal to do anything that messed up her hair, made her sweat, or go red in the face.

Why did these women and men who seemingly had everything come to me? Because I shared with them a feeling of joy, of freedom that their bulging bank accounts couldn't buy. I guided them to places deep inside themselves where they finally found some inner peace and felt waves of love that didn't have conditions attached to it. My classes were renowned for my dynamic style and love of music. My clients would enter a world of sound, magic, and movement that stimulated their every sense. Their ears would soak up the most exquisite soundscapes while their noses would draw in the delicate scents of hand-rolled Balinese incense.

All my classes were in candlelight, as I whispered out the words that guided them to that tangible peace, that place where their true selves could be felt and relaxed into, and then taken into their hearts where they could rest forever more, and slowly over time forgive all past grievances. Over my twelve years of teaching, I did this again and again; and the people just kept on coming as my reputation reached the furthest shores. My email inbox was full, my mobile glowed red with messages, and invites kept on appearing. But I left one person out, someone who came to every single one of my classes.

Myself.

I was not free. I was not at peace, because I knew I was living a lie. Like my A-list clients I had it all, and in the end it meant nothing. This lie was the pretense that I was content. As I climbed the ladder of success and prosperity, slowly my dreams of finding the one began to subtly diminish. I was beginning to accept that maybe we would not meet one another, that I had fabricated the whole thing. That is what I was telling myself, but I knew deep down this was untrue. I couldn't understand why we hadn't met yet, and to be honest I was more than a little pissed off with God for not orchestrating the answer to my prayers.

So, I transformed my frustration by teaching yoga, and giving all that I was in the process. I left absolutely no space to even receive love. Every waking moment of my life was consumed with service, which worked brilliantly for a while until one day I realized I had sold out on my quest and settled for second best. I had been living with this lie for over twenty years, and as every week passed it grew stronger, its voice louder. I had taken a role in life I knew was for someone else, and I had woven myself so tightly into this life that I did not even know how to begin to unravel myself. By the time I was thirty-eight, I was comfortably stuck, nicely trapped, and absolutely stagnant.

Great!

Life ends (or does it begin) at forty? From where I was standing I had little more than a year to go until it was over—unless I did something radical to change my life.

break

Slowly begin to come back into your bodies, inhaling deeply and exhaling completely. Gently start to rotate your fingers and toes as you inhale and stretch out your whole body. When you feel ready, come up into a seated position as you slowly bow your head over to end the class.

After a few minutes an ocean of smiling, radiating faces beamed back at me from inside the Shamballa Urban Retreat. The group was made up of four men and two women. One of the women was a gorgeous African American lady named Prudence. Imagine Oprah meets Dolly Parton. She was athletic, warm, beautiful, full of happiness, and possessed that certain star quality which Oprah and Dolly exude. The moment I saw her, I was hooked. She was fantastic, and no doubt the United Nations prize negotiator. She would win my vote any day. There was a certain sense of trust about her; she bestowed good feelings to all around. I watched her move around the room as she rolled up her mat and placed it in the corner. I felt as if she had something important to tell me, like I knew her from. before.

Scarlett, say you will stay and have drinks with us tonight honey? she crooned in her southern belle accent.

My eyes widened excitedly, as an, I'd love to, tumbled out of my naturally glossed lips. I rolled my yoga mat up and pushed it inside my Prada bag, pulled on my Donna Karen ankle length cashmere cardigan and released my hair from its topknot. I glanced at the floor length mirror as we left the room, and ruffled my golden tumbling curls over to one shoulder. We all went straight downstairs to The Met Bar; it was early evening so we had the place to ourselves. I made sure I sat next to Prudence as the guys went to order drinks.

I so loved your class, she eagerly told me. It reminded me of a feeling I had when I was on vacation three years ago.

She drifted off for a moment. I watched her eyes move away from mine, as she glanced out the window. She brushed her fingertips against her lips as if she was contemplating something important. She hummed to herself and turned back. The guys came back with the drinks and the table sprang to life, as they chatted busily about their upcoming meeting tomorrow in the city. I had no idea what their meeting was about; all I could gather was that the very best men and women had been sent to seal the deal. Prudence kept including me in the conversation, asking my opinion on how they could compose themselves before the meeting. How to remain centered and focused, yet powerfully clear with their colleagues. After an hour or so, I started to think about getting home.

I was beginning to get my things together when Prudence dropped the time bomb, Scarlett, are you married? Or do you have a partner at home?

It's the question of my life right now, I thought to myself.

Yes, I am in a relationship, I told her, but it's nothing terribly serious. I don't really have any time outside all my teaching hours, plus I'm often traveling.

I tried hard not to let my voice give away my bottomless pit of emptiness, revealing the truth of my seemingly perfect existence. Although surrounded by people, and adoring ones at that, nothing could fill the space that ached to meet my Beloved. I knew I was missing a massive part of my purpose. After years of half-hearted relationships and lively conversations into the night with girlfriends, at the end of the day they all seemed to point towards the idea that 'The One' does not exist. It was as if I was the only person alive who felt that 'The One' was still a possibility.

One spiritual teacher after the other would tell me that this longing was for the love of God, that what I really wanted was to return to the Source. Return to the Source?! I am the source! I would humbly yell, realizing yet again that no one could understand unless they had met theirs. What do they know? I muttered to myself as I left their white washed angelic sanctuaries behind, closing the door on their spiritual advice.

I knew I had to go it alone. But the question was, where?

Mmm. that doesn't feel right to me sweetheart, a woman like you needs to find her Beloved, she needs to find The One.

Prudence's eyes shone like torches straight into mine. It could have been the candles flickering on the table between us, or quite possibly the wine she was drinking. But she had suddenly transformed into a modern day goddess before my very eyes. Her eyes glinted with knowingness, and suddenly I was all ears.

This was the first time in my life that someone suggested that they knew my plight. It was as if she could see straight through into my soul. The tension mounted, and I had to seize the moment. I could feel that a special turn of events was about to unfold. This one sentence alone was causing a chain reaction inside of me that was beginning to challenge me to find 'The One' by listening to that place in my heart that I had silenced by settling for second best.

Do you ever have that feeling, that there is one who searches for you, as much as you search for him? she asked.

My heart began to beat wildly; I pulled up my seat to get even closer to her. What do you know about this? I demanded—in the nicest possible way, of course, without actually kidnapping her and holding her hostage until she told me everything.

She looked around at her colleagues, making sure they weren't listening to our conversation. She moved closer to me, as our backs began to turn ever so slightly away from the others.

Three summers ago I was in Montpellier in the South of France with my girlfriend, she whispered. One night we were at a local restaurant, and the owner came over to our table and began to speak about the area. He told us that this part of France had a legend that had many flocking to the region for centuries, she continued.

I drew closer still, casting one more look over my shoulder at the others who were in the process of getting up to order another round of drinks.

My friend Jenny was in the beginning stages of romance with her boyfriend and was constantly outside on the mobile. She got a call just then. Maybe he felt sorry for me sitting alone, I'm not sure, but he pulled up a chair and sat down.

He told me there was a mountain, and the path up that mountain was known as The Pilgrimage of Love. The Mountain was called, Mont de Coeur—The Mountain of One Heart. At the top of the mountain, was a cave, called The Cave of The Beloved. The legend continues that whomever walks up that mountain, reaches the top, goes into the cave, and sincerely prays to find The One, will do so within one full year. Prudence took a few sips of her wine, as if dying of thirst. Not only that, I remembered what the old man said, and decided to go.

Prudence excitedly picked up the pace as she told me how she climbed to the very top, climbed inside the cave, and shouted out. God knows to who or what she was shouting out to, but she demanded with all her power to meet The One she had been waiting for her entire life! She loved telling this story, I could tell. I wonder if she loved telling it as much as I adored listening to it.

Go on, go on, what happened? Did you meet him? I nearly stood up and called for silence in the bar. My heart was pounding with anticipation.

Oh yes, I met him. Within six months to the day that I took that hike, she breathed like air escaping from a deflating balloon, as her voice got lower and quieter.

Whoa. I slumped back into my chair.

The legend continues to say that whoever climbs the mountain, must tell one other of its existence, but only ever one. You have to know exactly who to tell, or the mountain will lose its power, she looked down into her glass, slightly frowning.

How do you know who the right person is to tell? I asked.

You have to know that the person you tell is ready to hear, and willing to climb within nine months of being told. If the story falls on deaf ears, then the legend is lost to story books and fire side magic, she said, brushing the stem of her glass as she looked sideways at me.

My mind raced; images, memories, feelings, emotion, heart beating, beating, beating.Get your diary! Nine months time, tell one other, Mont de Coeur, near Montpellier, South of France. Who do I know there? 9 months, 9 months, I worked it out in my head right then—it was July. I must be there by the middle of July!

I had this feeling all night that Prudence had something to tell me. How did she know? How could she know?

I promise to go! I swore to her.

She took my hand and whispered in my ear, I knew you would!

We exchanged emails, and I vowed to keep her posted on all that happened as the future began to unfold. I hurriedly said goodbye to my new one-off friends, yet knew that Prudence's influence on me would last a lifetime. I took the stairs down to the underground parking, to where my cute little red MG Roadster was waiting to take me home. Home? I don't have a home, I thought to myself. Home is where the heart is, that warm, comforting, nest-like place that is your sanctuary, where you share your life with the one you love.

But I didn't have a home. I had a house, a place where I lived with my thirty-five year-old boyfriend, who had been gifted with the emotional capacity of a twelve year-old. Danny was a great guy, but we seemed to have our roles back to front. I worked all day, every day while he sat at home. I am driven and focused, he is confused and lazy. I want to grow and explore myself; he would rather not know what lurks in there. I have had enough of sex and was now ready to explore the depths and mysteries of actually making love; whereas he would rather I put on a fluffy pink bikini and crawl around on all fours.

Of course, appearances can be deceiving. Looking in from the outside you would see a gorgeous rambling old renovated barn in the rolling hills of the English countryside. Soft willow trees flanked the entrance, birds at the windowsills, horses in the next-door field, where they also bred dogs and furless cats. Yes, it sure did look like heaven, but the moment I entered that front door, the dream fragmented into a million pieces, as did my heart. Oh, and the renovated barn? Well that belonged to his parents, adding yet another reason why it could never quite feel like home.

I unlocked the door of my car and jumped in. I turned the ignition, and nearly blew my ears off. I'd taken to playing my music loudly to drown out my problems, often forgetting to turn it down. I had to sort that out—either the problem or the volume. Which one would it be? So far, I had decided I would stick to the volume. But after my discussion with Prudence, things would have to change.

I drove up to Hyde Park Corner, past the Iranian Princess palace and took the road towards Harrods. It was a beautiful evening, the golden street lights gracing the stores and welcoming bars. The traffic was slow; it was a Friday and everyone was out on the streets making the most of one of the last warm autumn evenings.

Louder, louder, as if you have a choice, even if you cannot hear my voice I'll be right beside you dear.

Snow Patrol's soothing tones filled the car and tore at my heart. This singer knew about my pain, he knew about the yawning black hole I was heading towards; he knew I couldn't bear it much longer.

And to think that I won't get to see those eyes, as we say our last goodbyes...

A huge wave of contracted heartache moved up through my throat and escaped from my mouth as I felt an inner wail of separation and loneliness. The roof was down on the car, but I didn't care as I turned the volume up loud enough for the whole of London to hear. Please find me! I pleaded.I know you can hear me!

I had been twisting and turning in a space that was too small. My life felt like sand falling through my fingers, with my heart losing the last shreds of hope. The weight of it all began to pull me under. No one knew how I felt; my best friend just thought of me as extremely fussy, while my mother was sure no one could ever keep me interested.

You'll get bored in the end, you always do darling, was her latest nugget of wisdom.

Inside I felt so unmistakably miserable, so unsatisfied and distant with my boyfriend, my life was empty, and I was absolutely terrified it would stay this way forever. All I knew was that I missed someone so badly that it constantly ached inside my heart. The MG stretched out onto the M4 and purred as she headed west out of London. As the three-hour drive loomed in front of me, my mind began to drift back to my early childhood and teenage years.

I had my first heartbreak at the age of thirteen. I was only a child when I discovered that my handsome, older and blonder boyfriend, also known as the be all and end all of the teenage years, had another girlfriend. I found out by looking through his bedside drawer one Sunday afternoon, whilst he was having a row downstairs with his sister. I was bored, so I began to look around at things to amuse myself. I opened the drawer and saw some handwritten letters on pink paper that smelled of perfume. I continued on into territory, that even at thirteen, I knew I shouldn't. I opened the letters and began to read.

Bang. In that moment the world and my place in it ended.

I remember rereading again and again, as I was so sure I had made a mistake. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't be.

It was.

That was the moment when everything changed. My childlike love, which was so full of trust and innocence, changed. It turned into something that became protected and safe. I had no idea how unbelievably painful heartbreak could be. From that moment on, I never felt safe to fall in love again. I would cry in my mother's arms, asking her how long it would take for my sadness to go away.

She would gently smile, and deliver yet another priceless gem, You're too young to be in love. It's just a schoolgirl crush. You will be over him in a couple of days. Just you wait and see.

And in a way she was right. Not because it was a crush, it was. But, because I began to return to my Beloved in my dreams, retreating into my imagination and sharing with him all that I was experiencing. It had been about three years since I last connected with him. As I went through pubescence I felt like I ought to grow out of all the imaginary, soul love stuff. So, I had left him behind and stopped reaching out to him in my dreams. Hormones—what crazy ideas they can put into your head!

To him three years was three seconds. He held me into the night as I cried and cried into my pillow. Once I finished crying, he looked straight into my eyes and asked whether I was ready. Ready for what? I asked. He took my hands and placed them on either side of his head and begged me to bring him to life. He said that if I kissed the top of his head and made that promise then I would be given the power to make him real. By my tears and love for him I could create a way for us to meet when we were older.

I slowly bent towards him while mustering all the love within me. I gently kissed the top of his head as I whispered the words out loud, By this kiss I shall bring you to life so we may find each other when the time is right. The next morning I woke up with a secret smile knowing I had done something very magical. I reached over to my bedside table and grabbed my diary. Hiding under the duvet I began to scribble down words as I began the process of creating The One in my dreams. And boy, did the outside world have a fine act to live up to.

I literally designed him exactly as I wanted him to be. He was dark, adventurous, funny, athletic, had a beautiful smile, loved animals, and was very kind. He also believed in magic, and things you couldn't explain. He was mysterious, and he lived in my kind of world. Yet even within my perfected dreaming, there was still one thing I couldn't control.

I intuitively knew I could not be the one who decided when we would meet. That had to be left to the great unknown. I had to let go and let faith engineer the perfect time. In the meantime, we would grab every possible moment to meet in my sleeping hours. I would dream of him running towards me. We would meet in the woods, playing in the streaming sunlight as we noisily laughed and danced together. The dream would always end in the same way, with the dream growing quieter, and the quietness triggering a surge of dread in the pit of my stomach. The silence meant he was going back, away from me.

He would stop whatever we doing together and look over his shoulder as if someone was waiting for him. He would then grab both my hands as if time was running out. Eyes wide and full of sadness his eyes searching mine, he would whisper that it was time for him to leave. His hand reached for my cheek as he stroked the outline of my face. He would always tilt his head to one side as held the tip of my chin. He would mouth in silence, One day we will be together again, I promise you.

Even as I remembered this over twenty-five years later, my eyes turned upwards, gazing into the night sky—looking, wondering, and searching. I came back into the present moment, remembering Prudence as I passed Stonehenge on the infamous A303 road between the Wiltshire/Dorset borders. As I looked to my right at England's most legendary monument, I nodded my head in confirmation. Yes, I will go to France. I will climb that mountain and I will call out with all my might and strength to bring him to me.

This inner resolution filled my heart with a warm tumbling happiness. I felt like I was finally making good on a promise my younger self had made, that my older, more cynical self had broken. I was ready to believe in love again.

Chapter Two

FairyDale Barn

Dorset, England, May 2008

I took her in my arms and flew her to paradise

Fame and fortune surrounded her

She conquered the hearts of men

Pride shone in her eyes for a moment

And then it died

I have no joy in you, she cried

My woman of sorrow

Days go by and she cries

Tell me what is it you want?

and she said "When will my lover come,

the one with the unknown name,

when will my lover come to me from the heart?"

—Rumi

Life continued on the way it does when you don't create too many waves. Since that legendary meeting with Prudence I had slowly but surely begun to put things in place for my soon-to-be adventure. I had found out where the mountain was located, where to stay, how to get there, and had allocated a month off from teaching so that the pilgrimage could begin. It had been six months since my meeting with Prudence and I now had three months to put all the pieces in place to call in my Beloved.

The only thing that currently stood between me and my search for true love was my current toy-boy boyfriend known as Danny, a half Spanish would-be actor. My friends referred to him as, the Spanish Peacock, as he was good looking, but hardly husband material. Although we had been living together in an idyllic picture box countryside house for almost a year called FairyDale Barn, it was far from a happy home. My life was driven by passion and determination to teach everyone and their dog about yoga, whilst Danny continued to dream of being a bohemian artistic performer and was more than happy to lay about the house all day, accepting hand outs from his parents.

As I neared forty, my respect for him had almost dwindled to zero. I was now only interested in a red-blooded man, throbbing with life, full of love and passion, willing to knock down all the obstacles and safe zones that stand between the human experience and love, hungry for a lifetime of adventure. I was interested in a real man, one who was ready to live outside of the box, not someone who virtually needed a babysitter. And this is where I now find myself, not knowing how to approach the rut I am obviously in. I know where I want to go. I know what I want to do, but for the life of me, I just do not know where to start.

I have been back at the barn for two days since returning from my regular three-day stay in London where I taught yoga every week. I have been doing my best impersonation of myself, going through all the motions and responding in the most agreeable ways to ensure smooth sailing. All the while, I've been searching, or rather hunting, for the most appropriate moment to break the news that I am currently sitting on. Danny is being his usual self, threading chop sticks through his hair to hold it all in place while he surfs the Internet for the festival listings happening in the U.K. that summer. He is in the process of deliberating between setting up a raw food sauna teepee, or starting a band with a bunch of friends while doing a series of gigs over the summer. Either way outrageous costume, nudity, and intoxication will be top of the bill.

It was a little under three years ago when we first met. There was a huge attraction between us although I never imagined we would last this long. Like life-long friends, we immediately gelled and were instantly comfortable in one another's company. Many people thought we were brother and sister; we were often told that we looked very similar in appearance. It didn't bother me that people said this, in fact we both rather liked the idea. For me being with Danny was like being with someone from my family. We both suspected we were Soul Mates for each other, hence the instant attraction and sense of tremendous well-being in one another's company. Like most Soul Mate connections, I knew the relationship was not meant to be forever. While Danny and I had never talked about this, I knew in my heart that the time had come for us both to move on.

I continued to pace back and forth in my mind of how to broach the subject in the best possible way. I knew I had to strike while the iron was hot so not to lose the momentum that was already clearly in place. My heart whispered the advice I longed to hear:

It starts right here. Just speak of how you are going to France for ten days. Go downstairs and begin to talk honestly with him. The longer you delay, the more you deny the change that will set you both free.

I took a deep breath, wandered downstairs, and found Danny in the kitchen blending up the latest concoction of raw superfood smoothies. This is one thing that can be said about Danny; he truly is one of the world's best raw food chefs. Without fail, he would prepare delicious food for me, which resulted in a welcomed loss of weight and glowing complexion. For a moment I faltered.

Good morning babe, I got a super elixir ecstasy bomb smoothie ready for you! he cheerfully announced as he spun around wearing a bright pink t-shirt with a cute cat on the front.

Thanks D.. I'll have it in a while. Could I speak to you for a moment? I need to talk, I uneasily mumbled.

Sure babe, what's up?

Danny is four years younger than me, but dresses and behaves even younger than that. His dark brown cork screw hair tumbles to his shoulders, framing a near perfect body. His slender form is the result of intensely healthy living and crazy stunts that he throws himself into on a weekly basis. Since I have met him he has been a trapeze artist, stilt walker, fire eater, semi-erotic model, night club dancer, and now, the latest craze that rocks his boat—being suspended by hooks as a form of macabre performance for a weird alternative arts crowd. This is Danny. The Peter Pan of performance.

What attracted me to him was