Tattoos and Memories

Yesterday was the conclusion of many, many hours of tattoo work and as I placed myself in a peaceful state for 3 hours, I could not help thinking and wondering what he would be saying right now. I know him and he would be excited and supportive and would pace during the work and say “fuck, it’s cool”. I know him at a soul level and it was the same for him. He knew me and accepted me and whatever I did because it was a part of me. I am not sure why it is. We seem to have been engineered from the same piece of universal energy stuff. The piece that was unique in thought and actions and the one I thought was uniquely mine until I realized he shared it at a very deep level, too.

I have read and been to lectures about soul mates and groups that share soul energy. I count my blessings to know that a few people I have let into my life probably fit in this category, but he was different. It was not that we had similar reactions and thoughts; they were the same reactions and thoughts.

We used to be reading the same books at the same time and not even know it until we called each other to say that we had just read an incredible book that we wanted to share. It was amusing at first and then just expected. You hear about people that have such a familiarity that they finish each others sentences. The soul energy we shared allowed us to think each others thoughts. Somewhere in the scheme of things it was comfortable knowing that there was another person out there that knew how your mind worked and totally accepted the thoughts. And “got” them. No explanations needed.

We made a pledge once that every full moon we would, from wherever we were, go stare at it for 5 minutes and try to bounce energy off of it to each other. And sometimes we would agree to call each other in the morning and talk about our dreams. We seemed to have similar dreams and we liked to think that we were meeting in another reality during these dreams. A way to be close and another way to communicate. Shit, I still try. And I wonder if he does.

I try hard to be still and listen for him. This morning as I put Cetaphill on my new color I was pretty sure I could “feel/hear him say “fuck, it’s cool”. I wish it was my ears that could hear him and not just my heart.

When I write I wonder if this energy stuff that lives in both of us allows him to read my ramblings? If so, Ryan I want you to know I now live with a view of the water, the damn river, that took your life. I want to be mad at it. But I can’t. I want to be mad at you for going out to save your boat that drifted from shore. I can’t be mad at you either because it was your personal choice. Why do I know this? Because you are me. A part of me. And a part that I miss. I tell you everyday I love you and I hope wherever your energy is, you know. But of course you do.