Love in Action

This is a piece I was asked to write for a forthcoming Malaysian book.

Love in action

You couldn’t wish for a more romantic beginning. We met on December 31^st, 1999: the last day of the last century of the last millennium. It wasn’t more than a casual conversation, but it marked the beginning of a friendship that was, unbeknownst to us, to blossom into a relationship and a love beyond our previous experience.

Our paths kept crossing, more because of a mutual friend, than because of any conscious effort on our parts. Each time we’d meet, we’d have lots to share, lots to talk about. Then, six months later, she needed to change teaching jobs. I suggested she look for work in my city, a quiet and compact city with a country pace of life, and she took me up on my suggestion. She found work easily and I suggested that since my housemate was moving out, that she save herself the tedious job of setting up house all by herself and move in with me.

And so it was that she became my new housemate. Our friendship continued to grow as we spent more and more time together, but neither of us seemed to regard each other as anything more than a friend. But one thing was clear to me: I really enjoyed her company and we got on and lived together better than any other woman I had previously lived with. I remember thinking that if my next wife was half as easy and smooth to live with, I’d be a very lucky man indeed. For the ultimate test of any relationship for me isn’t necessarily what happens between the sheets, but what happens once outside.

And then we went on holiday to Vietnam and spent a wonderful time exploring the country there. We came back, settled into our daily routine and then one day became more than friends. I don’t know how normal that is for that to happen between a man and a woman, for a deep friendship to grow and blossom before anything sexual happens, but that was a very different experience for me, and to be honest, it felt like our relationship had matured naturally into something very special. It was only then that she told me that she had had very deep feelings for me for the longest time, but her pride had never let her express them until I had opened myself unto her. But she was very happy too at what had transpired, and how our relationship had deepened.

We shared a full life together, managing to balance our interests, supporting each other unconditionally, committing to full emotional and mental honesty within our relationship. We found that the more honest we were – with ourselves, with each other, then the stronger our relationship became. It wasn’t always easy, it wasn’t always pleasant to live up to that standard, but once two people have an unspoken pact to be real and truthful at all times, it’s a lifelong pledge that demands total integrity.

We lived together for two years before we left for England for me to study a Master’s in Anthropology. This was an extremely difficult time for the two of us. We were living, cut off from the outside world, in a beautiful but remote country campus: I had to commit my full energy to the course, and she had to find a niche for herself within a less than friendly social environment where she was also not allowed to keep herself occupied by working.

Whilst there, we got married. A small, quiet and intimate affair, and I’m sure the registrar who married us was subtly weaving a magical incantation whilst she read the formal vows for us to repeat. I looked at my wife to be: she felt it too. The registrar was secretly weaving a love spell, binding us to love and honour and cherish each more deeply than the words would seem to allow.

And then we parted. I had to do field work in Kilimanjaro, Tanzania and she returned home to South Africa. We next met up back up in the Republic of China nearly five months later where we returned to our old stomping ground to work and be with each other again.

During this time we grew together and learned about how love works on a day to day basis, learning to care for each other and look out for each other’s interests. Friends who were also in relationships remarked on how strong we were together, but also how independent we both were. We’d holiday once a year together, but then I’d take off to somewhere exotic by myself to explore my passion for photography. We had friends in common, but I’d understand her need to have quality time with her girlfriends, and she understood my need for male bonding time too. Yet all around us we saw relationships where couples did everything together as one and lost themselves in the process, and secretly dreamed of freedom. Or we’d see couples where one or both would seek to control the movements or activities of the other. Either one couldn’t go out without permission or the other would be prohibited from exploring an interest or passion. This baffled us. For me, true love was about interdependence, about being able to be together and also apart when we needed to, about having choice, about being equal partners in an honest and dynamic relationship.

But last year we felt that something had changed. We both still cared for each other, but the driver; the energy of the relationship had changed. We looked at the reality of how we were relating, not how we wished it were, but what was actually happening, and saw that we had changed, we had evolved as people, our interests were now very widely diverging with no shared point of contact. We were spending less and less time together as a couple and that if we were really honest, and really cared for each other, we’d share this.

And this we did, discovering we both felt the same way, that our relationship had indeed morphed into something other than a husband/wife relationship and that if we wanted to be honest and remain in integrity we’d have to recognize this and honour this. After all, who wants to be like a mother who cradles her dead baby to her breast, refusing to recognize what is, hoping that somehow it can be brought back to life? “You can make it work,” our friends told us. “No, we can’t,” we replied, knowing this to be the absolute truth – like a soufflé that can’t be re-heated. “But you guys are so good together, you’re perfect for each other,” they’d say. And we’d reply, “It’s because we love each other and are so good together that now we have to recognize that it’s over, and that the best course is to respect that and let go.”

This seems so counter-intuitive: We’re brought up to believe that if a relationship ends, it’s broken or a failure; however, the truth is that relationships are like everything in nature: they have beginnings, middles and ends. The wisdom is to recognize that and to let go with love when a relationship truly is concluding.

Agreeing to separate was, of course, a painful process, but we faced our pain, and made amends for small hurts over the years. Even the way we separated was beautiful with practical agreement reached as to what she would take and what she would leave behind. There was no pettiness over material objects, and that made for a smoother and more loving parting

It’s coming up to a year since we parted, and we both still live in the same city. We still see each other to catch up with new developments, and we both openly share the details of our newly emerging single lives. We’ve asked ourselves whether either of us harbours a secret wish to get back together and neither of us do. Perhaps that’s the surest indication that we read the signs accurately and made the perfect decision to part ways.

As for me, I’m eternally grateful that I experienced such a profound, mature and loving relationship with a woman who was my perfect equal on so many levels. Perhaps the lesson here is that true love isn’t measured by how passionately one holds on, but by the grace and ease with which one lets go.

A year today.

It's a year ago to the day when my friend and mentor, David Grove passed away.

I remember the day I heard about his sudden passing, and how much distress I was plunged into upon learning that his funeral was to be in 8 days hence in New Zealand. I knew I had to fly there and be physically present to mourn him.

It was an emotionally wrenching experience, but I was surrounded by his family and colleagues who had worked with him over the years, and drank deeply from his seemingly never-ending curiosity and wisdom. Looking back now, I am so glad I made the decision to fly half way across the world to bid farewell to someone who was instrumental in shaping my worldview and teaching me of the true poetry of the human soul in all its guises.

It turned out to be a very healing experience, to meet his family, to celebrate his death in a traditional Maori fashion, and to connect with the very land that had shaped his outlook and his craft. I thought myself lucky when I first met him, and I count myself blessed to have studied intimately with him over the many, many years that our paths would interleave.

This is what I wrote and read out for him at his memorial service. It was the hardest challenge to capture my admiration and love for this man, and I trembled at the thought of sobbing while I read it out, but I didn't: whilst my eyes clouded with tears, my voice kept firm and my words moved many at the service.

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I first met David Grove in London when I was 22, shortly after I had qualified in hypnotherapy. After the first morning session was over, I remember thinking that I was in the presence of a very special, very brilliant healer. Many years later, our paths had criss-crossed several times over the years, the joy of seeing each other each time increased in inverse proportion to the quality of the bad jokes we shared.

But now I realize that my initial impression of David was wrong.

I had been in the presence not just of a very special, brilliant healer, but also of a maverick amongst mavericks, an eccentric amongst eccentrics, a genius amongst geniis.

So today on this day, the 21st day of January 2008, I find myself attending the funeral of someone very important to me, someone who opened my eyes to the reality of magic, and the infinite pathways to power of the human soul - someone whose very life was a testimony to a life lived accordingly to spirit; someone who truly was a modern day alchemist, able to turn dark into light; grief into joy; confusion into clarity, and to allow silence to find its voice and speak its truth.

David, my friend, through you your Maori ancestors spoke, and shared their wisdom, compassion and insight into the difficulties of living on this material plane.

It is only fitting, therefore, that you leave this plane to join them in a manner that reflects the sacredness of your worldly contribution in dispelling fear, awakening joy, and encouraging compassion, humility, elegance and laughter everywhere you went.

David left an enormously rich legacy. He left no children but his ideas and myriad inspirations, and it befalls upon those who studied and learned from him to act as guardians to those very precious gems to watch over their growth until they illuminate the whole world with their radiant beauty.

So David, I thank you for your many gifts so generously shared. Thank you too for sharing this last great teaching with us, teaching us about community and connection.

May your final journey be sweet, straight and joyful.

I finally leave you with some words from Antonio Machado, a poet from my Spanish tradition.

Caminante, no hay camino: se hace camino al adelantar.

This translates as:

Traveller, there is no path but that which we forge upon forging ahead.

Vaya con Dios, mi amigo. Vaya con Dios, mi hermano. – Go with God, my friend, Go with God, my brother.

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The intensity of the Maori Death ceremonies wrenched every last tear out of me. It was as David would have wanted it: a clean grief, a good grief. We said our goodbyes, lowered you to earth, and I haven't cried for you since.

But it can't be denied: it is a year today since you left, and I find I still miss our banter, I miss the inspiration of your eternal curiosity, your genius with language and your amazing ability to heal even the sickest spirit with the lightest of touches. If I can just pass even a fraction of this on, and likewise transform light into dark, salve the deepest pain, then I will feel that the gift of your work lives on, and is still able to touch those who most need it.

My deepest thanks.