Redefining Life in Paradise

We have recently committed to our life here on St. Croix. By committed, I mean we've set up a home, bought cars, had our daughter move down so that she can work as a wildlife conservation biologist.

We live overlooking the Caribbean Sea surrounded by palm trees, welcomed by frangipani, on one side a bird sanctuary, the other a dirt road that leads to only a few other homes.

We are visited by hummingbirds, often see rainbows, and are lucky enough to live on the edge of the rainforest where we get a little rain nearly every day.

We live in "paradise" according to friends, family, the proud Virgin Islanders, the tourist brochures, and cruise ships. Is it though? I don't know.

In some respects yes - the beaches are expansive and many are isolated with no one on them but you. The trees that have returned after IrMaria, the two category-5 hurricanes that barreled through this island two years ago, are astonishingly lush and a testament to the resilience of the tropics. The weather, aside from the threat of hurricanes and occasional earthquakes, is pretty constant at 85 degrees F, sunny, and breezy. If that's your definition of Paradise, then, yes. Yes it is.

My definition of Paradise has more to do with my husband and my relationship than where, or how we live. For me, it's not enough to gloss over turmoil within, just to have the outward appearance of peace.

And that's where we are nowadays. Peter and I are exploring new-found knowledge of lives we've lived together. Among the many lives we've both led, the predominant image is of him as a Roman Solider and me as a handmaid. The first time we dreamed that we had this shared life in 1,000 BC was during our honeymoon. We have since gotten more details. As this warrior, he survived the war but wanted to continue to fight. She was a handmaid asked by the gods to care for him. She accepted.

Over thousands of years, he has been a Warrior and I have been this handmaid, wife, slave, captor, companion, his Eve. While we were living in Botswana, someone told me that my maiden name, was a lot like a word they had in Setswana. The word was Dineo and it meant "gift". And so, more recently, during a past-life regression, I began to cry when I was given the knowledg that I was a gift to him, that I have been a way for the"gods' to heal him, to thank him for his service, to comfort him. All through our lifetimes, I have accepted that role. Until now.

I question my life with Peter. I want more than to be "gifted" to him. I want to be his equal, to play a role in our life together and not just be subjugated.

I could wake up every morning and want to rehash all of the pain he's inflicted on me over the years. I could question his loyalty every day. I could accuse him of humiliating me day-in, day-out. But what kind of life is that? That's hell, if you asked me. It's taking the knowledge that you've gained, all of the wrongs, all of the mistakes, all of the ways he's created to build that coat of armor, to raise that protective shield and cut me to the quick as he wields his mighty sword. That's not love. That's fear. That's realizing that you're naked, vulnerable, that you're scared.

We have a mission. We have a shared destiny. It's all very simple really. I'm to get a man-of-war to remove his armor and to lay down his sword. He is to receive love, accept love, love.

After 35 years together, and many more lifetimes before, I am so close to reaching this goal. It would mean that I would move on. It would mean, I believe, not having to come back to this world, that I would reach a higher plane.

The idea frightens Peter. After one of our fights, he and I realized that he has been deliberately sabotaging me. Because he is afraid of living a life without me, he has kept me as a servant, as a slave, kept me at a distance, and hurt me, humiliated me, demeaned me. Over the years, clear images came to us both where he was hurt, hurtful, bitter, distant, refusing to love me. On this occasion, in our bedroom in St. Croix, he was overwhelmed with the sentiment that he had rejected my love in order to keep me with him. I knew that already. It just saddened me to have it confirmed.

And it was during that fight that I said, "I'm through!" All of these years throughout this life we shared, I had put up with his abuses. Lusting after other women. Flirting with co-workers. Trying to replace me with someone else. He belittled me. He made me quit my job, ruin my career. He moved me from place to place, each time isolating me more and more. He justified his actions, his verbal stabbings, his degradation. He acted like a child, unable to hear the smallest request, criticism, instruction! He would literally repeat himself over and over again inches from my face, threatening and stubborn, how could it not escalate or get physical!?!

I was horrified that the person I was trying so hard to love was such a selfish son-of-a-bitch! I said, "I'm through!" and I meant it. And no sooner had I said that, then I got this message. "I don't blame you," "God" said. "You can go." and an image came into my head. I was standing next to a "Being" a "Form". The message continued, "But in your next life, you'll have to do this, all of this, all over again."

It halted me. It drained me of any other emotion except utter failure. I had no choice, it meant. I had to make this work or it would go on and on, lifetime after lifetime, being subjected to his anger, resentment and pain, because we had just established that he had not accepted my love because he never wanted me to leave.

The girl who spent her life feeling as if the world had turned their back on her, fearing that she was unworthy, feeling everyone would abandon her, this girl had been with this guy for lifetimes. And he was never going to leave her.

The shock of that. The belief that her existence for hundreds of thousands of years was linked to this hateful, emotionally crippled, mean, vindictive man who has kept her from achieving her goal not because she hadn't earned it, but because he was selfish, self-serving, and cruel.

And all at once, I redefined my life as I knew it. I was not the child abandoned by her parents, but a woman trapped, held captive, betrayed and victimized not by her mother and father, but by her partner, her forever soulmate.

The very idea that I was no longer unworthy but instead a slave, made me rethink my entire life.

I thought I was not loved. And I guess, that is how I can look at how "God" treated me. As an object that was given as a reward to this soldier. But instead of thinking that Peter rejects me, does not love me, pushes me away, constantly destroying me, I now know the truth. He doesn't want to leave me, he never wants to be without me.

And maybe there are past lives where I knew that. And maybe, just maybe, we've reached this level of relationship where we can make this happen. After all, we live in Paradise.

The way I see it, now that I know that I'm not abandoned. I know that I am loved. I now have to convince Peter to love me, to allow me to love him. Once he is no longer on the defensive, protecting himself, rejecting others, he'll see he can have love as part of his life, this one with me and all of the other lives yet to come.