“Aye”

“In some way, everything I do is inspired by love and loss…I think in some way I’m always seeking to heal myself from loss, seeking new experiences of love.” – Dream Rockwell

May 12, 2018

Dear Rylie,

Maybe you are sadistic because you secretly hate women for manipulating, controlling, and deceiving you through the many selfish, self-serving women you’ve already come across.

Alcohol is a dis-ease, a curse that runs among the family bloodlines, and that curse has passed down to you and me.

Aye.

Ai.

One means yes in Gaelic and the other means love in Chinese. Both are one in the same the way our genes of ism is one in the same.

You’ve been around too many controlling women to know one on an instinctual level and you were spot on when you told me that you knew who I am. You are right. I am all those women and then some.

You had imagined that I would carry you around on a leash like I do with Roxy. You did not realize that I was leashing her only for show. Roxy actually is my best friend and follows me without a leash most of the time. We go everywhere together, and we both heal and calm each other in a world too confusing, chaotic, and unpredictable, and we thoroughly enjoy each other’s company.

She cuddles up to me every morning and night. We comfort each other in our anxieties.

When we were working together at the coffee shop, you found out that the man working behind the counter became a coffee shop barista, which is a fancy word for making drinks for minimum wage. He had uprooted from Australia, once upon a time ago studying biology and had dreams of becoming a scientist making scientific breakthroughs for humanity. His wife and the mother of his child wanted to move to Los Angeles so she can study acting and he followed her here because that is how he shows his love for her. He protects and provides because that is what lovers do. When you heard his story, you were overwhelmed with pity for him. You thought it a travesty that a man would give up his own dreams just to follow a woman to a foreign place and you thought she used the baby as a means to trap a man like that. Sad, you thought.

What you did not see was the labor of love and respect both had for one another in the creation of a love child. What you do not see is how the baby has transformed the person from boyhood into manhood. What you do not see is a newfound spiritual revival and awakening in the blessing of stewarding a family. He is the captain of the ship, the solid ground upon which people who love him rely on his existence to survive. He has a true purpose. Love. I now realize what an amazing blessing both our mothers and fathers have received by their creating us.

You had told me that there was a woman who had gotten pregnant with an engineer friend of yours and since her pregnancy, she had used the baby as leverage to boss him around and treat him like a man servant. You felt terror and pity in all the men who were trapped by controlling, unsatisfied, and unloving women.

That would have been me had I stayed married, but God did a miracle by allowing us to separate so that I could get broken down enough to have a breakthrough and recognize my part in the destruction of the marriage that I had taken an active part in sabotaging.

You feared me as you should fear me. I do not have a good history. My resume of wife, fiancé, and girlfriend is that of what you most feared, manifested in codependency run riot. Like you, I have abandonment issues. That’s why you gaslit me. And I became the mirror for you so you can see yourself in the act of manipulating me.

Perhaps we were exactly in alignment in our convergence—both in full blown manic depressive, fear based insecurity, and chemical addiction. You have given me a truth about myself that forced me to face the reality of where I am. I was not in a good place when you had met me. I had almost gotten caught drinking and driving, I had blackout drunk sessions, and I would wake up with strangers whose name I would not remember. It was the left hand path that only lead to delusions and illusions. Darkness was waiting for me as I was on the hinge of being swallowed up by it again.

I thought I was rescuing you when the truth of the matter is that you were rescuing me. Your pithy honesty hit me like a sucker punch to a black magic spell. I credit it to true love’s first second kiss.

I could only thank you by providing lengthy proses. Everything I said in those letters are true. The only lie I had told to you was when I had texted you that I do not love you. It was hurt ego. I’m self-centered, self-serving, and full of self-loathing. That’s why I completely understand why you reacted the way you reacted.

With disgust and pure terror.

It’s the way I react when I see how ugly I’ve become when I look in the mirror. My reaction is also the look of disgust and pure terror.

I am a truth seeker and because my first loyalty is loyalty to the truth, it jars you when I don’t play the game that we all play in the dating games. I love you so how can I not tell you the truth when love is the truth.

You are afraid of the truth because you operate in delusion the way I operate in delusion. We are both delusional thinkers with our stinking drinking thinking. Therefore, it jolts us to awaken when you see me no longer playing the game.

When you texted me back, “If you don’t stop, I will contact your family,” I knew two things in that moment. One, you wanted the upper hand. Two, you still love me. And when you actually did follow through with your threat, I knew the latter was more true than the former. Even as I am writing this letter, I could feel your love for me. I’m sure you still fantasize over what could have happened should you have gone to the showcase that fateful day when a strange person came to your work around lunch time to provide you lunch on my behalf. Then a few hours later, a second person came with a drink and a letter to gift you, jarring you out of the banality of your work life. You were shocked that a woman would have the audacity to do something sweet for you. It was invasive. More so, it was invasive to your hardening heart.

I know your heart and it is as deep, dark, hateful, self-loathing, and terrifying as mine.

And I still love you because it is my heart I am most familiar with.

The more you call me crazy, the more fond of me you are becoming of me. I grow on you like ivy—poison ivy—but you are already living into building the anti-venom, through constant exposure. Your whole history is one big formulating into the alchemy of producing the anti-venom for all the women whom you have loved, worked so hard for, toiled for, and teased to please for. For whom you desire the most more than anything in the world to rescue the women you love so that they may be cured of the dis-ease of self.

You can’t rescue me, but you can certainly inspire me.

I can’t rescue you, but I can likewise still inspire you by acting in truth and towards the mission that had attracted you and I together in the first place.

It’s not over until the fat lady sings.

And we’re still in Act I. I still have a producer’s playbook to focus on, including journaling from the very interviews I’ve produced, whilst journaling my journey in various multimedia formats in the honoring of my own self-work.

Everything related to The Love Story is an act and a cry to heal myself from loss and to seek new opportunities to love. Dream is a blessing. Her openness, her willingness to be so broken open in her authenticity, and her stand for truth inspires me to take the baton and continue running with Prometheus’ fire, carrying the groundwork for others to begin their hero’s journey as I continue onwards with mine and the shadow work that must be done to live through Act I of the Hero’s journey.

Go there.

The same day you told me that Brigham Young University is haunted you had also requested that I pray for you. You said that you were certain that you were going to  hell. I had shown you the personal testimony of John Ramirez, revealing the glory and reckless love of God made manifest through Jesus Christ, who intervened on his behalf when he was on the train to hell.

You, who had once walked away from God because he could not deliver your prayers like a vending machine; You, who cursed God for making all this as a sick joke in a sick game, not realizing that we had also taken the power of judgement from Him and have created havoc among ourselves, and yet expect God to clean up the mess that we have made, yet we expect God to break His character of love as a choice by forcing certain people, events, and things to happen or else! He’s not a good God, or so we think. You, who thinks it had to be your way or the highway, so your soul choose to vagabond, perhaps hitchhike wanderlust for awhile.

The loneliness is your blanket and the wild unknown is the food for the void that feels like your soul, but is not. Rather, that is the illusion. It is the spell that you are now in. And who but you have casted your own spell? Who but yourself hexed you from all those nights of cursing God, cursing existence, cursing the fruitless empty meaninglessness of chaos? You have the power of God’s judgement, so you have the power of making, breaking, and freezing.

Love.

The absence of Love.

Choose.

Love is a choice.

I had invited you to meet Dr. Jordan Peterson. It would have changed your life but you were too stuck on ego and winning. Showing off and rat racing in the one-up-man ship that is your reality. I told you that the metal doors on the concrete floors of K-town were dangerous to walk on so you jumped on it just to prove me wrong. I tell you I love you so you gaslight me, dismiss me, and make yourself out to be the biggest asshole just to prove me wrong. I express my deepest stirrings of my heart and you make that out to be crazy for showing up in love, I send you food and you dismiss it as psychotic, I sober up from your calling out the truth that I am sick and you make me out to look like I am irresponsible, or that you had nothing to do with transforming me, helping me, inspiring me. You and I have met in a time we were both playing the underground man (reference in Dr. Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life), and I had prayed for God to deliver you from hell. That was six months ago. Turns out when I had prayed for your deliverance, He had simultaneously delivered me from hell right around the time you had shown concern and had asked me if I needed help.

Truth is, I did need help. I am a good actress. I can pretend on Instagram, Facebook, and Linkedin that my life is just peachy, but the truth is I am lonely, bitter, and terrified of true intimacy, consistency, and love.

You caught me and when you discovered who I truly am, you were terrified, because you were looking into a mirror.

Truth is, I can not help anyone because I can barely help myself. Nobody can help me because I have a pride that is so wide, there is no room for anybody else to enter and have a conversation with me. I’ve shut the door, emptied myself into nothing, and have gotten used to the exponential kinetic energy of gravity pulling me down deeper into hell.

Our true love’s second kiss broke that spell to hell for me.

I can only continue praying for you, and I can love you from wherever I am standing, sitting, or skipping. I am just as stubborn, arrogant and blind, but I know I can convert that energy into faith and give my entire will over to God. I can admit powerlessness so that I can pass the ball over to God to play for me by acting on my behalf. My faith is now stubborn, arrogant, and blind.

I discovered faith through the way of hell revelation.

I believe that this is the path that you have chosen as well.

Hell relevant are for the bold, curious, and stubborn. It is seeing evil for what evil is and from the depths of pure desperation, we cry out to God to reveal Himself and help us intervene. That is the path I am most familiar with, and knowing you as me, then for you, so be it.

I can only walk my spiritual path and keep showing up as a mirror for you, not because you want it, but because you need it. You had asked me to pray for you so I asked heaven to deliver you from hell. Now heaven is operating its miracles to shift the realities for you and I so that you and I may be, once again, delivered from evil.

Thank you for loving me enough to tell me my ugly truth. Today, I am 58 days sober. I think about the higher versions of ourselves everyday. God reminds me of our higher goals by putting in my path a beautiful couple, Mimi and Fred, two soulmates love and living into their higher conscious states at the Sedona place I am staying at. Across from my bedroom is another couple and today I saw the woman put her arms around her man whilst he was playing the piano. I thought about how you play the guitar, and I imagined myself standing over your shoulders while you play, serenading me and our future family.

I now go to 12 step meetings and I’m reading Melody Beattle’s Codependent No More, so I can learn how to be with you in spirit and continue being happy on my path whilst loving you the way you deserve to be loved, near and far. I’m learning how to love you because God knows that I have already imprinted on you the moment I saw that painting at the Norton Museum. I hold space for the blues, golds, and greens. Every scene of pastoral beauty I imagine the parallel version of a possibility of us world traveling, walking many variations of woods, across time, space, and distance the way we had walked down our first wood in Angeles Forrest.

I know that the answer is in the call to adventure. I know that the answer is in the Hero’s journey. And I know that somewhere along this timeline, our higher versions of ourselves will meet again as we continue along our path into the call. By then, our love making will have already been elevated from souls that have already been elevated.

Sincerely yours,

Angelie