4
As it turns out, my physics papers were in need of extensive revision—and there was a great amount that could not be salvaged. My ideas had changed, too, and I needed to work on developing a cohesive theory, i thought, instead of jumping around too much from one paper to the next. So i hadn’t been tuning in, here, for several days, almost a week now, because i’d been working on that—indeed, i was doing some heavy lifting. I wondered, now, what Ursula had been up to, and how she might’ve felt about the fact that i hadn’t been tuning in; i hadn’t been meditating in the bath, either—i’d been taking showers, because i wouldn’t have been able to sit still in the bath, what with all the questions i was being inundated with, problems with my model, etc.
You know the going gets tough, and you keep going. So she’d been having a tough time. I wondered if that meant she was having man (or woman) trouble—if a sex life, if she had one, had been disrupted, and if i had anything to do with that. I didn’t care either way—i wanted what was best for her, and her situation, as i’ve pretty much given up hope of finding her in this life—i’m getting too old, and my circumstances aren’t changing, and don’t appear to be changing at any point in the future. So if she had a partner that helped her through this life, great. If she didn’t, then, well, I could only hope that our correspondence was enough. If, in fact, she had no partner, then she might’ve come to rely on our correspondence more that she otherwise might have, so, i thought, if this is real, then, well, i hope she understands. I can’t always be there. Sometimes there is too much other stuff going on—stuff that has to be resolved.
But i was projecting her voice now, and i was listening. And I was writing, so, in effect, i was talking to her. I rarely succeeded, but I did try, from time to time, to write in her voice, too. I think she knows i’m there. Don’t hang up on me. She was feeling insecure, too; i wondered if this was Anna talking, since we’d carried on before, and it seemed, to me, that, at some point in the past, we might’ve been lovers. That she might’ve been my Ursula at some point. So I might’ve been talking to her. It was possible. So i wondered if she was upset that I’d gotten frustrated and lost a lot of interest in her. I know in 5D she’s probably totally stunning, and that, I’d likely be attracted to her, even if she, in retrospect, a brown skinned and brown-eyed woman, doesn’t seem to be what, under normal conditions, I’d really want. I considered too that I was talking to my Swedish blond, who, as it happens, hadn’t been crossing my mind as much of late, at least not in the form that I associated with her, the woman on TV.
But of course I wasn’t going to hang up without coming to some kind of an agreeable conclusion. I missed her, too. In fact, a life of desperately answering questions, at the expense of feeling relaxed as I go, seemed beside the point, ultimately. Ursula made life meaningful. She didn’t drive me to greater and greater levels of anxiety; and, if, luckily, i wasn’t extremely anxious, i was still being a little vain. No amount of knowledge was going to make me happy. Happiness is the path itself, and, if the path is frustrating, as it often is when it comes to science, then it can be a little problematic. Ursula didn’t frustrate me—she didn’t bombard me with questions about the universe, questions that she would’ve known i couldn’t answer, at least not without investing a great deal of time and energy into finding a solution, when all i might’ve wanted, at that particular point in time, was to relax, and enjoy the passage of time—time that i wasn’t going to get back.
You’re going to come for me, and we’ll be happy. But how did i tell her that I didn’t know where she was—either in this life or the next—that i was relying on fate to bring us together? Did she think that I had some power that I didn’t have—that we might be together in this life? Was she thinking, like I’d done, when I was with Anna, that, there was at least some possibility, no matter how small, that we would get together in this life, and, then, out of loneliness, allowed that possibility to balloon into something that only served to make me even more unhappy? Furthermore, how did i tell her that i was kind of old—that i’d lost some hair, that I had a thought disorder, and that, well, if she was old, well, I didn’t see myself getting with her in this life? That I had my sights set on someone that would trump every person that i’d ever imagined myself with, people that, when I imagined myself with them, were young?
I wasn’t necessarily discounting someone my own age—it was possible, given that, when I look in the mirror, I don’t necessarily see an old person—i just see myself—and, as such, i might not seen an old person when I looked at someone that looked about like me. But Ursula could also be older than me. She could be significantly older than me, and, i simply didn’t imagine myself with someone that was older than me. We would only be together in the next life, when, as I imagine, we would both have young bodies. I wasn’t above talking to any Ursula i was bound, at some 5D point, to be with, but when I spoke to them I imagined that I was speaking, in part, to the younger version. But what about me? Did it make me sad to think that my Ursula might exist in this life, as a much younger person, and that we could meet, and, there would be an age gap that would keep us apart? Luckily, young women often date older men, so i fantasized that a young Ursula would still see me. But I also knew that i wasn’t rich and famous—there was no special force bending the light around me—making me look younger and more beautiful than, at least in this life, I really am.
But I wasn’t really sad because i no longer expected to meet Ursula in this life. I no longer thought that, at some point, I’d find myself in an excellent relationship. I no longer dreamed, and i hardly even imagined, that i’d find myself in a sexual relationship once again—that i’d ever have sex again, that i’d ever have sex with someone that didn’t required me to be high. In fact, i imagined that my life was such that, if i’d been better, all along, i might never have had sex in the first place—that it might’ve been my lot to go without knowing what sex really feels like, at least physically, anyhow, for my entire life. Was I happy that I had had sex, before, even so? Indeed, I was. I wouldn’t have wanted to go through my entire life without ever having sex. But the question remained: is it possible, that, if i had, i might’ve been happier, overall, for a longer period of time?