We all have our scams and scandals. We all have our schemes and mechanisms to get by. Everybody is always doing the best they can with what they have.

The cheating husband, channelling the passion he never lets his wife see into a second affair after the last fell to pieces around his feet and – despite his wife knowing and not leaving him after threatening to do so – he feels like he cannot sustain a positive view on the world without some cheap thrill from chance encounters and hollow lies that even the dishonourable see through with ease. When he’s not flattening his brainwaves with mindless nonsense on MTV… When he’s not destroying the delicate inner walls of that wilfully ignorant girl he met that night in the bar – the girl whose name he fears he’ll call his wife by… When he’s not masturbating furiously into his toilet bowl or under the falling droplets of his shower, hoping his wife won’t catch him and try to rekindle the long dead spark again by acting out that scene from the porn film she caught him watching that one time, three years ago… He’s in the pub, drowning his distance from his heart in the fifth pint of the night with work the next day. He can’t see the surface, he’s in too deep.

The wife who, in her mind, cannot seem to keep her husband satisfied tried as she has. And so she turns her focus to her work, slaving away to drown the voice in the back of her mind which has told her she was not good enough since she was three years old. The voice which has a remarkably uncanny likeness to that of her father, not that she has allowed herself to see that, lest she would have to re-evaluate her perspective of the world. That would be too painful and far too expensive. Too expensive to just end up admitting how lonely she feels. The courses she thinks she’d have to pay for to get her life on track. The books she thinks she has to pay for to read just to get anywhere close to being as happy as she doesn’t think she can be. And then there’s the emotional expenditure. The voice echoes in the distant corners of her view of herself which has now only been confirmed in its severity by the persistent actions of her husband, the man who swore to love her through it all. The man who she has deemed selfish does as he does and continues to reinforce the painful feelings in the pits of her gut which tells her that whatever she does, she will not be good enough to satisfy the man she loves–or any man that she might look at. And she started to look though, at other men, in spite of herself she couldn’t bring herself to sink to her husband’s level when she has already sunk so far that she cannot see the surface.

The loveless marriage they hand-crafted for themselves, living and re-living the pains of their parents and generations gone by as if they are shocked to feel as they feel when they have done as they have done as so many have before – when they have done as they have done and still not been the first to be happy by doing so.

As the pain amounts to pain and the clashes get more frequent, the couple turn to counselling to settle the fear so frequent. The couple have sat beside one another so many times in years gone by but their hands have not touched, nor their lips. Their bodies have not rubbed together with passion and fire that was once the staple spark between their hearts. And days that go by are all but reminders of how they have failed the other involved. And in all their turmoil and dishonour and mourning, who did they fail years before their spouse? In so deep, all they can do is wonder and hope and ponder that maybe there’s an answer behind the eyes of the mysterious councillor. The man who has promised solutions and love felt once more. Belief seems far off for them both now in the midst of pain and the heartache when they catch each other’s eyes… And that’s when they notice that amongst all the suffering and loss of their loving, what they lost was of more value than the love they abandoned.

In so deep, so far below the surface, they have one companion as always, now still. Even though their love looks all but ruined, one relationship is still beyond death. It’s not one with God or with Allah or Buddha, it’s not one with Kim or Britney or Tatum, it’s not one which can be found or lost or dirtied. It’s the one that they forgot about all too easily. It’s the one they can dust off in moments unlimited. In truth, the depths that have been felt are the depths of disconnection from love of themselves.

My question to husband and wife alike was what would happen if you turned on the light? If you flicked that switch from darkness to honour, not for the other but rather for you? What if, instead of finding the answers for each other, you trust in your heart to show you, for you. Perhaps you noticed that when all the love got lost, the love felt for you alone was buried in rubble. The difficulty in truth was that the love you felt for you was disguised and confused by love you thought was true. What happened in the end, when you had forgotten you, was that you ended up so deep. You were so far, yet, on the surface of you.

As the couple looked into each other’s eyes and blinked off their final blinkered disguise, they saw the truth of themselves in one more reflection, they saw therein their forgotten direction. They noticed that inward and outward flow that had got stunted in wanting to know. How much love can one person feel when their heart is drawn outwards and into the field? Everyone needs their downtime and space to relax and inside their hearts we live with no tact. We need the freedom and home to surrender for loving ourselves in endless splendour. In kindness for themselves, they found that the answer was not clinging to bones as muscles decaying but to seek new adventures in truth to themselves.

Their time spent together? It was not a waste, for life’s biggest lesson was learned in its wake.

[When we pin our hopes on a solution to a problem which we hold in our minds day-in-day-out, we cause ourselves to be closed off from the actual solutions to our predicaments – of which there are many – and we end up just focusing on our predicaments – of which there are few. If we cling hopelessly to that which has caused us misery then we cannot hope to really be happy unless happiness consists of continuing day-to-day with the misery. If we cling to our idea of joy or perfection then we will miss the true joy and perfection.]

Keep it real.


Live, love & play