The Hunting of the Snark…
“…But the Snark is at hand, let me tell you again!
‘Tis your glorious duty to seek it!
“To seek it with thimbles, to seek it with care;
To pursue it with forks and hope;
To threaten its life with a railway-share;
To charm it with smiles and soap!
“For the Snark’s a peculiar creature, that won’t
Be caught in a commonplace way.
Do all that you know, and try all that you don’t:
Not a chance must be wasted to-day!”
I am a twin flame… It feels strange to admit this, as if I were a first-timer at an AA-meeting (am I the only one sometimes wondering whether my journey will take me there eventually?), as if I’m coming out, as if I have no right, or as if I have had to deserve this somehow, or to prove a perfect relationship for all the world to see, because whatever suffering or separating is there must surely be my fault (?) or to begin posting romantic pictures of couples kissing and to start preaching unconditional love, divine masculine and divine feminine, soul mates and soul groups… But this is me. This is my story. This is my journey. This is my mission.
I am not a love coach. I don’t promote a business that claims to change the world. I write love letters. I have my grudges. I have my moments. I have my history. I know the heights of pure transformational love and crystal clarity, as well as the abyss of despair and abandonment. And sometimes I have a clear vision — and sometimes I really don’t have a clue as to where I am going. Because this, too, is part of my journey, a journey that is excruciating, merciless, once in a while romantic, but mostly spiritual, confusing, hopeful and hopeless, up and down, finding out, hoping against all hope… But one thing I know. I am a twin flame. And I am here to witness to love.
But on the day of my “coming out” I will start with a poem… (The full version is publicly available) Because this is really how it feels today… After chasing the undefinable, going into the unknown, the mind and the ego have to surrender once more and stand before the creator knowing only that I do not know…
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK. Lewis Carroll
FIT THE EIGHTH – THE VANISHING
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
They shuddered to think that the chase might fail,
And the Beaver, excited at last,
Went bounding along on the tip of its tail,
For the daylight was nearly past.
“There is Thingumbob shouting!” the Bellman said,
“He is shouting like mad, only hark!
He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,
He has certainly found a Snark!”
They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed
“He was always a desperate wag!”
They beheld him–their Baker–their hero unnamed–
On the top of a neighboring crag.
Erect and sublime, for one moment of time.
In the next, that wild figure they saw
(As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm,
While they waited and listened in awe.
“It’s a Snark!” was the sound that first came to their ears,
And seemed almost too good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers:
Then the ominous words “It’s a Boo-”
Then, silence. Some fancied they heard in the air
A weary and wandering sigh
Then sounded like “-jum!” but the others declare
It was only a breeze that went by.
They hunted till darkness came on, but they found
Not a button, or feather, or mark,
By which they could tell that they stood on the ground
Where the Baker had met with the Snark.
In the midst of the word he was trying to say,
In the midst of his laughter and glee,
He had softly and suddenly vanished away—
For the Snark *was* a Boojum, you see.