Always and Forever in Service of Love

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Dear friends,

Being Lovers is being concluded.

I am moving on with a new project. It’s a collaborative blog called AWAKENING WITH. In partnership with many beautiful, wise writers spanning our globe, we will be offering our unique wisdom about various awakening paths, such as Reiki, yoga, meditation, Tarot, Tantra, and more. It’s the next big step for me, for us, on this wonderful writing journey! I hope you’ll check us out.

And now…

Some parting words about Love…

♥♥♥

What is romantic love?

As you focus your attention on a single person in a moment of “romance,” and that person focuses their loving attention back upon you, then a feeling of bliss expands inside your heart. You feel, if only for a few moments, complete. You feel at home.

What is unconditional love?

Unconditional love is pure. It is free from expectations, judgments, co-depency, fears. It is a sense of unity that does not fade. It is living within the breath of eternal union. Body, mind, and spirit, forever yoked as One.

Unconditional love, which we could also call “ultimate love,” is the surrender of the scared self, and an awakening of the Sacred Self.

How do romantic love and unconditional love relate?

Romantic love, for many of us, is the mystical moment where we, for the first time, experience ourselves opening to something greater. Something amazing and indefinable. It is a moment where the seemingly solid form of “me” begins to dissolve.

Romantic love is an opening.

Romantic love is a moment where the previously-closed human vessel of the body can begin to receive and utilize the very frequency that originally made it.

Romantic love heals.

Romantic love, for many, is the beginning of the end of suffering.

When we choose to incarnate onto this planet, we choose to descend into these bodies and brains with a forgetfulness. We forget our true divine nature and walk around feeling we are less than that. We feel fear; we feel separate. Our hearts are closed, protected seeds. And…then…the warmth of the sun comes. Love comes. Our beloved comes.

And then we blossom.

What we call “romantic love” is actually, at its depths, a trigger for the spiritual awakening process.

And, yet, as beautiful as romantic love is, it is not the be-all-end-all of life. It is not the final goal or destination.

Romance is what humanity is transitioning out of.

Pure, awakened unconditional love is the future.

When we “fall in love” (initially in the romantic sense) and experience viewing ourselves through the eyes of the mirror of our Beloved, everything changes. Every part of our being shifts. What once was dark is now light; what once was tired now has energy. We cannot believe how wonderful we feel! We cannot believe how lucky we suddenly are!

Dear friends, at this time in my life, the beautiful miraculous spring of 2017, I can say that I understand these truths almost fully—but not quite. As a channeller of information, the information comes through me, healing me as it moves. I often teach what I have yet to fully and totally embody. This is the way of things.

Indeed, I still am working on integrating this information that I present to you now, which flows freely to me through the Universe during Reiki and meditation. I am fully aware that what I write to you now is truth…and…yet…sometimes I still sink into fear.

And even though, most of the time, I am fully grounded in the self-realized awareness of my eternal being-ness, I still, sometimes, desire another. I long for someone. Yes, that still arises sometimes.

I do not want to call what I feel for this person “romantic love,” for it is not that. No. I do not intend for it to be that. And…yet…so then…what to call it? If I have no intention of returning to co-dependency or clinging, if I have no desire to base my happiness on the form of another, then what to name it?

It is a paradox. I deeply love many Beings. And, yet, there is One in particular for whom my heart particularly sings. When we are together, it is as if every cell in my body dances to a new rhythm that I could only before imagine was possible. When he touches my knee, all the trees in the forests stop to listen. When his face appears in view, my bones tremble and ask for his blessing.

When I look at him, I see myself. I see my own triumphs, joys, projections, sorrows, stumbles, and hopes. I see myself, projected outside myself, in another form. It is quite a powerful show!

This has happened before—this kind of powerful, immersive, radical love, particularized in a single person—but, before, I was not quite so aware. Thus, much pain ensued, as we tried to cling to each other, not recognizing that we were already whole beings. We mistakenly sought completion in the other. We mistakenly gripped and held. We loved each other, but we hurt each other, and ourselves. We suffered.

Now is the time for something new. With this new friend. This new spiritual companion. This new energy.

I cannot call him “partner,” for it is much more grande yet much less localized than that. We have no label. We have no promises. We have no clinging, and any co-depency that rises up within me, I notice, and I breathe into it, thus dissolving it quickly. The old ways are dying.

The love that is there, this deep, profound, completely earth-shattering love, whom I direct sometimes in a particular direction, at a particular gorgeous form, is also the same love I have for every tree, every rock. It is one love.

I dance my dance most days alone, without his voice, and I am okay. In fact, I am more than okay! I am the creator of the Universe and the creation within the Universe. I am both, functioning in a perfect dance of will and form. I am in love with myself.

Now is the time I attain to the next level. This spiral brings me up.

Romance is what humanity is transitioning out of.

Pure, awakened unconditional love is the future.

I represent the future. I am a wayshower. This is my task in this lifetime. I signed up for it. He did, too. We have the same mission.

I am so grateful to know him.

…and what I feel now of Love is deeper than any song, wider than any river. I am the Pure Presence that emanates from all things, and through my light, I heal myself and all beings. I have taken the Bodhisatva vow in my heart. Not in front of a religious community, but in the quiet echoes of my own morning. I have chosen. I have dedicated my entire life to the Way of awakening.

It is what I have always wanted.

Looking back, I can see this future in my childhood’s eyes. I can see how it has always been this way. How this Path has been prepared for me.

Each day I rise, and I surrender. Some days are easier than others. And there is still ego in me, still the illusion of separateness that still strives to exist. It will be dissolved at some point. No timelines can predict exactly when, but I do feel it will be within this lifetime.

Friends, thank you for following this blog. I hope you have felt loved through it.

Go forth, and love—as deeply and intensely as you can!!

Go forth and breathe, allowing the love to flow back to you, completing the circle.

Always and Forever in Service of Love,

Anya Light

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♥ Enjoy more heart-openings at www.AnyaLight.com or Anya’s book Opening Love. ♥ Namaste!

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Meeting Matt Kahn, Teacher of my Heart

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beautiful Matt Kahn, and his beautiful partner Julie 

 

I don’t remember the first time I heard his name. I know it was at least a few years ago—maybe two, or even three? I do remember, however, the first moment Matt Kahn captured me.

Yes, it felt as intimate and intense as that: a capture. Suddenly, my life was insane. Turned upside down and all amuck. Here, here was the Eternal Now, and here, here was seemingly no choice in the matter. We were together. Me and Matt. Matt and me. He had infiltrated my spiritual journey, somehow: lifted me, exposed me, and touched me to my very core… I wasn’t sure whether to scream and run or, simply, fall.

Yes, I remember well the first time my heart stopped its normal beatings and there was nothing but space and time and love between us. I remember the moment well. It was summer 2015. It was a day late in the summer; some leaves were already turning. The birds, my friends, were already beginning their yearly meetings by the river: go or stay? Fly, or wait? The mood was shifting. Hanging.

I remember that, prior to that day, I had been watching some of his videos fairly frequently on Youtube, dropping in and out of his teachings with varied levels of interest. I remember feeling ambivalent about his teachings on topics such as angels and ascended masters. (Was this dude too New Age for me? Was he a scam artist? Some sort of charlatan?) I remember being downright hostile to his teachings on monogamy. And I remember thinking that the main practice he taught—of saying “I love you” to my heart—seemed rather childish, silly, and overly-simplistic. However, I also remember being inexplicably drawn, again and again, to his present, twinkling eyes and to his uncanny sense of humor. He was the spiritual equivalent of Jack Black! He was hilarious! He didn’t take himself or the spiritual game too seriously, and I loved that.

Yes, I remember well the moment…It is late summer. September. The trees are beginning to lose their leaves and the squirrels are beginning to move more quickly. I have just returned from my first book tour, in Europe. I am seated comfortably with my lover on the couch. Back in Ohio. Suitcase mostly unpacked at my feet. I loved the trip, but I am happy it is over. There is a feeling of rest in my bones. Yes, now I am ready to resume normal life.

This is the moment. I remember my lover on his laptop, seated at one end of our blue couch; I am on my laptop at the other end of the couch, listening with headphones. I remember my legs were stretched out across the couch and that sometimes my toes touched my lover’s thigh. I remember the moment. I remember being enthralled by Matt’s video about soul contracts. I remember so much resonating with the message that my body began to vibrate in a way that made me wonder if I was going to fly right up off the couch! I felt weightless, ecstatic, one hundred percent tuned-in.

Towards the end of the video, then, I remember the impossible happening. Matt turns to me, looks into my eyes somehow, through screens and doors and a thousand lifetimes, and he says, quite distinctly, into my heart:

“Anya, leave.”

I remember gasping, pausing the video, running out my front door, down the wooden stairs in my bare feet, standing in my backyard under the full moon, tears streaming down my face. I remember the holy silence. I remember the courage. I remember my heart beating. I remember Matt’s love, all around me.

And I know what to do. I know what he means by “leave.” On this night I make plans to move to Puerto Rico, a choice that radically alters the course of my life forever. It is in Puerto Rico that I will do my heaviest purging and releasing. It is in Puerto Rico, the island of magic, darkness, and Santería where I will meet my fate. It there I will journey alone, shedding layers of victimhood and fear that have been plaguing me since childhood. It will not be easy. It will be hell, actually. But it will be necessary.

…Since then, since that moment in September under the full moon, it has been a steadily-progressing love affair. Me and Matt. Matt and me. More and more, I’ve come to accept his teachings and feel at a very deep level that there is no better teacher for me at this time in my life. Since that moment on the couch, I’ve come to surrender, more and more, to the feeling of rightness that I feel in my body when his words pass through me. I trust my body. I trust my heart. I trust myself.

I now do the “I love you’s” daily. It no longer seems corny or simplistic. It’s actually become one of the deepest, most profound practices in which I’ve ever participated. Indeed, I love you has become my standard, go-to first response in times of stress, sadness, and crisis. If I wake up in the middle of the night with insomnia: I love you. If I eat something I’m not proud of: I love you. If I miss a writing deadline or sleep past my alarm: I love you. If I lose a lover: I love you. Whatever arises in my life, beautiful or ugly, I intend for “I love you” to be what naturally arises. I heal myself this way. I heal as I never have before.

Saying I love you has not only become my favorite mantra to say to myself, it has also become what I most love saying to others: regardless of whether to a person I’ve just met or a long-time lover. Matt has given me permission to love, love deeply. And, in the long run, my intention is to allow the distinction between self-love and love for the “other” melt. There is no seperate other; there is no seperate me.

It’s all me.

The past few months have been really intense. And I’ve heard that the same has been true for other lightworkers, healers, empaths, and positive changemakers on this planet. It’s an intense time. So much is happening. So much growth and change.

I feel like I’ve aged many lifetimes in just the past couple of months. I lost the only relationship that ever inspired me to want to have a child. I visited an intentional community, Twin Oaks, where I learned so much about sharing and how to treat our planet with love. I changed my last name to “Light,” in honor of my lightworker path. And, a few months ago, in early November, I realized, once and for all, that Matt is my primary spiritual teacher. It finally dawned on me, after listening to him for years, that he is the teacher of my heart, the one I’ve been yearning for.

As I write to you today, I have a wish in my heart…

May all beings find their teacher, their true master, the one who helps their soul blossom.

 

 

…And, until then…

I love you.


 

Love this post? Awesome! If so, you might check out Opening Love, Anya’s book about navigating the challenges and ecstasies of intentional relationships.

The Year of the Door

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And, just like that, the old year ends and the new one begins. What is time? What is past and future? The heart opens, further and further. We evolve. We grow. The old year ends and the new one begins. It has come at a perfect time.

This past year, the year of 2016, has been my “year of the door.” Why have I called it that? Dear friends, let me share with you the story.

As you read this story, may it be a blessing unto you. May you find strength in the message contained within it. May you find peace, joy, and many beautiful awakenings in 2017. May it be your best year yet!

*♥*

 

imagesIt has been a few weeks on the island. My life has become a sort of nightmarish mushroom trip—one ghoulish thing after another. A man tries to rape me. A friend hacks my email. I can’t find clients. I’m already dreaming of plane tickets again. I’m dreaming of Ohio and England, or Timbuktu—anywhere but here.

As it turns out, my long-dreamed-of paradise is really the Bermuda Triangle. My hope is really my defeat. I feel ashamed and exhausted. My health is flagging. Enough tears every night to fill bathtubs. I am marooned, on the island that was my dream.

I so regret coming here. What could I have been thinking? Why had I leap so quickly? Why had I heard the voice of God in the ocean and then, later, in the moon? Where is my lover, my housemate of two years? I miss his dark hair against the pillow. I miss his cooking and the way he’d serve me, grinning. I miss myself.

This evening, my heart necklace falls from the wall, red and green glass shattering. I don’t have glue.

This evening, my computer breaks. The screen begins to vibrate and turn pink. I no longer see words clearly. I don’t have money to fix it.

And, this evening, it’s a night full of nightmares. Tossing, sweating, utterly spoiled sleep. In the morning, my hands cannot even find Reiki. There’s no comfort anywhere. The lizards on the windowsill glare at me, and there are no angels beside my bed anymore. No friends. No neighbors. No teachers. No plans. No hopes. No lovers. No love. Nothing but thick, dank heat, and the lifeless buzz of my lifeless heart. I lay there for hours, well into the afternoon. I have never been so tired in my life. Exhaustion is all I know. All I can see is my childhood, replaying again and again in my mind. I have never left that blue bedroom on Erben street; I will always be in misery.

Finally, I pull my body from the bed. Finally, my sore feet, pulling slowly across the dusty tile, as I make my way. My plan is to leave the house through the backdoor, and climb up to the porch I share with the lonely professor. It’s a beautiful porch, enclosed by palms, endless green, and the faint sound of ocean waves from only a few miles away. The porch is the best part about this house. And I want to go there to meditate. Right now. Shit is hitting the fan, life is falling apart…but, at least I can still meditate, I think. At least I can still do that.

Yes, here is the exit. I am getting closer now. Here is the heavy exit: the set of double doors, wood and glass, that separate in from out, that take me from here to there. Dusty doors, scuffed from decades of neglect. The lonely professor has better things to do. Everything is falling apart.

Here are the doors. And so I pull, as usual. I pull again. Nothing. Nothing? I don’t understand. My grip on the knob tightens: pull, pull, pull. Harder and harder. Nothing. They won’t budge. What?? Maybe I forgot; maybe I’m supposed to push. So, I push. I push more. Nothing. I check the locks. They aren’t locked, but the door is solidly and perfectly shut. My mind cycles through explanations: Did he—stupid landlord—finally go crazy and lock me in? Is this some trick, some joke? Breath and heartbeat, breath and heartbeat: faster, faster. A strange panic begins inside my skin, and teeth are in there, gnawing at my lungs. Now, more than ever, I just want to fucking get out! I want to go meditate! I want out of this musty fucking house, out into the open beautiful air! A feeling of lunacy takes me. I think, Oh my God, I am trapped. I am trapped here. I can’t get out. I can’t get off this island and I can’t even get out this door!

Then, through the swirling of thoughts, something catches my eye. A brief flash of pink, through the glass of the door. Pink flowers. Luscious and warm. Hibiscus. They call to me. They smile. Huge flowers, as big as my face, bursting brighter from recent morning jungle rains. Pink, with a touch of yellow in their center.

A feeling flashes; a sudden understanding.

This door…this door…this door: it is the prison of my mind! I have imprisoned myself with these thoughts!

And I begin to laugh…!

This laughter is the laughter of God, the laughter of you and me and everyone and everything who helps us forget and then remember. I laugh and laugh, bending at the knees and closing my eyes. It is the laughter of Rumi, when he fell to the ground, after he meeting his love. It is the laughter of kings, when they see their daughters born. It is the laughter of squirrels on the first day of spring. It is God peeking through me; it is God sensing through me. My body relaxes. All tension drops. I shake my head, blinking, in total ecstasy. What luck! What fate! I have made all this! I stop struggling with the door. In relief, I lean my head against the glass, and all the pink in my vision intensifies. I don’t know there is a name for these flowers…I don’t know anything. My head is emptied of thoughts. I am completely awake.

I stand there for not sure how long. I stand there twelve lifetimes.

When I remember again that I have a body and that maybe I could go somewhere, I try the knob again, without thinking.

It opens effortlessly.


 

If you enjoyed this, you might also enjoy Anya’s book, Opening Love.
Or, for a closer encounter, contact Anya today to schedule a spiritual guidance or relationship coaching session via phone or Skype.

Love at First Sight*

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“There will always be words,”
said the little girl to the little boy.
“So…let’s write them!”

The little boy looked at her.
His face was the color of the sun,
and his eyes knew more
than his height would allow.

The little boy looked at her.
“Will you, too, share the moon?” he asked,
blinking. His fingers, shaking.

 

Together, they fell into a rapture.
Together they fell.
They remembered in an instant,      beyond
what their childhood brains could know…

They remembered the swamps, the forests,
the many many islands,
and all the deserts and the hells.
But most of all:
They remembered
every key
that could, or could not, be unlocked.
They remembered it all.

They kissed.
They kissed.

Their mouths fit!

And they called sweetly to the moon, then,
their voices in unison:
“Please, gentle mother,
please be our guide.”

 

And so she did.
(How could she not?) It was love, love at first sight.
It was the thing they’d read about, later,
as adults. It was the thing they’d always know.
The lightning and the jolt. The grasses and the green.
The day, and how it always begun.

They fell,
together:
and it was the moment when all the ends worked out.
When the woman in the well began to swim,
and the man in the high priestly collar
began to bend.

It was that moment.
That moment
Of seed,
That moment of miracle:

That moment

When the planting
Could truly begin.

 

 

*Dedicated to B, and all our many past and future lives together. 

 


 

If you enjoyed this poem, you might also enjoy Anya’s book, Opening Love.
Or, for a closer encounter, contact Anya today to schedule a spiritual guidance or relationship coaching session via phone or Skype.

What Works

I tried poetry.
It didn’t work.

I tried intellect.
It didn’t work.

I tried romance.
It didn’t work.

I tried marriage.
It didn’t work.

I tried anger and activism.
It didn’t work.

I tried work.
It didn’t work.

I tried money and shopping.
It didn’t work.

I tried publishing and fame.
It didn’t work.

I tried kinky sex.
It didn’t work.

I tried car trips, drug trips,
and always to be moving.
It didn’t work.

I lived across the ocean.
It didn’t work.

I tried to live alone.
It didn’t work.

I tried everything.

Nothing,
nothing worked.

 

So, I began to try some silence.
That worked, a little bit.

I began to try some yoga.
That worked, a little bit.

I began to try some Reiki.
That worked, a little more.

I began to whisper “I love you”
to myself,
every morning.
That worked, a little more.

I began to forgive myself.
That worked, more and more.

I began to forgive them all.
That worked, more and more.

I began to smile.
That worked.

I began to feel my heart within a web of hearts.
That worked.

I began to serve.
That worked.

I began to live amongst them,
yet in solitude.
That worked.

 

I began to begin.
I began to be.
I began to work,

For you and for me.

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If you enjoy this blog, you might also enjoy Anya’s book, Opening Love. Or, for a closer encounter, contact Anya today to schedule a spiritual guidance session via phone or Skype.

A Spell and a River

My nipples are stones: smooth, hard, glorious. At the bottom of the deep river we see to the bottom. There are other stones, too. (So many days and dreams!) What they ask for is what we have.

Water…moves…languidly. Nobody rushes. It is midday: robins and wolves drink. Enough for everyone? Yes.

I recognize you, lover. You appear to be The Keeper this time. I appear to be The Watcher. Let the hands move back, let us see the vision: a sailboat, blue still waters, pyramids, paint.

When you first came, I was alone, shutting my eyes: unaware of, or ignoring the leaping possible. Keeping Time seemed easy.

 “Where have you been?” I gasped, crazy wide eyes. (This time not screaming.)

Air. Earth. Fire. Water. These are the elements that make us. You hold a bowl with your left, move a small gold sword in your right. We both fall silent,

making rainbows.


 

If you enjoy this blog, you might also enjoy Anya’s book, Opening Love. Or, for a closer encounter, please contact Anya today to schedule a spiritual guidance session via phone or Skype.

My Lover is a Priest

11863343_10204816779874795_48011293211071879_nYou’ve probably figured out by now that I’m not what you’d call a normal woman. Black swaying robes and lifelong spiritual vows are, to me, quite more alluring than millions of dollars or mountains of bicep. I am pulled to those who give away their lives. I am drawn to those who, gently, put their ego on the shelf. I am drawn to the courage of those who simply be. I am drawn to those who know: it’s not always so. It’s maybe.

In the summer of my thirty-second year, the year that began with a conversation with God, I went to Ireland, the holy land of Ireland, to the place where my Zen man lives. I went to Dublin, land of my ancestors on my mother’s side.

I lived with him for three and a half weeks. I became intimately near. We made juice together, ate chocolate, did laundry. I lived in his home, for three and a half weeks.

When I came back to America, we kept in touch, and then for a while we didn’t. I focused on other lovers. The priest had other lovers too. We both travelled. We drifted.

But now I’ve got the Zen bug again. I’m waking up earlier and earlier. I’m doing more sitting these days than my ego (and neck and back!) wants. I’m scheduling more nothings than somethings. Less doing; more being. And the Zen man and I…we’ve reconnected. In him, I’m finding a friend again: finding a calm center, in the warm gaze of my computer screen.

And these past few weeks, I’ve been reminiscing. What is it about him? What did I learn in Ireland last year? What keeps me? I look in my journal. Maybe the answers are there. I look at the words I wrote, two summers ago, as I flew back to America…

I’m in a plane, traveling back to a place I can no longer quite call home. I seem to, suddenly, have nothing: no home, no possessions, no special nook or place, no special tree, no lovers, no husbands, no wives or anything familiar or mine. There are no clocks, now, to keep task. I’m in the clouds. I’m free. I’m fullness itself. I’m being and non-being: this tiny airplane seat. To my left, a young Irish man holding a baby. To my right, an old American woman holding her head in her hands, drunk on bitterness, boredom, and wine.

 What has the Zen man given me? What might the priest know that I do not? That last morning in Dublin, the morning after the rainbows—our swirling limbs and hearts growing new as trees—I had wanted tears from him. I had wanted him to moan and cry and say “Don’t go, Anya! I cannot live without you!” But there had been none of that. No drama. There had been, rather, a warm coolness in his kisses. Sweet eye contact, but with no longing. No reaching. Instead, there had been holding my hand in the car, on the way to the airport, and there had been the word “maybe,” so many times, in response to my questions.

 Every time he had said “maybe,” something vanished. I don’t know what it was, but it certainly feels better now.

 I’m free.  


 

If you enjoy this blog, you might also enjoy Anya’s book, Opening Love. Or, for a closer encounter, please contact Anya today to schedule a spiritual guidance session via phone or Skype.