Soulmate Skills

I Name Jim My Soulmate

It was February 9, 1989, exactly one month since our meeting experience at Asilomar.  We had spoken on the phone a few times.  And we had written a dozen letters to each other.  They were in-depth revelations of ourselves and how we’d affected each other.  Now we were discussing ideas.  As we shared at this profound level, Jim’s transformative influence upon me deepened.  We were each reading, Irene deCastellejo’s book, Knowing Woman.  She talked about woman’s need for the animus (the rational, clear-thinking, traditionally male function) to help her articulate what she knows in a diffuse way inside herself.  This was the point in the book that spoke of my own journey.  And, in his letter, Jim quoted to me exactly that passage from the book.  I wrote back to him, “You couldn’t have quoted a more perfect portion of Knowing Woman.  It perfectly describes my current position.  I know what I know inside, but to put it in words is my challenge.  deCastellejo wrote, ‘Through man, woman finds the animus who can express the soul she has never lost.  Her burning need is to trust her own diffuse awareness, to know what she knows, and to learn to speak of it.’  Exactly my journey.”  How did you find the most applicable statement to my journey out of that whole book?  That’s incredible.  You are my soulmate to do that.  You shone your torch on my work when you said I had a work of genius.”  

Jim was truly my soulmate.  He was bringing concepts, support, and empowerment to me to blossom into a woman who could articulate what she has to give to the world.  I had also read an article Jim had sent me that talked about “Presenting your soul to another.”  I saw that we were doing that.  We had a spiritual connection.  And that was something I had longed for.  But thought I couldn’t find a man who would be spiritual, yet non-dogmatic; not rigid.  And we had read an article containing a Native-American love charm, “Your soul has come into the very center of my soul, never to turn away.”    Our souls had found each other.

Jim Confronts His Shyness

We were corresponding like crazy–getting to know each other.  Observing each other.  Giving each other feedback about what we saw.  In my Feb. 9 letter to Jim, I wrote, “Sometimes I think you are shy about saying things directly to me.  It’s okay.  I’m shy too sometimes.”  So, on Feb. 15, Jim wrote back, “Once in a while something you write touches me so deeply and gives me such a strong sense of you that your essence leaps out of the page at me, and it’s as though you were really here full of life and love and strongly connected to me.  Such a sentence was:  ‘Sometimes I think you are shy about saying things directly to me.’  Oh, yes, I am!” 

So, there he was confronting my feedback.  Considering it.  Then he added, “And then you miss out on the good things I have for you, and it’s not fair, and you are right to complain, and I want you to continue to complain whenever I do not give you the fullest contact, with no punches pulled, from my heart.  Please keep reminding me; please teach me how to give to you.  I will learn quickly, I promise.”

Now, this is big.  That a man would say, “I want to learn from you.  I want to please you.  I want to connect at the level you want.  Be my teacher.”  Oh, my!  That I had found a man like this!  I was melted.  Not only did he want feedback.  The reason he wanted it was not focused even on his own growth, but on fulfilling me!  I still am in awe at this.  And I treasure it.

Jim Teaches Me About Dependency–The Good and The Bad

Oh, I was beginning to not be able to stay away from Jim.  Of course, he was 2,000 miles away.  But I wanted to write to him everything I was thinking.  I couldn’t wait to receive and read his letters.  And I relished our phone calls.  I told Jim that I was fearful that I was becoming dependent on him.  And his answer led me to realize that I had a man here who could think with incisive clarity.  Who could make important distinctions. 

He wrote in his Feb. 6 letter:  “About dependency:  There are two meanings of emotional dependency: dependent on the other person’s love and approval for our own self-esteem; and dependent on the other for deep connectedness.  The former is a buffer and must be used with great caution, as one would take a drink to feel good and get relaxed but be careful not to get so dependent on alcohol that one feels good ONLY when having a drink, or two, or a whole lot more.  But an alcoholic drink, for those who like it (I happen not to, though I once did), is not in itself a bad thing.  What I say about buffers is: Enjoy as many as you can get but don’t get addicted to them.

The other kind of dependency–on connectedness-is different.  It’s a non-buffered pleasure, it seems to me.  I have it with my son Keith and daughter Carol, and I feel good when I make contact with them and so I feel good when I make contact with you, too.  More than good…It’s not like with my love-addicted clients, who become dependent on emotionally unavailable people, and who yearn for little crumbs of affection, constantly hungry for more.  We do not give each other crumbs, precious Kathy, darling Kathy, we offer each other huge feasts of affection, great banquets of self-opening ideas; and I come away from our sweet table surfeited, glutted with the pleasures of connectedness, stuffed to the gills with the joy we create.  I am always willing to express my love fully, as you do too.  We do not constrict our loving feelings; we are not afraid of opening to the other (or not much; we are not afraid of opening to the other to taking bigger and bigger risks); we are not stingy with our feelings; we are willing to let our love gush forth in wilder and wilder ejaculations (yes, let us not fear to).  The love that you have unleased in me frisks through my life, romps in my soul, making every moment glow.”

Jim’s words, for me, were a constant surprise and revelation.  No one had ever made these distinctions for me.  And I had never seen them for myself.  His perspective always set me free.  To be fully human.  All previous teaching from books and lecturers had felt constricting.  And they often were–full of Inner Critic stuff; shoulds to not be dependent.  But no clear thinking.  I could breathe easy again.  I now knew the difference between life-giving dependency and destructive codependency. 

And then he dealt with the implications of such good dependency–that you could lose this person.  He wrote, ”And if you should say, ‘You know, Jim, I’ve been thinking it over, and I guess I don’t like you any more,’ I would feel some intense pain (and my guess is that you too felt a twinge when I typed that), but I would survive, and my life would still go on glowing from your touch, because the flame (remember my symbol at Curlew?) is now self-sustaining, the flame you and I kindled together (I guess it was on the beach, when you asked me to inseminate you, and I had asked you to take your glasses off; and also when you bestowed upon me your lovely femaleness), but the pain would be sweet, and I welcome it if it’s there because it means I have loved deeply, more deeply than ever before, and that in itself is precious; that in itself is, would be, enough, more than I’ve ever had.  So dependency?  Sure.  Some pain involved?  I’m willing to take the risk; I’m an old hand at working with pain; it’s just a feeling, anyway.  Better to risk and feel some pain if it comes than remain closed up and safe.”

Wow!  Those profound thoughts sustain me even to this day, as I’m writing 21 years later.  Yes, this connected dependency is worth it.  It is sustaining.  So, just as in 1989 I embraced my growing dependency on Jim and on our connectedness, I embrace it now in 2010.  It is exquisite.  I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

I Find My New Destiny; My Relationships Face Painful Changes

Almost immediately after I returned home from Asilomar, my friends and family noticed a change in me.  My friend, Mac, said, “Kathy, you’ve come home changed.  You’re so–womanly!”  And that really captured it.  I had left for the doctoral colloquium still a child (even though I was 37); I came back deepened, strengthened–a woman.  I think it was the result of the two areas of my life that had gone through a tectonic shift–my professional life (by beginning work on my Ph.D.) and my personal life (by beginning a soulmate relationship with Jim).  The colloquium had been a psychological seismic event for me.  And now the shifts that had occured in me were reverberating in my former relationships. 

My mother, widowed by my father’s death nine years before, had come to rely on contact with me for emotional support.  Now, I was focusing more energy on my doctoral work and my relationship with Jim.  She was pressuring me for more contact.  I was feeling guilty.

My roommate of nine years was feeling the shift too.  Before, we had done most everything together.  My hours on the phone with and letterwriting to Jim were absorbing all my relationship energy.  She was expressing pain at the loss of our involvement.

I was feeling torn; guilty; but, at the same time, driven to the changes I was making.  As I wrote Jim, and as we talked on the phone, I told him the pain I was in from these relationship upheavals.  And he began to guide me through them.  In his Feb. 6 letter, he told me his own story:  how he had changed, primarily a change in his life goals, his Dream.  “Once my Dream was of a wife, kids, and suburban home–a job at Ford Motor Company–retirement at age 65.  My dream is my work..my mission.  I no longer ask, like the tailor who considered buying Macy’s, “Where’s the room at the back where I can live?”  I have this great mission, which must be served.  But the pursuit of my Dream has entailed some losses in human relationships.  First, my ex-wife, Jean, whose dream was the husband-kids-suburban home one.  The divorce (which she got) was a painful loss for both of us, and I cried about it (mostly about what was not to be, a dream that had vanished).  Another loss was my friends in Detroit.  They were two or three couples that we invited over, or who invited us, and we talked about surface things, while I thought this was really living.  But after coming to California, I have grown away from them. 

So now I want to be very selective about who I want for friends, because I don’t have an infinite amount of time and energy.  And because I am no longer content to follow the wife/kids/house model. 

The turmoil you feel is, of course, a good sign.  It means that some old patterns are dying and are fighting to stay alive, perhaps.  And that new ones are being born.  Whatever has happened at the colloquium to open you up, to deepen you, to expand you, will call you to a new destiny.  However you resolve this struggle, I will be with you, your steadfast friend and companion.  Please call on me any time, in the middle of the night, I will be there for you, whenever.” 

This was very comforting to me.  I was on the path of a new Destiny.  And Jim, who was so core to that change, was right there with me.

I Am Jim’s Spiritual Muse

One of the things Jim told me he wanted from me, but didn’t know it, was spirituality.  In fact, he longed for a spiritual guide–one who would bring him serenity.   It all began at Asilomar, when I had given him a note saying I had some feedback for him.  In it, I told him that when we had shared that first hug in his room, I had noted some stiffness in him.  I wanted to offer him something from myself as an antidote to that.  I called it my female lubrication.  (I know–it has sexual overtones.  And, I think there’s no getting away from that in a male-female relationship, even early on.  It’s going to be there.  And that’s one of its gifts.)  Well, he had taken it in, because in his Jan. 16th letter to me he wrote, “I have been wondering about your note, feeling a bit defensive; keeping open on it and having faith that you surely had something to teach me that I was not yet ready for but would be soon, and now I was indeed less stiff, at least beginning to be, and I felt centered in this deeper part of myself and now knew what the note meant.  I had told you that I wanted something from you but I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was very important to me, and it had something to do with just experiencing your Presence, from which some great good, some great wonderful splendid benefit would come.  And then you flipped into a place inside me, looking out at the world through my eyes, as though I had a twin inside me, a companion, with your being permeating every part of my mind in the precious and sweet way that you are and that I had surrendered to.  And there you are now.  And you say things to me, some in words but most in gentle attitudes and little steerings, and you are beginning to guide my life.” 

There is a word that captures what I had become for Jim.  It’s called a muse.  A muse is defined as a source of inspiration; a guiding spirit.  So, my feminine presence, which he had introjected, began to gentle him, soothe him; began to sweeten his life.  I was in awe at this process.  I had not known consciously that I could do this for a man.  But, once Jim shared the impact I was having on him, it seemed right.  At some deep level, I wanted to be his Goddess.  It was a profound fulfillment of that spiritual urge in me.

Jim Debunks A Myth I Held

In his role as my mentor, Jim began to teach me to evaluate the beliefs I held about relationships.  And, even though I had been a counselor for ten years and was a college instructor who taught counseling, I had some major misconceptions about how to do intimate relationships.  In my letter of Jan. 20th, I revealed a huge myth I had held:  “There is a sacred, secret place in me that I can’t and don’t want to even touch with words.  But, I want you to know it’s there.  It’s the place created and filled with you and your response to my request from you.  You gave perfectly, I want you to know.  And that’s part of what makes it sacred.  I won’t continue talking about it, lest I bruise it.” 

But, Jim wrote back, “Please, sweet Kathy Jo, let me encourage you to learn not to fear words.  Words will not profane an experience if they are gentle and caring.  I need words.  And I believe that words can encourage the process of growth.  Words are expressive, and when expressed (especially if voiced), leave space for the next thing to emerge.  If not voiced, one is stuck; one’s process is blocked.  Words serve as a kind of scaffolding that permits deeper exploration too.  First I have an experience.  Then I describe it with words.  Next time, I can move deeper, following the words I have already constructed.  It’s sort of like building a bridge out over the water:  I go to the end of the words I have made and dive in, then return and build further out.” 

And so, with this wonderful teaching from Jim, I broke free from an old constriction.  Because I had held the myth that talking about an experience could diminish the experience, I had silenced my voice.  No longer.  My voice was freed.  I loved the new perspective Jim was giving me.  It was empowering.  My life since that time has been about liberating my voice more and more.

A Marvelous Thing Is Happening

We are beginning to write to each other every week.  And a marvelous thing is happening.  Our letters include, in-depth, what we see in each other–very specific qualities.  We are beholding each other, and that beholding is having a profound impact on each of us.  Jim’s letter of January 24, 1989, expressed it best: ”I love feedback from you; for example, about the security guard at the airport.  To me that seemed quite ordinary, what I did; your writing about it gave me a new perspective on myself.”  So, that was it.  In being beheld, we each began to see ourselves in a new light:  “So that’s me?  That strong man that she sees?”  (See our Love Letters page for more of this letter.)

In addition, Jim is developing in his role as my mentor.  He is ever so gently guiding me in self-development; in personal growth.  In the Jan. 24th letter, he wrote, “I want to say that there is something else I can give you, something that will indeed strengthen you.  It is the ideas, concepts, principles, and skills that I have learned in my work.  They are designed expressly to give people strength and structure to handle very deep, very intense feelings.  I want to give you that, if you wish.”  And, oh, I so wanted that.  That’s why I’d asked him to inseminate me.  I saw his strength; wondered how he got it; wanted it for myself.  And here he was offering it to me in very specific terms.  I was enthralled.  And so grateful to have found this wise mentor.

And we have introjected each other.  I wrote in my Jan. 20th letter, “There is a sacred, secret place in me.  It’s the place created and filled with you and your response to my request from you.”  He responded directly in his next letter and thanked me for telling him about this place.  So, although we were 2,000 miles apart, we were sensing each other inside ourselves.  And that was a first for me.  It was a wondrous thing.

Those First Weeks Apart

It’s funny.  I was now back in Louisiana; my semester had started.  Jim was back in Berkeley, leading his groups.  It all seemed to be resuming business as usual.  But it wasn’t.  My heart is racing a little now as I think back on it.  Because we had met each other at Asilomar, and because we had connected in such a profound way.  and because Jim had inseminated me, everything was different.  And we were feeling it.  On January 27, 1989, I wrote him, “I’m going a mile a minute [getting things done on my doctoral work].  I feel like I am in a swifly flowing stream, being whooshed along by the current.  I am enjoying the heck out of the ride!”  But I also was feeling the geographical distance between us: “I’m frustrated!  I’d really like to talk to you more.  I think of you very often; think about processing some event or idea with you.  So may our spirits commune even when I can’t physically stop to write or call.”  (I was experiencing something called “cathexis,” which means holding someone in your heart.  Look for more on this in the Skills section of our website.)  But holding someone in your heart means the person is so important to you that you’re carrying a good bit of longing for them too.  And I was!  We had parted at San Jose airport on Sunday, January 15.  By Saturday, January 20, I couldn’t take it anymore.  I called him.  It was a little scary, because now that we were apart, I wondered if he wanted frequent contact with me.  But my longing was greater than my doubt, so I dialed his number.  And when he answered, I said, “Jim?  This is Kathy,” I heard his voice go all warm and welcoming, “Hi!  I was going to call you today!”  Ahh!  I relaxed.  Despite that quick intimacy we had established at Asilomar, we were awkward on the phone.  It was still very early in our relationship.  We were just groping at crafting something, and we weren’t quite sure what it would become.  (If you’d like to read more of our first love letters, go to our Love Letters page.)

Well, here we are 2010–21 years ago today Jim and I met. We’ve been celebrating since last night. That means we’ve been talking and reminiscing about January 6, 1989. It was an ephiphany for each of us. It transformed both of our lives. Neither of us has ever been the same. That meeting fulfilled Jim’s lifelong dream of finding a soulmate. A colleague. Someone who wanted as much closeness as he did. And for me, it fulfilled the deepest longing of my heart–for a man who would value me above all others; who would be strong yet kind; a mentor, a guide. Who would love me with an undying love.

We’ll be talking here in the days to come about those first six months of our relationship. There was so much change that had to happen–emotionally, geographically, relationally. And we’ll also be talking about the 21 years that we’ve spent living a high-voltage relationship. It’s been the greatest challenge and fulfillment of our lives.

We want to continue to share all this with you in the hope that it will inspire you, encourage you, and guide you in your soulmate quest.

For today, join us in celebrating. 21 Years!

Our Parting

“I can hear the ocean’s dull roaring outside.  And with a comfortable grief, I realize that this is my last day at Asilomar.”  It was 5:30 a.m., and those were the words I wrote as I woke without an alarm clock and felt compelled to write down what the colloquium experience had meant to me.  I had expected a doctoral entry experience, the colloquium, to be intellectually satisfying, but I wrote, “I never expected to connect so deeply on an emotional and spiritual and even physical level with my fellow learners and the faculty.  There have been communing walks among the dunes with Jim; a silent sharing of a golden sunset on the ocean with Ilana; a precious conversation in our room with Barbara and Jim, lying on the beds and feeling like siblings at their closest; bear hugs and shoulder rubs from Rick; powerful sensitivity and concern for my process from Rose.  Then there have been moments of hilarity at the dinner table and in sessions, as well as a special warm hour last night around the fireplace.” 

I was packed; we had a final session that morning with final instructions and good wishes for our doctoral work.  As we were saying our goodbyes, Jim asked, “Anyone need a ride to the airport?”  I said, “I do!”  And, thankfully, no one else did.  I was so grateful for the opportunity to have more time to spend with Jim–it would be about an hour and a half drive to the San Jose airport.  The drive was wonderful.  Jim took us on a scenic route through the California hills.  And as he drove, we talked and talked.  We shared more details about our histories.  I can’t remember the specifics.  But I do remember the feeling of joy and excitement and elation I felt at being with him. 

When we arrived at the airport, it was too early for my flight.  So Jim parked the car in the farthest part of the airport parking lot, closer to the trees (a more scenic view than the air terminal).  We sat in the car for about an hour talking more.  Deep into our conversation, we were interrupted by a tap on the window:  It was airport police.  They said they saw us sitting here for a long time and wanted to know if everything was alright!  I felt that sudden twinge–had we done something wrong?  But Jim, oh Jim, was who I had seen him to be over the past ten days–rational, mature, strong.  And the way he handled their suspicion, I loved it.  I felt protected.  Safe.  Advocated for.  I can’t tell you what that felt like.  It had been some old feeling from childhood that had gotten triggered in me.  (The authorities say I’ve done something bad.)  But Jim stepped in and said, “No.  She’s done nothing wrong.”  And the way he said it put the guards’ fear to rest.  And something in me relaxed.  Jim would take care of it.  Another archetypal moment–that longing in woman for a strong man to take charge and handle things. 

Then it was time to check in at the airport.  Jim sat with me in the boarding area.  When they called my flight, I suddenly felt light-headed.  I told Jim, “I think I’m having an anxiety attack!  Would you hold me?”  And he opened his strong, warm arms and held me.  I told him, “I think this has something to do with Daddy.”  (My father had died in 1980.  Although I hadn’t had verbal closeness with him, he’d always been a strong, solid rock of stability for me and my mother.  My grief had been over the loss of that.)  Now, I’d found another rock of a man, and seemed to be losing him.  After all, I was getting on a plane to fly two thousand miles away from California–and from Jim.  I didn’t know if I would ever see him again. 

But one thing I did know.  I was leaving California inseminated.  With a strength that had always been external to me.  Now it was inside me.  And Jim had put it there. 

We promised to write each other.  I wrote my first letter to Jim on the plane home.  Jim wrote his the following morning.  You can read our first letters on the Love Letters page of this website.  And there will be much more…