I know an old soul. He gazes at me, at the sea, at the night sky, knowing all of us, all these things, in days past. Days long gone, eons before.
He knows that he knows these things. He never speaks of them. He is not even sure why he knows, only that he has loved someone a century or two ago. That he traveled the high seas guided only by the stars. He understands bits of languages he never learned, and finds solace on an empty winter beach.
No one knows how ancient his soul is,
No one, except me.
How do I know?
I know because his soul and mine reached for each other, through the humanness that would deny his soul’s age. We may separate for a few days, even at times a few weeks. Then one of us will reach out, one of us will call the others name. Because we knew each other then, and we found each other now.
I know, because he understands me, without being told who I am. Even though I have an incessant need to tell him.
I used to say to him, “I see you. Underneath it all, I see you.” He said, “did you ever think that maybe you see me because I choose to reveal myself to you?”
It could be the reason. Perhaps what I arrogantly thought was my ability to perceive who he really is, was only because he allowed me to look in.
In which case, I am grateful, and honored.
He understands the way it works better than I do, I think. Except perhaps the idea of unconditional love. His humanness finds that concept to be pleasant, but rare.
Mostly I know, because when I catch him unaware of my gaze, I can see the depths of the sea, and of life, in his clear, smiling (usually) blue eyes.
When I ask him, “Do you think we knew each other before? Do you think we agreed as souls to meet up in this lifetime?” He answers, “I don’t know. And we won’t know til this lifetime is over, will we?” And he smiles, usually, laughing at me and my insatiable desire to know what happened before, and what happens after.
I still think he knows….His blue eyes tell me the story, when I get the chance to see them, gazing out to sea, or under the night sky.