She was my companion. She didn’t understand me, I didn’t understand her, and the mystery of our attachment was the misunderstanding of love. Everything that was important to us was fleeting and temporary, just the thought of which caused disappointment and pain. Inside ourselves we possessed a more powerful and eternal force that was the source of peace. When she saw this in me and I in her everything faded away, including our sense of self-importance and our addiction to success; all that was left was perfect love and thanksgiving. I died in peace and she understood.
He was my companion. What I understood or didn’t understand before was of no more consequence. The torment of an unanswered question released in a pang of acceptance. I understood the moment of his peace. Everything else faded away, including my sense of attachment, my sense of entitlement to the future we had planned. I understood his peace, but I didn’t understand mine. He died in peace and I lived in wonder. Nothing seemed sufficient to define me. I am no-one. I am no-thing. There is nothing unsettling about this in my solitary confinement, but out in the world it makes for boring conversation.