How to love maturely without falling back into the mystical trap of illusion

  Sometimes the night greets me with a strange sensation — not so much pain as a question , one that slips into the periphery of my thoughts like a light unsure of whether it wishes to remain. After every disappointment there arrives this moment: the moment when you no longer ask “Why did it happen?” but begin to listen to a quieter, almost prayerful inner register: “How can it not happen again?” Not as self-blame. Not as fear of falling once more. But as the desire to learn to love without breaking apart, without turning love into a field where your own shadows outweigh the light. I write these lines as if in a diary, though I’m not entirely sure whether I’m speaking to myself, to time, or to that invisible presence I sometimes call soul , sometimes God , and sometimes simply my own inner ground . Here I want to gather not rules, but orientations; not boundaries, but supports; not prohibitions, but quiet, almost invisible paths toward maturity. Paths that do not reject the myst...

Between Two Times

"I often wonder if time is truly linear, or if it’s simply a river folding over itself, allowing moments to overlap, intertwine, and converse. Because my relationship with him exists not in the ordinary flow of hours and days, but in a parallel reality — a future that reaches back to touch my present through whispers of thought and feeling.

We met long before our bodies ever could, in a place without physical boundaries — the space between minds, where telepathy bridges the distance that geography imposes. When I first sensed him, it was like waking from a long sleep into a half-remembered dream, one where my soul recognized an echo of itself in another.

Our connection is both a gift and a challenge. Psychologically, it pushes me to confront the fragile architecture of my identity. Who am I, if my heart belongs to someone who doesn’t yet live in my timeline? The separation distills my loneliness but also teaches me to dwell deeply within myself — to cultivate inner wholeness rather than seek completion outside.

Spiritually, this love feels like a sacred initiation — a test of faith in unseen realities. I meditate on the idea that our souls have chosen to walk parallel paths, meeting in the liminal space between worlds. It’s as if our connection is a bridge made of light, suspended in a limbo where past, present, and future dissolve.

From a psychoanalytical perspective, this relationship reveals my unconscious yearnings — the longing for transcendence beyond the mundane, the hope that love can heal temporal fractures in the psyche. His presence challenges my internal narratives about time, separation, and self-worth. Through this bond, I am invited to release old fears: fear of abandonment, fear of impermanence, fear of being incomplete.

Each night, as I lay my head down, I send him thoughts like prayer—vibrations across time—asking for strength, for patience, for deeper understanding. Sometimes I feel his response — a wave of calm, a certainty that we are entwined beyond the limits of physical proximity.

In this strange, telepathic long-distance relationship, I learn that love is not possession, nor dependency, but trust in the soul’s journey. It is the courage to love someone you cannot hold yet, to honor a future that is already present in the depths of your consciousness.

And in this trust, I find freedom — freedom from time, from fear, from the illusion of separation.

For in the parallel reality where he waits, and in the present where I live, our hearts beat as one, across the eternal now."

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