Journal 6-5-04

Meeting Peter

By Licia Berry

www.liciaberry.com

The night I met Peter feels like one of those mystical experiences I have had over my lifetime that transcend the mind’s understanding and affirms that we are more than mere 5 sensory organisms walking around on this happy accident called earth.

I was interviewing for a job at R. Thomas Deluxe Grill in Atlanta. R Thomas was a 24-hour, very hip restaurant; a friend of mine I had met at Georgia State was working there and had encouraged me to apply. It was 11:00 pm; it was the night before my photography final exam, in which I was to have developed several dozen photographs and had them matted and ready for critique by my professor. I was woefully behind, and knew I couldn’t pull it off. My work in the photography class had slipped early in the quarter, after my professor had ripped through my photos and deemed them not up to snuff. I had worked hard throughout the day and night and was taking a break, planning to go back downtown to the dark room to have things ready by the morning.

I walked in per arrangement with the manager, Carl, and after saying hello to my friend Julie, we sat down at a table and began to talk. I was sitting on the far side of the table, facing the door and entrance to the patio of the restaurant. Carl and I were chatting it up, when I looked up and happened to catch a tall, dark haired young man coming into the restaurant from the patio. He and I seemed to look up in each other’s direction at the same time. I was hit with a sense of recognition, as if I knew this man; the feeling was literally, “Oh, there you are!” He seemed to visibly stop for a second when he saw me, then began moving again as he was busy waiting on tables outside. I also experienced a sense of time stopping, and feeling an irresistible draw to this man. I resumed my talking with Carl, but something felt different. My awareness seemed to be tingling with possibilities.

After a moment or two, he came by the table on the pretence of getting something out of the cooler, which was situated next to me. I looked up at him and said Hi, he returned the Hi, and I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. When we shook hands, it was as if worlds collided; our fates were sealed. Peter would later tell me it was when we shook hands that he realized that I was the woman he was going to marry. He went again back to waiting tables, I continued talking with Carl and Julie, who was just getting off shift, and it was now 11:30 or so on August the 12^th, 1986, the day my life started.

Peter came by again a few minutes later as Carl, Julie and I talked about going out for a drink; he said, “I’ll be getting off in a few minutes, will you all wait for me?” We agreed; it all flowed, there was no stopping what had begun in that handshake. Peter got off of work and we four went out to a bar in Buckhead on Peachtree.

We sat down at the bar in what is now the funniest arrangement. I on one end, then Carl, then Julie, then Peter at the other end. It became apparent that Carl was hitting on me and that Julie had designs on Peter. As we talked to our respective suitors, Peter and I would occasionally reach our heads out around the line up and wave and smile to each other. It was as if we were playing a game, patiently waiting until we would get our turn, already knowing that it would happen. Eventually, Carl and Julie figured out that we weren’t going for the bait, and eased off in their attentions. I think Julie went home and we three went to Carl’s house after the bar, where he loaned me his guitar, still pining after his lost hit with me. I offered to take Pete home to his apartment.

When we got there, I had planned to leave to get back home. It was quite late and I had my final exam to get ready for. Peter asked me to come in with him, telling me about his cool art computer called an Amiga, and that he would really like to show me his paintings. I thought to myself, this is an interesting line; I haven’t heard this one before. It is necessary to note here that I was in the space in my life where I had bent with any slight breeze, going with the flow, not by choice, but by unconscious life pattern. If a man wanted me to go into this house with him, I did. If a man wanted me to have sex with him, I did. I really understood that I was a plaything and it was expected of me to do whatever a man wanted. This belief and resulting pattern grew out of my consistent sexual abuse at the hands of the men in my family of origin. It was simply the way life was; I knew no different.

I went into Peter’s apartment, knowing in the back of my mind that I was putting my work for the photo class at jeopardy. He showed me around the small place he shared with a man named Chip, then he sat me down at his computer desk in his living room and showed me his paintings. He explained the art program on this computer, showed me how the painting was done, and showed me some pieces he had “painted”. We spent a long time looking at this computer. Inside, I was stunned. I kept waiting for him to pull me into the bedroom, but it didn’t happen. Eventually, I said I needed to go, feeling that pull to finish my photos. It was probably 3 a.m. at this point, and I didn’t have that many hours left until I was due at the final critique. Peter walked me out to my car and pulled me to him. He gave me a wonderful hug, then I lifted my face to kiss him. It was a lovely kiss, a more than friends kiss. This was the direction I knew how to go in, but it was so late and I was exhausted. Peter asked if I was sure I had to go, and I weakly said yes, I really do. So we hugged and kissed some more, and he promised to call me, and I left.

I wound up going home, resigned that I would fail my final exam. I was so tired and the final exam suddenly did not feel so important. There was something new brewing in my awareness, some sense of destiny. I still needed to take care of business, however, and set my alarm for early in the morning when I got to bed. When I awoke, I went downtown before class and wrote a note to my photo teacher, leaving what photos I had and a cockamamie excuse about my mother having cancer and my not being able to concentrate on my work. I asked in the note for an “Incomplete” so that I could finish the class another time. My professor kindly complied with my request.

I did not hear from Peter for a few days. I had thought of him a few times, but was not pining away for him. It almost felt like I did not care whether I saw him again or not. I simply had no anxiety about whether I’d see him again. I wonder if this feeling was a combination of awareness on a spiritual level that I had found my life partner and a resulting surety, and my then out-of-body-ness and patterns of self-destruction numbing me out. When he called me at work at Georgia State, I was mildly surprised, and agreed to see him later that evening at my house.

Peter arrived at my shared house on 8^th street in midtown Atlanta dressed all in white. He looked like he was floating off the ground, very peaceful and otherworldly. Not being Christian per se, I was surprised to be reminded of Jesus. We walked to Piedmont Park, just a few blocks down, where we strolled in the sunset evening. We sat up high on a hill overlooking the park and downtown Atlanta. Peter seemed almost Christ-like; he was speaking of things that I had felt a long time ago, such as consciousness, the nature of reality, that we were all connected. These were awarenesses that I’d had all throughout my young life, but which had all but been beaten out of me by my abusive childhood and current hard life as a single, working college student with a serious desire to leave the planet. Life had been so painful to me in these 21 years that I’d been on the earth; I’d always felt my connection to something larger than me, and this is what had sustained me throughout so many excruciating years of earth experience. But I was getting further and further away from remembering this connection. My life in Atlanta in the last year had been hard and fast; I ‘d been drinking and drugging, dating a bit but mostly having sex with all persuasion of men and women, not eating because I was so poor and not getting enough sleep. I ran my body down to the dust that year; I was dangerously thin in body as well as in spirit. To hear Peter talk about these things was a breath of life-sustaining air into my sad, desiccated lungs.

As we sat and talked, we snuggled up, me between his legs resting on his chest. Pete’s arms were around me, and we were discussing the things we liked. I think it was after we were comparing notes on ice cream that he said “I think I’m falling in love with you.” I kept talking about ice cream. He stopped me and said, “Did you hear what I said? I think I’m falling in love with you.” Oh, shit. Yes, I heard you but I was ignoring you in hopes that you didn’t really say that. What am I supposed to do now? These thoughts ran through my mind, and I was scared, really scared. But I played it cool; I did not return the sentiment. I had just met this guy, for god’s sake! And he wasn’t bad-boy-devastatingly handsome or dark or mysterious, so the desperate desire to be with him on my part wasn’t there. He was so darned nice, and he hadn’t wanted to have sex with me the first time we met, and now he was talking about love on our second meeting! Who was this guy? At the surface, there wasn’t much of a charge for me. However, the small inner voice that I had been ignoring was speaking in soothing tones to me. It was as if my Spirit was gently caressing my ruffled feathers, easing my fears, calming me so that I would choose Peter. I don’t remember what I said in response, but I apparently did not scare him off.

We left Piedmont Park and went back to the house on 8^th Street. We went into my bedroom and sat on the bed. We kissed a bit, talked a bit more, kissed more. It began to get heavier, and I sat up and said, “Let’s get naked.” I did not particularly desire to be sexual, but I felt it was the inevitable conclusion and where he, like all men, wanted to go. I was well trained. He agreed, and we did have sex. This is one of my regrets in life; I truly did not know better, to wait and to cherish that first intimacy. What I can say in redemption is that Peter’s lovemaking was so tender and gentle that I did not know how to respond except to be moved to tears. Then I knew that there was something about this man….if there were no other arena that a man could show who he really was, it was in making love. It became obvious that Peter was someone special.

We parted ways for all of a day, I think. I was scheduled to go to Sarasota, Florida with two of my roommates, one of whom had a family condominium there. I went to Peter’s work late the next night to pick up him and to say goodbye before leaving the next day. I lay on the hood of my car in the dark parking lot, waiting for him to get off shift, playing the guitar that Carl had loaned me. I remember distinctly feeling two parts of myself; one that was falling head over heels in love with Peter, and one that did not seem to buy in, was nonchalant. It was as if, in looking at him as a mate, I heard both voices, one urging me to choose him, and the other urging me not to. I actually remember hearing, “But he’s boring.” This was the part of me that was accustomed to and therefore attracted to men that hurt me, were dangerous and unavailable, and took what they wanted from me, leaving me in a crumpled heap to look for who knows what elsewhere. Peter was so honest, so caring, so vulnerable, so willing to lay out the truth. He was not playing the hard ball games I was accustomed to dodging. When I said goodbye to him before my vacation to Sarasota, I thought that maybe I would forget about him, that when I returned he would be gone from my life. The actuality was that I thought about him quite a bit, even wrote him a steamy letter speaking of my desire for him, still finding my way with this new kind of man, relating to him the way I would the old kind of man, but with a door opening inside of me to my old hopes of what love would be like. By the end of my stay in Sarasota, I could not wait to get back to Peter.

When I returned, I fell into his arms with abandon. We went to Ocracoke for a week with some girlfriends of mine (a trip that was originally a “just girls” venture but which I selfishly turned into sugar shack time with Peter…they never forgave me, and I barely cared). On the beach, we walked and talked, hand in hand and arm in arm. One day we stood high on a dune, looking out on the ocean, and I said, “This would be a good place to get married,” or something to that effect. Peter agreed, then we both kind of shook ourselves, hearing what we’d just said, and ran screaming down the dune and away from each other. We returned to each other, smiling, knowing it was true. We would be together for the rest of our lives.

Similarly, one early morning we watched the sunrise at the point. Pete held me from behind, with his hands on my belly. As we watched the miracle grow in the faint eastern sky, he whispered into my hear, “You’ll have our baby in there someday.” I smiled and knew it was true. I was settling into the awareness that my life was entirely different now; no more darkness. It was as if the life behind me were a harsh, difficult dream. My resistance to choosing Peter was wearing down; my heart was opening up, expanding into the knowing I’d had since childhood of my life in love.

by Felicia Berry, Rev., "Shamama"

Teacher, Energy Facilitator, Soul Tender, Writer, Wise Woman, AKA The Goofy Goddess

Felicia (Licia) Berry has had direct experience of her connection with The All That Is since she was a young girl, when she regularly held conversations with the spirits of the plants, trees, rocks, sky and the Angels. A lifelong intuitive and empath, she has been a teacher, facilitator, energy transformer, agent of change and celebrator of life for 41 years. She is currently working on several writing projects, teaching classes, laughing a lot and enjoying her Angelic/Shamanic Energy Transformation practice, where, guided by Angels, she assists others to wake up to their divine power and become conscious creators. She was given the title of “Shamama” (a woman-shaman who is also a mother and who grounds the Divine Feminine in spades); she is frequently referred to by her clients as “the most grounded spiritual person I’ve ever met”. She channels the Archangels, primarily Raphael and Gabriel, and she considers them to be a riot.

Licia is blissfully married to her husband of 20 years, Peter; together, they co-create with their two amazing sons and a happy cat in the boonies of the San Luis Valley of Colorado. She can be reached at (719) 657-0424 or licia@liciaberry.com. Learn more about Licia at www.liciaberry.com and her sister sites www.goofygoddess.com and www.sacred-celebrations.com and www.berrytrip.us (the story of her family’s 2+ year odyssey in their RV, the Wandering Jude.)