This is an updated memoir with reflections of my twin flame embedded as a reminder to my sovereign soul — that pain is part of the alchemical process. I no longer see Moe as an enemy; perhaps he was, in part, fulfilling a soul contract — an archetype serving as a mirror to the unhealthy attachment patterns of my father. The shorter version of this piece is available on Medium.
Life is no longer a confusion to me. I am grounded by emotional clarity and self-assurance. My soul is awakened to the energy of my twin, and there are no more what-ifs or returns to “easier” paths. We are merged; we are whole as soul beings.
Though I must do my part to stay on path and remain fully capable of caring for myself in this 3D world, I do so without falling back into co-dependence or passivity in partnership. It wasn’t easy to battle the remnants of pain from each karmic tie. Each time, I had to act as an observer — watching karma unfnew as I shovelled myself through the tunnel and forced my way out of darkness.
Some may not realize that karma is not random; it arises from a sequence of events, born from past actions and the ways we responded to them. Some might argue that I could have avoided difficult relationships altogether — to stay free from pain — but that is not truly living. To live only for the good parts, denying darkness and covering pain, is to exist half-awake.
It is by experiencing what must return to you — by walking through it, witnessing it, and responding to it with awareness — that you earn your passage in this life lesson. It is an alchemical process, one that allows you to carry light amidst darkness as you continue on your journey.
Life is, at times, perplexing.
I feel a sense of betrayal, yet I remain true to myself in this dimension of the world. I say betrayal because I once crossed paths with my twin flame — and ultimately decided there wasn’t enough common ground in our work. I felt as though I was asking for too much support while he was at sea.
Hobby-wise, we might have been aligned: I love life by the ocean, drinking hard, and having deep conversations until the crack of dawn. It could have been a conventional relationship — he the breadwinner, and I perhaps reconciling with my “foster” family in the 3D world to find the financial support needed to build a life with him in Eastern Europe.
That said, it was — and still is — a strange situation. I feel deeply unsettled in the 3D world, yet my soul feels completely at home with my twin flame, without needing words.
Two years into our separation, I still find myself traveling. I keep seeing recurring angel numbers; my inbox fills with messages showing numbers like 11666 or 11890. I once picked up a floating white feather in the middle of a city. I’ve seen moths in different apartments, pairs of swans swimming together. And still, I no longer wish to reverse roles or chase my counterpart.
It so happened that I recently broke free from another karmic relationship — this time with Ken, who once claimed to be my twin flame, shortly after I deleted Instagram to stop obsessing over my true twin flame.
My relationship with Ken eerily mirrored the emotional enmeshment I experienced with my parents. It exposed the deep flaws of co-dependency and the hollowness of tying happiness to societal milestones. Three months in, Ken became increasingly controlling. He wouldn’t let me leave the apartment to socialize or recharge. When I travelled abroad, he began mimicking my words, copying my style, suddenly taking interest in things he once dismissed.
Emotionally exhausted and confused, I returned to his country quietly, grabbed my climbing backpack, and left — without words, just like that.
Looking back, I’m grateful I walked away. He stopped following me. It had been a situationship, not a relationship — one that existed only to validate his need for power and control.
Now, things make more sense. I attracted Ken during a time of emotional emptiness and vulnerability. Out of the blue, I had called in an energy vampire who latched onto me, draining my essence to soothe his covert jealousy. But I had wanted something else: true love, mutual support, and shared purpose — not to be mnewed into domesticity or reduced to an emotional sponge.
I am not an animal. I am a human with a soul.
Very soon after I left Ken, something extraordinary happened.
I began meeting new people — ones with a similar energy. One night, after a long art event, I was exhausted. I had no place to stay. I hadn’t extended my hostel reservation, had no bus ticket, and had lost my cash. So I sat outside a bar, disoriented, wondering what to do next.
A few people from the event invited me to join them, but I hesitated. Then suddenly, Moe started talking to me. He said he’d seen me at a techno party. We chatted about crypto, and I joked that his face could pass for a Bored Ape artist.
We clicked instantly, and he invited me to dance.
At first, Moe seemed like someone important — someone who might shift my perspective on relationships. We had a wild dance. I felt like a sailcloth hoisted by him — weightless, caught in his rhythm, carried by the wind of something ancient and free.
What began as a short stay at his place turned into nearly a month. It was a rough environment — neighbors drifting in and out, some offering him heroin, the air heavy with smoke from shared joints. I helped him kick out people who crossed his boundaries. We made art together, and I cooked for him — chicken soaked in whiskey, with lime and barbecue sauce. He spoke fluent Russian, worked as a game designer and sound engineer, and had a deep fascination with nautical expeditions and marine life.
I thought perhaps he was a soulmate — someone who understood me in ways others couldn’t. But over time, cracks appeared. His behavior grew inconsistent, manipulative in subtle ways. What I had mistaken for depth was often control disguised as passion.
The truth revealed itself when his ex contacted me to pass along a message:
“He says he’s not into polyamory. Plus, that he’s never doing crystal meth again. He could consider dropping you a line should you unblock him. He wishes you well.”
It wasn’t remorse. It was an indirect attempt to re-establish contact — using someone else to bypass my boundaries. That moment stripped away the romantic lens I’d been looking through.
I no longer wish to honour Moe. Even though my initial understanding was naïve, the karmic lessons I learned through him revealed a hard truth: romance and chemistry are not the same as love. These two alone cannot build a genuine connection.
My connection with Moe was soul-rupturing — a honeypot that ensnared me in his power games, trapping me in his antics. It was an energetic violation not only of my own soul, but also of my twin flame’s. Vibrationally, I believe my twin felt it.
Even though it was short-lived, I still remember Moe as someone with a fragmented soul — much like my father. That uncanny relational dynamic and attachment style made our connection feel familiar. I had been conditioned to unrequited love, to being loved with strings attached — to show care and generosity even when it was unreciprocated. In reality, my kindness was disrespected and taken for granted.
My time with Moe was not the deep, unshakable connection I once imagined. It was a lesson — one that taught me to see beyond charm, to guard my energy more fiercely, and to recognize covert narcissism when it appears in soulful disguise.
For that, I take the clarity and move forward — my energy reclaimed, my truth intact, my path toward authentic love unobstructed.
I continue my journey onwards with no map, no navigation — only intuition, my inner radar, and the blueprint of my soul loving him, existing in multiple dimensions.
I honour my twin flame, now and always — thinking about him and his boat, as I sail closer toward him.
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