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Title: I Survived Mindeyes19 and His Phony NSA Agents VI
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Blog Entry: My wife used to complain about my socks splaying about on the floor, and now that I had gone to be with my Creator, she wished there would be socks whenever she arrived from work; if there were socks at such a place, it would mean I was home, in one of the many rooms awaiting her arrival while changing into casual clothing because I abhorred being stifled by a military uniform with all its dangling medals and imperfectly sew on bulky epaulets. She missed me greatly, and I her devastatingly. I was surprised to learn she never remarried, never produced a child, and she died in her bed, in her room, surrounded by close friends and family members several decades later; we were lost to each other then but not forever. She labored at the same job for all those years not for  the salary but for the campanionsip of her co-workers; they managed to keep her laughing and smiling.  She was able to maintain the life she had with me for a couple of years. There were many men who had approached her and wanted to court her, but she refused to let them have that pleasure.  She found she was happier being independent, being alone.  Her life was simple, and she would like to keep it the way it was.  Men would only complicate and strangle her style she reasoned. Besides, she was already happy before she met me; she didn't really need a man. I was there to give her companionship, to deliver conversations she found intriguing. She loved me for my ability to hold conversations with her, not necessary with words but with glances and smiles. In her world, I was someone special, one of a kind. She looked  but couldn't find anyone who was like me; she decided to remain a widow, and she was okay with that title. In fact, she was proud to be to my widow. She thought she was prepared for moments like this, but obviously, she was not. She was always up to difficult challenges, openly welcomed them all and dealt with them as they came, but this one had really got under skin, and she couldn't shake it off; she was still missing me after all this time, and it started to take its toll on her, but somehow she wasn't too upset about the whole deal because it was me whom she missed; this terrible pain reminded her of me, and sometimes, she smiled and winked as if I was standing in front of her. I knew those winks were for me; I winked back, but she couldn't see me. We still flirted with each other, even  though I was dead -- unconditional love never dies. She didn't realize the impact I had on her life while I was alive. Who would think of such things? We were having the time of our lives. And now that I had been dead for sometime, she was getting hit full force by the emptiness I left with her, and she knew that was never my intention; I had never wanted to hurt her or anyone else in that matter. Some nights, she would wake up and shouted at the dark, hoping to eleviate some of the pain that had threatened to jump out of her throat. Luckily, she lived far from the nearest neighbor. She could scream and shout as loud as she wanted to and no one would hear her. She grew thinner due to her inability to consume much. Fish porridge was all she could eat in the morning, afternoon and night. When at work, friends and co-workers alike encouraged her to eat fruits and vegetable, and she ate as encouraged, and when she came home into an empty house, the appetite went away as if she had left it at her work, and found herself in the doldrums. To combat this feeling, she cleaned around the house, take a walk in the backyard or vegetate in a wooden chair on the porch looking onto a empty road. She wished she hadn't lived in such a secluded area where nothing ever happened. Only a dirt road taking travelers back into the city. She thought of a walk there, but her body didn't favor that notion. Maybe on the weekend when she didn't have to work, when her body would be in a better mood. She tried to read but reading often put her to sleep sooner that she wanted so she gave up on it. She didn't want to fall asleep early because she would wake up early, too, and she would just be missing me until the morning arrived, and she be lethargic all day at work due to lack of sleep. She did chores around the house, some were mine, to keep herself up until midnight, at which time she went to bed. This became her nightly routine. Her house became spotless as time crept by without her know, and she didn't even realize how clean her house was. To her, it looked the same no matter what she did to it; that sameness gave some comfort. Every now and then she would feel me in the gentle breeze that rushed in through one of the ajar windows. It was cold, and she didn't think much of it. She didn't know it was me, actually it was my residual energy left behind like a piece of clothing. Nonetheless, it was a part of me. Some nights, she cried herself to sleep; those were good nights; she wished for more nights like those. She did everything there was to do to speed up the night. Crying seemed to help a heap, but crying really taxed her body to  the point where she didn't even want to wake up in the morning, because she would be too exhausted. She used to be the take-charge type, gamesome and full of high spirits but not these days, and she was okay with it. She allowed life to happen to her and hoped to grow from the experiences, and she was growing but why did it have to hurt so badly she often wondered to herself. Suffering is the cause for evolution. Some complained she was being difficult, unreasonable at times when it came to picking a potential mate, a future husband.  To her, she knew what she wanted -- an attribute I found attractive.  She wanted a man who could compliment her lifestyle, enhance it if he could when he could. Wink at her and smile at her when it was appropriate. She wanted a man who had a sense of himself and maybe a sense of humor, too; someone who was bit like me.  Someone who could remain calm under pressure, someone who could stand his ground without losing his patient, someone who built himself from within, whose soul was built out of solid gold; someone she could wink at, and he would wink back at her as if it was his first time, as if he was a virgin at glancing, shy but poise, insecure but determined. She wanted to see those qualities in her man. She was confident a man with those qualities existed, but she wasn't going to expense anymore energy searching for him, besides feeling lackadaisy and doing house chores sometime soothed her soul just fine. Of course, she dreamt of moments being in a man's arms but not just any man's; he had to emotionally stable, not domineering. She abominated the notion of being with such a man; she would not have it. She would not stand for it. Her spirits liked to soar into the azure sky; no man would ever put her in cage. She'd rather die than be with man like that -- just the thought of it alone made her skin crawled. She knew with me her life was hers to manage. I did not like to meddle with other people's lives; I didn't want their troubles upon my shoulders.  I only took whatever time she had for me, and I appreciated every precious second she gave me, and we spent those seconds looking into each other's eyes, grinned then smiled. She loved small, intimate moments. It was pure; it was simple; just the two of us locked inside a two story villa, lost in the silence of the night. These small moments made her feel womanly. She could let her guards down, relax and relinquish all of her trust to me. "Do to me what you must," she whispered, knowing full well that I would never take advantage of her. She had completely surrendered herself to me. It was just a matter of moments before I took her to the moon where the stars are known to shine brighter. She could touch them if she was inclined, if they could please her. This was her moment, and nothing could spoil it for her. Crickets could be chirping; we wouldn't hear them; we were too lost in each other. We were oblivious to our surroundings. The world had disappeared. We were the last people on earth. The moon and the stars gravitated toward us; we were bending space and time; pulling in the event horizons to where we were; we made time travel possible; it was magic; it was magical. We had looked into each other's souls many times before, and each time the magic became grander and grander. When two souls connected, the world disappears and everything is magical, vivid and real. Whenever she thought of finding a new man, a potential husband, her mind would consistantly brought me to the forefront; it hadn't forgotten me. I was still infectious to her after all these years. She had admitted to herself that she missed my winks, my glances and my smiles. She wished I hadn't left her so soon; I wished I had left her at all. Life happens. It can not wait for the sake of love, and it doesn't favor one person over the other. Life has always been fair, at least, to me because I can not fault God or find fault in God. To say life is unfair is like accusing God of play favortism; He does not. She had planned many functions for our future. She had confided to her close friend that she wanted to bare a child for me because I had expressed an interest of wanting children, creating a family of our own, and that she was ready to beome a first time mother and was excited at the posibility; she was jubilant at the idea; she glowed; her friend weeped after hearing this news; I did, too. There was nothing I could do; God wanted me more. One had to obey God like a soldier had to obey his Commander. If I had a choice, I would stay with her for as long as she would have me. Her house chores would be mine, and I would hire someone to get them done; she would just look pretty if she chose to do nothing -- doing nothing was never part of her nature; she would never waste her life away like that; she would find other activities that would elevate her spirit to another level; she would probably be in communion with nature around the house, take up oil painting or poetry writing. She had a creative side that had not yet been explored; she meant to explore that side of her but life often intruded, always unexpectedly. Granted, she was a flirt, only with her mate. I was glad to be  the receiving end of her many flirts for many years. I often looked at her with the eyes of a doe's; she knew how to keep me mystified without really trying. For that reason, I could never say goodbye to her. I never thought any man could or would once he bonded with her. Isn't this what life is all about? Bonding with other human beings? A woman like my wife is extremely hard to find. When one is found, treasure her and adore her and her every flaw, because life with her worths billions of stars, suns and moons. She's the universe, so vast, no man has the brain capacity to understand her, not even Einstein. Men will always be stupefied by her. To her it was never about looks. I could be as ugly as a troll under any given bridge, she would still love me; simply because I glanced at her the right way -- the way she found pleasing.  She said I made her feel like a princess and was treated like one. That was  the greatest compliment I had ever received from her, and she was sincere in the way she delivered her compliment. How did I know this to be true? I looked into her eyes when she was saying it to me, and I wholeheartedly trusted my wife. She neither loved me because I was a good provider; she could careless about wealth. To her, it was about honing and increasing happiness -- life is about being happy according to her -- not suffering as taught in Buddhism. I couldn't find myself to disagree with her; she was not, in any way, opinionated or religious; she was just honest, fearless and expressive. She didn't care whom she offended; if it was truth, she would let it be known. When a woman is honest, love her even more. In order to love and be loved, one must first be touched my great suffering, only through suffering does compassion emerge, followed by love. She knew suffering; she had suffered a great deal in her younger years; if she hadn't surfaced from suffering, she wouldn't have appreciated her life as much as she did. She wouldn't be as humbled, honest and generous. She wouldn't be so focused on generating love. Only unconditional love can end all suffering; any other love can only augment it. Love without compassion is lust or infatuation and does not last. Only unconditional love lasts forever. She was highly intelligent as mentioned many times before; hence, my sincere love for her.  She could be intoxicating when engaged in a converstaion with her; some men found this intimidating; I found it stimulating. She made me addicted to her. Honestly, I never wanted to recover from that addiction.  This was the very reason I searched for her; I needed to get my fix, I needed to steal a few glances at her. To reach the depth of her heart; I first had to capture her mind, imprisoned it for little awhile while I fascinated her on the topics of life and the world in which were living in. I wanted to prolong our conversation; most of what I said was inaccurate but they weren't lies; I didn't think I was capable of lieing to someone who was as wise as her. She laughed at the degree of my inaccuracies; she thought I was trying too hard to impress her and changed topics before I made a fool of myself further. She was always looking for those she loved. She took me in, because she saw I was sincere in my approach, and she was right. A woman who could see through me would always have my attention. With a woman like that  I had to be honest and always on my toes, making life adventurous and wholesome; gullible women would only invite more b.s. from their men. I hesitated in telling her my occupation; she pushed for more information; I told her I was a soldier in the Royal Army; she stood in silence for a moment then said, " I'm going to learn to accept the fact that you are a soldier." She smiled to hide her uneasyness of the conversation. She didn't welcome that aspect of me, of me being a soldier. "Why? Because soldiers kill?," I asked.  She shook her head, stating, "Soldiers die." I knew what she meant; I looked into her eyes. She knew I was going to die that's what soldiers do. She knew we only had limited time together if we were to be together. We were at a cross road. As to what direct our newly established relationship was heading, I left the decision to her. To take loads of her shoulders, I told her I would leave and never to return before we proceed with a serious relationship.  I started to walk toward the door, she stopped me on my track. "Are you sure?" I asked. She nodded then added, "We're going to do whatever is necessary to make the best of the time we have together." She was always making the right choices. The subject was getting too intense and she grew uncomfortable at this point; I cracked a few jokes. She started to smile and laugh again. She was easy to please in this sense. She knew my life was going to be cut short, and she chose to stay with me and allowed herself to fall in love with me, anyway. She knew her heart was going to break, and I wasn't going to be there to console or offer her a shoulder to cry on when that moment came to her doorsteps. Intelligent women don't hold grudges; only childish ones do. There were times when we weren't on good terms with each other; and of course, I accepted every fault as my own with the understanding there was never a winner in a fight with a wife. In time like this, I had to shine through for us; I had to be creative in finding ways to make her laugh and smile. As long I was sincere and honest with her, success was almost guaranteed. She loved me and all my imperfections then a bullet from an enemy's rifle on a battlefield ripped through my neck and stole me from her.  As I was dieing, I promised myself to return to her as soon as possible. She was not only the compass that had always guided me but also my library. She lived as though she was a character in a fairy tale book. A heroin no one could resist. I could picture her face but wouldn't paint it with words, pencil, ink or any other medium because a face in a mind is always fresh; it'll never crack, bleed or can be read. I wrote of her not to show glimpses of her face but to reveal parts of her soul, which were more beautiful than all the lights on a setting sun. A woman can only be as beautiful as her soul, never more than that. To see her, one must crawl into my mind; to understand her, one must crawl to God, because only God knows the essence of her. Her name was Chanda Viracvong. She died peacefully at the age of 68. I died at the age of 36. I was determined to reincarnate for the second chance at her love. I willed it, therefore, it would happen. I was reborn on the 15 of August, 1970 as soon I found out she was walking the earth again as a young girl. She reincarnated before I did because she couldn't stand to wait another second to see me. The time had finally come for us to be reunited, but first I must find her, befriend and charm her all over again. I vowed to never become a soldier or take part in a war as a civilian. I had been searching since the very day I died, and I was sure she searched for me, too, and one day she would find me when she was least expected; she would be surprised, she would smile, a smile so unique that I would never forget her and the first moment we rested our eyes upon each other. We both made a pact in our previous lives to be reunited in our next lives in a country we both loved dearly: Cambodia. It was just a matter of time before I would run into her, somewhere in the war torn country, if she didn't find me first. Our beloved country was going through a nasty civil war, and people were dieing everywhere; some of the deads could be her family members.  Maybe this was the reason why she returned so soon; maybe it had nothing to do with me. Cambodia was an extremely hostile environment to be looking for someone, but I didn't seem to be bothered by it. I was very aware of the war, of the killing fields; I had seen it; the killings occurred every day; there was no mystery to it.  Due to the war, I had to find her sooner and protect her from bullets and shrapnels. Why did she choose this period to return? What prompted her? What was her motivation? Couldn't she wait until the war was over? We were gravitating towards one another.  It was the will of the universe for us to be reunited, didn't matter the time, distance or space. When something was meant to be, it was bound to happen. There was no question about it -- she and I would be together again. Death could only separate us for a brief moment of time. She was not only my wife, my best friend; she was my soul mate. We were conjointed at the soul; nothing could separate us, not even time. I was determined to give up everything to find her and be with her again.  I would travel across the universe, jump from galaxy to galaxy until she was found.  The stars and the sun could light my way; I could rest on the moon.  I could look upon the earth, maybe, just maybe I could spot her among the inhabitants. I wished someone would put a binocular on the moon.  Maybe I could make a request to NASA.  Maybe NASA could do me this one favor. Maybe I could go to them and say excuse, could you please put a binocular on the moon.  You see I was hoping to spot my wife from there.  It would be thrilling if NASA said yes to my request. I would be jumping up and down on the moon, moon dust would sprinkle onto to earth, and some could land on my wife's shoulders, and suddenly she came to a realization that it was me who made that happened, and she stopped, took a moment to wonder about me then I would know she still loved me, nonchanlantly looked up at the moon and blew it a kiss as if she knew I was there. God gave me the will to endlessly search for her because He knew I would not do anything that would contradict his plan for me and for her. He understood a love for a woman is the engine that drives a man towards achieving his goals and dreams and nothing could stand in his way except God Himself. God knew my love for her was pure and true cause He felt it, too; it was that intense. I came to earth during the Cambodia civil war to take a bullet that was heading toward her heart, and I was hoping I didn't come to late.  She had a lot of life left to live. I had to save her; she was my life.  If she died, I'd rather die with her. Cambodia was a country where she left heart because she knew she would come back to find it. And she knew I loved Cambodia, too.  If we were to meet each other again, it would be right here, behind the backdrops of Angkor Watt and the many other ancient ruins our ancestors left for us to marvel. Unlike her, I could reside anywhere, in any country, and I would be just as fine.  I never wanted to be confined to one place and she knew this about me, and she had never ever asked me to return to Cambodia for her sake, never. Returning to Cambodia was my choice, my decision, and if I died here, it would be my fault, not hers. I had died before, and I was not afraid to die again -- the luxury of reincarnation used to its fullest.