The spiritual marriage that failed

Shaken by the death threat at work, Brad’s spiritual experience from the trip to India faded. The longing to find his soulmate returned, and he met a series of ladies through Match.com. The final one was a flashy, intelligent Russian named Natasha, who wore movie-star makeup and had ruler-straight, pressed blonde hair.   He should have known better.

Natasha was a proxy for her friend, Irenka, who refused to meet a man on a regular date. The shy lady was convinced that Mr. Right was going to swoop out of heaven and pick her off of her feet.

Natasha enjoyed the elegant dinner that Brad paid for, going on about Irenka as though she was his perfect match. Brad could see that the two were close friends, and could feel that Natasha had been sizing him up.  It was the strangest introduction ever, but perhaps that was a sign that his soulmate had finally arrived.

He met Irenka later that week, picking her up at the townhouse where she shared a room with Natasha. Pretty, with darting green eyes, frizzy red hair, and catchy curves hidden in layered garments, she was shy but affectionate. They spent time together, which didn’t set off any fireworks,  but when he found she had a daily meditation practice and read spiritual books, inspiration arose. Then he found she could talk about things like Unity, and soul evolution. She was also looking for her soulmate.  Did he tell Natasha about that?

Brad caught himself wondering if Irenka was too good to be true, but it was too late. He was caught.  He would never remember who brought the “M” word up first, but there it was, and he proposed. They had a small, humble wedding.

Trouble appeared on the honeymoon night when she didn’t want to have sex. He was patient and managed to break the ice, but it didn’t get much better. The match that was supposed to be bound by the deepest love between two souls, started to slide into a daily grind. There were gentle disagreements on little things, like dinners that she would insist on overspicing and her habit of leaving clothes hanging on all over the furniture. She would go to bed early and wake up to a noisy alarm clock at 4 am for her meditation, 7 days a week. The affection he felt when they were dating…where did it go?  She often felt stiff when he put his arms around her.

Over time, they disagreed over the bigger things, like money, and plans for the future.  Brad had some talks with her, and for over two anxious years did his best to stay optimistic that things would get better. He finally scheduled a session with a marriage counselor, but it would never happen.

It was a Friday evening when Brad came home from a long day at work. Everything was gone, the valuables, the bank accounts, even his secret stash of gold coins which were taped under the bottom of his metal filing cabinet. The condominium’s security staff let him watch the videotapes that monitored the lobby. Irenka was talking to the guard at the desk, and disappearing into the elevator. The blonde Russian Natasha and her boyfriend were carrying their valuables out the door, trip after trip, loading the things into a Cadillac Escalade at the curb. Irenka finally appeared with a small bag.  She had found his gold coins.

“Why didn’t you stop them?” Brad said, to the security guard.

“She’s your wife, bud. It’s her stuff too. Sorry, call the police,” said the guard, who seemed bored as if this happened every week. It probably did, in San Francisco.

He thought of her odd behavior weeks ago, when she talked him into signing her onto all the Bank Accounts.  She had sweetened up, and he was thinking they had a chance at turning their marriage around. The deal was he would sign her on if she would go to counseling with him.  “I’ll be back in 10 minutes,” he said to the guard.

He made it to the nearest Wells Fargo ATM 6 blocks away on a dead run, in 3 minutes. Inserting his card, he checked the account balances. Then he walked back, head down, hands in pockets, trying not to scream or break something.

“She got all the money too,” Brad said when he entered the lobby. He couldn’t help but glare at the guard as if it was his fault. The guy looked genuinely pained.

“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that. Better get a good lawyer.”

“I will after I tell the condo association that my next rent check will be late,” Brad said, softening up on the guard. His job was to keep tenants safe from criminals, not from scheming spouses.

It was another failure in the impossible challenge of finding a soulmate. It was also a financial disaster for Brad, but not for Irenka. She profited $250,000, but at the cost of going spiritually bankrupt. Brad heard through the grapevine a few years later that she was undergoing chemotherapy for advanced cervical cancer. The sham marriage destroyed a man’s life savings, the lies and the abuse had been enough to mutate her body’s cells and turn them against itself. Cancer and inner anger had an intimate relationship.

Brad shook off the disaster as another lesson in life. He didn’t wish bad for Irenka, who he was sure had been directed by the Russian the whole time. His spiritual work, after overcoming his traumatic childhood, served him well. He was a small part of the greater whole, not more or less important than any other person or part. And, he was no stranger to starting from below zero.

He paid the alimony without a complaint, even finished it ahead of time.  He kept going to his doctor’s day-job, working to rebuild, searching for meaning out of what just happened. Finally, he let go of the delusion that there was The One that he was destined to meet. Soulmate? A concept somebody had invented. There was no such thing.