And that there were many thieves of love

Pranapati, that simply means Lover. And Rajneesh is the King of the Night. The Lover of the King of the Night. What a privilege it is to be one! But as it goes with privileges – once someone attains them, they lose more than they gain – and all because they strived for status – the status of a Lover… in my case – the status of bearing a spiritual name.

I never thought about it that way. I got a spiritual name to match my spiritual teacher, so we could collaborate. And so it happened.

Rajneesh Pranapati, that is the name of my invisible husband. He popped out at me from a list of neo-sannyasin names. It was in a taxi, I was just crossing the Elizabeth Bridge in Budapest and tears were streaming down my cheeks.

Who would have thought, and certainly not me, definitely not at that moment, and I certainly never would have invented that right at the moment when I was looking at the lists, my invisible husband was sitting right next to me. He was sitting there, holding my hand.

But I was spiritually in quite a different place than to feel or perceive him. At that time, his spiritual space simply did not resonate with me yet – and yet – on an unconscious level, it must have already been somewhere. You don't summon someone just because you decide to choose a spiritual name. Somewhere on an unconscious level, I already knew that I would marry him in the future, that he would come – and save me.

And so he sat there – and held my hand. He came because he answered my call. The call of my soul. I was calling for a soul partner. And I was also looking for a life partner. But I still didn't see him.

*

For a long time, dating apps had been leading me by the nose, creating an increasingly vast vacuum around me. No matter where I moved—the men from the dating app suddenly vanished as if someone had vacuumed them up. Within a radius of several kilometers, absolutely no one. It wasn't until I was on the shore of the Adriatic Sea that it finally clicked: it was because I didn't have the paid version of the dating apps—and men around me were simply filtered out.

And thus ended one grand illusion that I might actually find someone thanks to dating apps. For that, I had traveled through far too many countries, cities, remote, and even more distant corners with them—and everywhere it was the same.

Even the realization that the apps functioned like showcases of goods didn't help me at all. Just the way someone had categorized and labeled me on the dating site was how they later behaved when they caught sight of me in a club, in person.

Emotional life—from being a rich emotional one—shrank to numerous rejections by a swipe, blockages for unknown reasons, being lured to a date where no one showed up, down to having sex with men who were afraid I might accidentally fall in love with them. Emotional life shrank to quick sex between club walls or in a car. No one wanted more, no one offered more.

After years of consuming pornography, browsing a million profiles, and several unsuccessful dates—I grew old.

I started aging around thirty, but it wasn't until thirty-five that it dawned on me that—no one is interested in me anymore—messages on dating apps went silent—and only escort offers came in, or from eighteen-year-old lads offering their bodies (or rather, a part of it) for five hundred crowns. A neighbor from my neighborhood even offered me the same thing for a pack of cigarettes.

And somewhere here, Rajneesh leaned back in his chair and sighed. Is this really all that life has to offer me? A big nothing? A big relationship nothing? Between the time I sat in a taxi and the time my neighborhood neighbor offered me a part of his body for a pack of cigarettes, an unbelievable eight years had passed. While I was vainly trying to make contact (I would probably have had more success with an extraterrestrial civilization than with gays born on planet Earth), Rajneesh was trying to do the same.

*

It might sound almost too fairy-tale-like, right? But realize one thing. I never used the spiritual world as an escape from reality. I sought support in the spiritual world for my reality—for my real life. And I never doubted the spiritual world—rather, its image deepened for me, sometimes rather breaking through—into unsuspected depths.

Like that moment when Avalokiteshvara contacted me without me ever having heard of him, knowing about him – entered my dreams – and began rewiring my consciousness. Or that moment when the Virgin Mary started singing to me to give me the strength to keep going after my defeats, which had sort of – trimmed me down. The spiritual world has always approached me on its own when I was at the end of my mental strength. And it was the same with Rajneesh – and his marriage proposal.

Still, how much pain, rejection, and scars can one innocent heart endure?

And it was – right at that moment – when men began to unconsciously mock me by throwing at me, even before we had even met:

“Just don't fall in love with me.”

It's harsh if only because they were taken themselves, married – and I – didn't want anything from them – let alone love. Perhaps they were expressing their anxiety and insecurity about doing something they shouldn't. I don't take responsibility for them and never will.

What gets a woman into a date with a married man? Nothing more than unfulfilled sexuality. Nothing else.

Sometimes at that time I grew tired of internet sex, phone sex, skype sex, sex texting. My whole life collapsed into a phone box. It even emptied itself of friends and family to such an extent that at a time when I was grieving, and really deeply, there was no one I could lean on—and it was Rajneesh again who led me by the hand.

*

Because – where is the difference between Toníno and Rajneesh? Where did it happen that Rajneesh set himself apart – and became an invisible husband? And where – did Toníno remain standing – all by himself? Toníno always stood by himself. No one ever called me Toníno. Until Rajneesh – was the first one who, during our wedding night, whispered into my ear Toníno, Toníno, Toníno, like Elio speaking his own name to Oliver through a telephone receiver.

Mamá started calling me Toníno that year. Or rather Toníček. Toníno belongs to Raj and Raj to Toníno. To everyone else, I am Tony, Antonín, Tonda, Toníček, and so on. Raj claimed Toníno for himself – so please don't call me Toníno. Rajneesh will think you've conspired against him and will think you're trying to sneak into our relationship.

And that there were many thieves of love.