Let me just say this upfront: getting naked in front of your twin flame is not romantic. It’s not sexy. It’s not a Nicholas Sparks scene with candles and whispery violin music. No. It’s more like sobbing in a yurt, covered in mosquito bites, while trying to explain your astrological birth chart to a man who may or may not be your future incarnation. And you’re definitely not wearing pants.

That’s how I met Jazmyn.

Tanya and I had driven down to this nudist retreat in Oregon because we needed a break from civilization, clothing, and men named Brad. (We had a double Brad situation the previous month that ended in tears, glitter, and a broken hot tub.) I had just finished dating a guy who tried to use my loofah without asking, so I was emotionally raw. Tanya was still furious at me for calling her “emotionally allergic to boundaries” during a group drum circle. We were not at our best.

The retreat was in the middle of the woods, and by woods I mean mosquito-infested, tick-flavored, no-Wi-Fi hell. There were rules, too. No phones, no clothing, no synthetic shampoo. And no meat. Which Tanya ignored immediately by pulling a beef stick out of her tote bag like she was Indiana Jones of carnivores.

Jazmyn was already there when we arrived, sitting cross-legged on a mossy patch near the fire pit, talking to herself or possibly a tree. She had this dreamy look in her eyes, like she’d just astral projected into a candle store and smelled too many vanilla chakras. She had long wavy hair, zero tan lines, and the kind of spiritual glow that makes you wonder if she’s truly enlightened or just very hydrated.

Tanya said she looked “like she sells crystals out of a backpack and doesn’t pay taxes.” I told Tanya to shut up and be nice. That’s when Jazmyn looked up and said, “You have the energy of someone resisting their own higher self.” Which is just a really polite way of calling someone a hot mess.

She wasn’t wrong.

What none of us realized at that moment was that Jazmyn wasn’t just on a spiritual journey, she was on a full-blown cosmic reunion tour with herself. She had met her twin flame. His name was Kelmar. Yes, Kelmar. I thought it was short for Kelly or maybe Kevin Lamar, but no. Just Kelmar. He looked like a wood elf who dated a yoga instructor and talked like he’d been reincarnated as a wind chime.

Now, I’m a nudist, not a mystic. I don’t mess with timelines or dimensional merge stuff. I’m just here for the hot tubs and the lack of pantyhose. But watching Jazmyn unravel, cry, transcend, and then cry again while navigating this soul-deep psychic horror-romance with Kelmar was... well, I hate to say it, but it was beautiful. And horrifying. And hilarious. She would go from “he is me” to “I can’t stand him” in the same breath, usually while doing breathwork.

She was the runner. He was the chaser. That’s apparently how it works in twin flame land. One person freaks out and hides in a forest, the other meditates aggressively and follows them. And the trick is, it’s all one soul. It’s like chasing your own tail, if your tail was hot and kept quoting Rumi at you.

This book is Jazmyn’s story, and let me tell you, it’s a doozy. She let me write this intro because I was there for a lot of the screaming. And also because I caught her trying to leave the retreat at midnight wearing only a sun hat and one sock. I stopped her with a peanut butter sandwich and a hug. I’m a good friend like that.

So if you’re reading this because you think twin flames are romantic or cute, buckle up. Jazmyn’s about to spiritually strip down, lose her mind, find her soul, run away from it, and then sit in its lap sobbing until union happens. Also, there’s nudity. So much nudity.

Enjoy. And remember: if you’re going to have a full-blown identity crisis in the woods, at least bring snacks and don’t forget your towel.