Depth of your soul

To write what you feel is to acknowledge a part of yourself that has often been maligned in our culture, in the norm, in the cult fundamentalist religion, where to feel is not allowed.

But when your mind tells you that is in the past...you believe it not. For it still seems so real. So you hide away your feelings. Shutter them behind closed windows and doors. Stress your body and your heart. And then find your fortress is starting to stink, carrying a smell that you get a whiff of as do others.

Your mask complete in the outer world. You think you'll be alright but, deep in you, you know you are not. You wish for some kind of rescue, for the knight or the fairy godmother, but you know there is no one to rescue you from your self-made prison. You are it, the victim and the perpetrator, the prisoner and the warden. You seek outside of you, what you cannot find. Your heart beats a little drum...'Oh my god,' it says 'wake up, bare your soul, feel before it is too late.'

But you cling on to those bars of your prison keeping the doors closed and shuttered. You don't want the world to see the depth of your soul. You cry in pain but no tears are shed in public, no words of truth grace your lips, and when the black of the night seeps into your soul, you wallow there in some kind of somber comfort.

The moonless night knows you, can recognize a fellow dark soul. It wraps around you, like a blanket, ready to comfort you in darkness... but your heart beats the little drum beat, so small but warming. It allows you to hear it whisper, “I am here. I understand you. I know you. You do not need to lay your body down in darkness. It is only a temporary comfort and your soul loves you to want more.”

~~~~~

She wakes at dawn and sees the light dancing in the wind of the billowing curtains, the shadows of the night disappearing. Dawn is her favorite time of day. She relishes it and imagines the day will bring her news of hope and happiness. This is as she is, 'a sunshiny person' so her friends tell her. She laughs a little laugh, pets her kitty on top of her head, and rises to stretch her arms wide and take a deep breath of fresh air into her lungs. She dons her robe and skips her small feet into her slippers, ready to start her day.

She is me
I say, as I watch her.
She is me
in another life
She is me
in another dimension, an alternative universe
She is me
my shadow in gold

I am pleased to meet her.