Our souls traverse

Our souls traverse vast planes before they settle in the bodies that they have now. With a first breath, life pours into their molds and amalgamate into the clay of this life cycle. We breathe in pairs - except for our first breath and our last breath. With our first, we take in the world in which our body will live, and introduce to our soul the breaths that will create it. With our last, we leave in the world a final imprint of that soul. In between? We are a collection of breaths that define our existence. We teach our soul to feel with the breaths that create it. We cultivate joy with the staccato of shallow and excited breaths that ignite passion, ambition and fire crawling on our skin. We invoke pain with stifled sobs, big wet breaths that drown us.

Life now is naught - each one of us a philosopher as a delusion of grandeur. Little fish, big ponds - and we struggle to out-swim our compatriots. What rent must souls pay in the body to fight this great fight. The rent is high and maintaining the utilities cannot be an afterthought. After all, our bodies are the only vessel that our soul has to traverse this particular plane. All we have is that tiny block of space that we are given at birth. What we acquire builds upon the assets that our soul stores in savings. What of, then a high bodily rent? Many of us take in sequences of soggy breaths and build our foundations upon them. The rent is too high, and the soul cannot save up.

Sometimes, I feel that my soul pays very high rent. I find enemy in my body and memories of pain upon my skin, daily. And what of disease? I swear sideways by my immunity - yet I battle daily, and my soul tires. I am admittedly unabashed in my smiling face and bravado bought on borrowed credit. I consider selling my breaths, and yet I am reminded of space I have already rented in my body - subletters are not clean, and other personalities evanesce to leave me with me.

Dreams are reminders of pain I have yet to process - and the process of pain that awaits.  I awaken to velvety wisps of memory, foggy voices that trigger reactions in my skin. Whether dreams or not, sometimes I am unsure. I practice breathing and meditating - and sometimes even my breath is frustrating. Soul has rented an afterthought to live in; an attic space where a mattress haphazardly lies between exposed brick and rusted nails. The rent is too high in this edifice of pain.

And there's dust.

So much dust.

Immovable.

Seek me if you wish,

but  I am no great philosopher,

I am a soul wishing

For saved breath