Until We Look From The Bottom Up

I Realize What A Strange In-between Place I Am In. The Young Woman Inside Has Turned To Go, But The Old Woman Has Not Shown Up.

Our Earlier Lives Aren't Wrong, They Are Just Pre-construction. Our Lives Are Meant To Unfold, To Evolve, And That's Good. The Only Wrong Thing, Perhaps, Is Permanently Hesitating On The Verge Of Courage, Which Would Prevent This Process From Taking Place.

Soul. The Word Rebounded To Me, And I Wondered, As I Often Had, What It Was Exactly. People Talked About It All The Time, But Did Anybody Actually Know? Sometimes I'd Pictured It Like A Pilot Light Burning Inside A Person--a Drop Of Fire From The Invisible Inferno People Called God. Or A Squashy Substance, Like A Piece Of Clay Or Dental Mold, Which Collected The Sum Of A Person's Experiences--a Million Indentations Of Happiness, Desperation, Fear, All The Small Piercings Of Beauty We've Ever Known.

She Didn't Even Know How Dangerous The Truth Could Be, All The Tiny, Shattering Seeds It Carried.

Were All Yearning For A Wedge Of Sky, Aren't We? I Suspect God Plants These Yearnings In Us So We'll At Least Try And Change The Course Of Things. We Must Try, That's All.