Is my soul an anchor beneath my name,
or does it move as I change?
I will have carried it from first to final breath–
not without neglect–
perhaps it carries me instead.
Is my soul more than a metaphor?
More than a way to make sense of feelings and
more than collateral for doctrine I don’t hold anymore?
Perhaps a soul is just a way of philosophizing our independence.
Life – spirit – consciousness – essence.
A deep-seeded gut perception that moves upward in the senses, that
slivers through the grey matter and is sung
through lips and teeth and jaws and tongues.
Perhaps soul is just a word
for what sparkles in eyes, moves in smiles,
churns beneath intellect and makes a life.
Perhaps a soul
is the mysterious breath of company in isolation
that affirms selfdom, invites connection,
oneness – discord – kindness – correction.
I may never run out of soul questions.