Letter to a Friend. Misaligned Soul

Every now and then I think about things and get into a nostalgic mode. It is like am transversing different dimensions at the same time. I hear sounds. I see things. I smell stuff. Tastes are different. I am reminded some how that my soul is in itself on a pilgrimage and I am the desired vessel at this point of time.

Tears well up in my eyes for no reason at all. I find myself crying. Maybe from hurt of eons gone by. Spaces in outer galaxies where my soul encountered hurt. Where a kind of powerlessness, helplessness and hopelessness engulfed it. Tightened its knots around my soul and all that came out were tears. I feel like those tears continue to cleanse those galaxies. As if there is an attempt right now to cleanse and release newly this universe; in a way that it will be devoid of pain, trauma and suffering. In these moments, I pray for stillness. A stillness of my soul and of my heart. The kind of quiet that one can only experience in a deep meditative stage. Still. Silence. Unperturbed. Undisturbed.

I was able to conjure this on an ongoing basis. These days, I am lucky if I am able to sustain this for only a few seconds. My soul is misaligned with my heart. My heart is misaligned with my rational logical self. I say to myself maybe this is what love is meant to be. Just feeling. irrational. Illogical. Ill-aligned. Misaligned.

And yet I long for recalibration of sorts. I yearn for comfort. I strive to quieten the shrill voices that contribute to the misalignment. I beseech them to be quiet. To allow my soul a minute opportunity for silence. I fail miserably. Again.

I try to look into the future. All I see is whiteness, emptiness, a malaise of space and time. I look into the future. I see not a thing. Should I not be imagining and filling that whiteness with images,and dreams, and aspirations, and inspirations, and love, and joy, and happiness and all the yearnings of my heart and soul? I wonder if other people are able to do this. If they can see images of their future today. A form of hollowness asphyxiates me. I can not breath. My chest thumps. My back constricts. The kind of constriction that hurts. Inhalation exhausts me. Exhalation brings tears.

I trudge on though. My soul will direct me. My soul has been here before {I pray}. I will trust my soul. My soul will lift itself up and that act will lift this vessel up in a kind of fuzzy, squirmy, flurry entanglement. And I will see the moon again. I will stare in wonder at the stars again. The heat of the sun shall refresh my skin, rekindle my spirit.

I am still (t)here. I never left. I love you.