SA 11/2 Got Soul?
Nov. 2nd, 2002 06:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cthulhia
Apparently, the creationist Soul is sometimes referred to as Beloved. Presumably one's own Soul. But, O Best Beloved, I am not who leaps to mind. Nor even at peak obsession have I ever confused you with my own soul. One of the most healing advantages of many heartbreaks is knowing one can always fall again. You are not my end all be all.
Even if you are, I believe in something sufficiently like reincarnation. We get more chances. Or possibly already checked that sort of bond off the list. An actual gypsy told me that mine is an old soul, and this appears to be my last life. Other skepticism aside, I'm not sure my soul requires temporal order. I'm not even sure we're not all the same being, just working out dilemmas mumbling to ourself. Which, I suppose, means I have confused you with my own soul. All of you.
Hmmm, metaphysics taste better when served with head scritches.
Today is a day to look after my own soul, or at least the piece of us that manifests in the particular bag of protoplasm that is typing this.
I slept until I woke naturally, for the first time in a week. I introduced new peoples to The Oatmeal. Met up with folks who found the oatmeal without me. We found ourselves too big a crowd for popular neighborhood cafes, ended up down the street, having metaphysics with head scritches, watching Enterprise (and Vulcan of Nine), playing withall some of Dave's Stuff (TM). ZZZ...flame lights. Really powerful magnets.
What would bring me peace, contentment or joy? Hmmmm. Except for specific complaints dismissed as egosim trying to keep up with the Jones' lovelife, or all the global issues that are too terrifying for me to even keep focus on (last night's Project Zachor candle still burns on the altar, my eyes blur at the date printed on it), I am happy. I wasn't this time last year, and consoled myself with the contentment I felt the year before. I wonder if next year will be a down year again or if I'll kick that trend.
She refers to the Beloved/Soul as a Guest, and how to get it to Stay. My soul is not my guest, it is me. Sometimes, it is everyone. Stay
Even if you are, I believe in something sufficiently like reincarnation. We get more chances. Or possibly already checked that sort of bond off the list. An actual gypsy told me that mine is an old soul, and this appears to be my last life. Other skepticism aside, I'm not sure my soul requires temporal order. I'm not even sure we're not all the same being, just working out dilemmas mumbling to ourself. Which, I suppose, means I have confused you with my own soul. All of you.
Hmmm, metaphysics taste better when served with head scritches.
Today is a day to look after my own soul, or at least the piece of us that manifests in the particular bag of protoplasm that is typing this.
I slept until I woke naturally, for the first time in a week. I introduced new peoples to The Oatmeal. Met up with folks who found the oatmeal without me. We found ourselves too big a crowd for popular neighborhood cafes, ended up down the street, having metaphysics with head scritches, watching Enterprise (and Vulcan of Nine), playing with
What would bring me peace, contentment or joy? Hmmmm. Except for specific complaints dismissed as egosim trying to keep up with the Jones' lovelife, or all the global issues that are too terrifying for me to even keep focus on (last night's Project Zachor candle still burns on the altar, my eyes blur at the date printed on it), I am happy. I wasn't this time last year, and consoled myself with the contentment I felt the year before. I wonder if next year will be a down year again or if I'll kick that trend.
She refers to the Beloved/Soul as a Guest, and how to get it to Stay. My soul is not my guest, it is me. Sometimes, it is everyone. Stay
