Satellite Soul
A satellite soul has been orbiting my body since birth, controlling the ebb
and tide of blood and love from its lofty position above. My insides are being
pulled magnetically from some force outside my body. And I am just a stop between
opposing poles through which unseen energy flows.
My heart is my core; it dictates my temperature to the outside. It's big and it pumps hard but because I value warmth like knowledge it lies protected inside the only real cage I have - my ribs.
Prison as protection is not a new theory. This body would have no shape without it, would have collapsed in on itself at birth, leaving me a pool of unstructured emotions. Incarceration is a systematic and clear defining of boundaries. And skin is Boundary defined at its most clear.
The mind sits on top of my head and trickles its wisdom and perception on down to the ground, my feet. If I'm still walking, still moving forward, it's my mind saying it's okay. And if I'm at a standstill, sudden or known, it's my mind communicating the halt.
Eyes, nose, mouth, ears, and hands are tools of the mind attached to the body.
But everything is just a filter. I put myself through a sieve hoping to find some solidity. Falling through and through myself picking up the dust particles and re-sieving. What lies behind/atop the ever-layering filters is an enigma like perfection.
Infinity is a void like forever. Forces greater than our mortal selves for which our minds long to understand and know. We've been given mortal bodies with minds capable of immortal thought.
My satellite soul has trouble staying within my body's gravity grasp.
I've separated myself into mind and body - two entities in conversation. The lines of snaking communication between them is soul. Each with its own heart; of the mind, of the body, deciding coolness and warmth, frozen glances or warm embraces. Two hearts in communication within the same breath-inspired individual.
I look to the sky, my eyes on a string to my soul. Looking down to look up, the weight of my soul weighing down the thick and sticky communication between mind and body. Why must I go so far in the ever for solid truth?
Soul can transform into any shape, any size, any density, any weight. It can wrap around you like a hug or leave you questioning its very existence.
This isn't about religion, it's about perception. Religion is merely an obsessive quest for immortality. Perception is acceptance of my own end; a concept far more challenging than believing in omnipotence.
February 2006