The Shape of Our Soul
If life is such that the sages account, this is all an illusion, leading towards the next experience that shapes our soul. All dependant upon the paths traveled, the roads turning, the previous procurements. All is such a mystery they say, no mind nor ego can place its meaning. Resistance is futile, only the manner in which we navigate into the next moment matters. In all life’s twists and turns, these simple advices seem to hold weight upon a scale that cannot, in time, remanifest the hot face that shown with anger or the nausea that brought pain, or taste the sweet life that filled you, or bounce among your accomplishments, you are simply left inside an ideal of what the emotions brought to pass, those secluded islands among the nature you now posses. All remains in hindsight, if it were not for such a great place there would be no drive for excellence, no passion, no hunger for another time, another try. It is but the human ego that suffers upon the mirror of existence, the memory that recounts and the mind that distinguishes these similarities, mere stimuli for a complex vehicle awaiting more gas. We strive for more, strive to be a part of a whole, always looking towards others, or things, or here in there or there to be here, and as the moments have faded, when reminded, we wander into the places we have been, holding the key of hindsight, and there among the shadows a door may be revealed. Upon each recognition of frailty, loss, wrong, right, conditions, fear, doubt, strife, struggle, happiness, faith, hope, courage, strength, love, or maybe a simple dream, beyond, awaiting us in a room filled with life is the moment that was lost to the confusion of our own greatness. To not stand upright into the next moment that could have overcome the reflection of what once was, overcome that survival mechanism that has long been outdated, embrace the beauty that was before us, exalt the passion into others, and wander into the arms of acceptance without the mental mind frame to dim, or the simple pleasures to sway, or the contrite words to conquer, but simply release and bring into life the maturity of a thousand before us. Consciousness is our right, our reason among our seasons, our only strength against the ego that drives a country to ruin, a hope to pass, a moment to fade. It is not the spotlight upon us, it is the release towards the forest through the tress, it is the route that leads all towards unity in recognizing ourselves. Consciousness ignites a soul to continue, even among the darkness the horse will find water, holding the key of hindsight, there among the desert an oasis will be found. It is all around us, swelling among the ethers, awaiting our seizure of the moment, our true footsteps among greatness, our souls shape within a infinite universe.
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