Formless and Fragmented- Journal Task #5

 ‘Do I contradict myself?’

Very well then,

I contradict myself

I am large,

I contain multitudes. – Walt Whitman

The shivering soul…the shivering soul…where do you reside? Do you lie on the base of a frozen over river with evergreen bowers pouring over your surface and wide-eyed owls swooping through the sky? Do you gaze up at the stars from a clover covered meadow in the hopes of catching a shooting star that has fallen from the sky? Or do you live someplace where no one thinks to look? Between the petals of a rose or amidst the pages of a book? Perhaps we should entertain a new thought that maybe man has made a ghost of you. This shivering soul is the romantic idea that we humans simply hope exists as a mark of our lives that will be left behind when we make our exit. This shivering soul is fragmented and broken off in every pace you have ever walked. It is easily changed but not so easily understood.

Your body is nothing like the earth

Not fixed or strong or sturdy

Cracked, bent, crevices running deep to the core

Fingers died with the death of the planet graze your surface

But its soothing balm is invisible and its power too sparse to spread life,

Your body is empty and cold, shivering like the sand and seashells on the oceans abandoned shores

No longer do the waves carry out their tumultuous journey to caress the sand, no longer does the foam bubble in excitement, no longer is the deep blue able to splash down to the depths of your heart,

Because your heart, your body, your soul has been fragmented and missing,

location unknown

Shattering of your soul, crisp shards are strewn across the surface of the planet,

pulled east and west, north and south,

Stabbing the earth where gravity beats its course,

And rising into the atmosphere when it has let its guard down

Through the paces of day and night, your being marks itself

Until its energy turns into a focal lens

Where the image is blurry from afar

And the truth is barely scrutable by a special few

And this is the truth:

The root we believe keeps us in our orbit of the earth has been parched and cracked

Our human figure is formless and fluid,

The wind that seemingly only brushes our skin is actually bending our,

Neurotic connections, the strength in our bones, the colours of your heart,

The increasing depths within you are like the layers of our human atmosphere,

Forever growing, growing thinner, growing harder to understand,

There are multitudes inside of you, multitudes that are changing, multitudes that are growing,

The essence of your soul is this, this art of life, this sensation of living;

This godly feeling of pure existence.

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