Tag Archives: the soul

Today is August 1, 2015. I am alive and struggling.

I’m sitting in the break room at work. It is a way station for people on break. Fifteen minute turn around, aside form myself who sits for two hours before my shift begins. Surrounded by refrigerators and microwaves, I settle in. The table is riddled with sixteen ounce plastic water containers. No names, no dates. They will be walked to the garbage can and dropped in like bad lettuce. Do not abandon your water; it will take flight. My four quart bottle wears my name and the date. I will gulp from it over the course of my five hour shift, despite the fact that I will use the restroom even thirty minutes.

If you’ve been with my blog for long, you know I have schizophrenia. I’ve been struggling. Struggling to stay in the common reality, the reality in which this blog is being written. I attempt to use my feet and hands like armor disbanding the electrical currents that run through my mind. Lately, my feet have felt like blocks of wood preventing me from walking away from my mind into the light. My mind is in shadow. My hands feel like tentacles grabbing the wrong things. I have no use for a stapler, yet my hands move me to search. “Please don’t staple my hand to a book I need to shelf,” I tell my mind. I work at the library as a page; putting books away is one of my duties.

So my feet and hands haven’t offered much in the way of protection, but my heart has. I love my job. I like my colleagues. They are frozen fruit bars working their way toward becoming popsicle sticks at the end of their shift. Clean and useful, they build houses.

My mind lives in the house of my body. My body is lean and strong like the stalk of a sunflower. I use it to get to they gym. I use it to do cardio on the treadmill. I use it to lift weights. I have been blessed with physical strength.

I also like to think I have been blessed with spiritual and mental strength. I know my soul trumps my mind. My soul is steady, consistent, kind and loving. My mind can take a rest in the dark, but then be catapulted into the light with the same force. I don’t give up on my mind. It is what I have to dream with, to imagine with. It is what thanks God at night for a well lived day.

I struggle, yes. But I have never been completely broken. There is much faith in me. I will step out. I will smile. I will say hello. I will live. This I know.

Today is July 24, 2015. I am alive and well.

A room without books is like a body without soul.     Cicero

I have books everywhere, mostly because I ran out of shelf space. I also have no more room for knick knacks, Both curb my spending. The knick knacks I have were given to me by thoughtful friends. I remember being ten and having my nine-year-old sister give me something she made in ceramics class. I didn’t like what she had made, so I hid it behind a doll with wide skirts. She entered my room and couldn’t see her ceramic thing. She got so upset. I felt so bad that I elevated her thing to the best place to rest an item. I awoke every morning and would hold it in my hands, imagining it gave off heat. I haven’t described it yet because I never knew that it was. It simply looked like a lump of crimson, four inches in width and about six inches tall.

Is it possible to live without soul? It is possible to live without books. I have met people devoid of soul, or rather I should say that their soul was so deeply buried I couldn’t recognize it in their eyes. The soul is like white lined butted up against green cotton shirts in the laundry basket, freshly out of the dryer and still warm. The soul encapsulates the mind/heart connection. The mind’s eyes notices a woman trying to put groceries in the car while holding onto a toddler. One of the bags breaks and hotdogs, danish, milk and apples fall out of the bag onto the pavement. The heart acts in accordance to the mind and approaches the woman, offering to help. The soul glows when the woman accepts.

The soul is magic, the soul is cosmic imagination that appears real when associated with God’s grace. I wish I lived from my soul all the time. I have moments when I trip over bricks. The bricks remind me that I don’t always know which way to walk, which fence to climb, or whose trampoline to jump on. I continue to make the effort to live in love and compassion. My life is really rich because of this. Book in hand, I retire to my couch. It’s peaceful. I’m as content as a cat with a clean litter box.

Today is June 7, 2014. I am alive and well.

My eyes are in my hands as I reach into my purse, shuffling through items, trying to find the protein bar that will stave off my hunger. Rarely, does it occur to me to open the bag and simply look through the items, visually noting that I am carrying too much stuff. This purse, my favorite of all time purses, holds more that I originally thought it could. I actually downsized from the previous purse.

I don’t understand how men get by with no purse. They put everything into a wallet, but then what, what do they do with the wallet? Men, what do you do? Do you make certain that your pants have a pocket or that there is an inside pocket in your jacket. I”m in Phoenix, Arizona and I can tell you, no man is wearing a jacket at the height of summer, unless of course your name is Frosty and you need to shave off a bit of weight before heading back to the cooler you came from.

I dump my purse, curious as to what I have in there. It’s been ages since I actually looked. A wallet, bits of paper with all the passwords to all the various functions my computers at home and work are capable of doing, an extra protein bar, Ativan, much change, mostly pennies as I use the quarters for laundry, a little black book that I’m suppose to write in but never have, pens, work badge, the list is fairly dull. There is no rat or wilted flowers. The rat would chew its way through my protein bar, and the flowers would smell bad once they started rotting. Rotting things are rarely beautiful, ultimately reminding us of death. The body will rot without cremation. It will be rotting six feet under. (Note to self, I just referred to the body as an “it”) In my mind, we lose our names to “it.”

As for the soul, it leaves. I do believe it leaves. We are much more than our carcass. I would love to write what it is that we are after our carcass, but currently that is too complicated for my brain. I’m really not certain what I believe and am very willing to take suggestions. Part of the theme of my next book is discovering what it is I believe happens after death. I would love to hear from anyone who has already answered this question for themselves. Be well my friends.