Often, we attempt to nurture the self. But, the self isn’t the same as the soul. I’ve been considering this quite a bit lately. Here is a poem that arose from from my reflections.

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Soul, soul.

I hadn’t seen her in some time,

as she loved her secret space.

When she peaked her presence,

I delighted. In short order,

I took control of her needs.

I bought her a Starbucks latte

and a new red handbag, but

she didn’t seem impressed.

I fed her fancy chocolates

and poured her a glass of wine.

She smiled a bit, but still,

something was missing.

Hmmmm…

Maybe she wanted the affection of other souls.

I brought her to parties to share her beauty.

The fondness from others was fleeting

and Soul, soul shook her head,

“No. This is not what fills me.”

I was about to give up.

But, I considered, “Maybe Soul, soul is bored.”

I grabbed her by the hands and 

swung her into busyness.

We joined gatherings and led groups.

We traveled to amazing places and took in the sights.

Somehow, this didn’t work either.

Soul, soul became tired. Very tired.

In fact, she almost went to sleep.

I didn’t know what to do. So,

I didn’t do anything.

I became quiet.

I sat on a rock and stared at some water.

I looked my friend in the eye and shared her tears.

I wrote in a journal and got my insides out.

I painted on a canvas and heard messages from beyond.

I gave some love and received some love.

One night, as I cuddled the blanket close,

and laid my head to rest, a murmur arose

from beneath the pillow,

“Yes, yes!

Continue to

listen, love and respond

to your gleanings. Find presence

wherever you are.

This is the way I am fed.

Thank you for

honoring me.”

Her words lit a flame in my heart.

I drifted off to peaceful sleep.