A Soul Filled Morning

The stillness of the night gives way slyly to the reddish hues of the birthing sun.

Silence is pregnantly full now while goose bumps flow on my arms. Still to be heard are the birds and squirrels as they too, are still.

I wonder if the soul is not like a bubble lying deep in the ocean, rising maddeningly, striving for freedom, to move through and out of the shell towards the air where it can just BE, escaping the weight of our bodies?

Can one soul be so different from other souls of different colors, religions?

Do not other souls rise, wanting to climb towards the cosmos?

Do souls really squander time, when the past holds them down, with lost love, with slights of ego?

Or do souls always push upwards towards better when we allow it?

Yes, I am still anchored in now.

I regret the passing of some but not all souls, and I still regret my mistakes.

I wonder, should we not look up and out for a direction as our souls do?

Should we not be as bubbles, rising to just BE?

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