The Last Attempt To Sell Myself
On spirit loss and soul retrieval.
There she sat, in the ruins of her life. Beaming.
It was by no means an unusual Sunday morning,
Exterior was quiet, but, inside of me, a vicious storm was slowly forming.
And just as I was trying to push it down, tightly squeeze it.
Out of the blue, my soul, decided to pay an unannounced visit.
She’s never been particularly fussy,
If I had one word to describe her — it would probably be bossy.
I cringed as last time when I saw her it was brutal, almost evil,
Yet, she, decidedly, assured me that this time she would keep things very civil.
She made herself at home, well, rather quickly,
Brewed a cup of coffee, toasted half a bagel, glanced through “Gossip Weekly”.
Unflinchingly threw both her feet on stained glass round table, slowly slumping on the couch,
She definitely was slouching, yet still told me not to slouch.
I was so scared of her all I could do was barely mutter:
“For your burnt bagel would you like some lightly salted butter?”
She looked at me so fixedly, ignoring my request,
I felt the insides of my stomach take express elevator to my throat (quickly passing through my chest).
She stared at me with so much gravitas, inhuman power.
We sat like that forever or just, maybe, for an hour.
At last, ready to burst from duly built anticipation,
I timidly resolved to go ahead and try and open conversation.
I said:
“I haven’t seen you in a while,
I missed your humor and your smile.”
She looked at me, boy, she would always look at you like she could really see you,
And calmly said: “I’ve always been here, as without me you just could not be you.”
“So how you’ve been?” she seemingly whole-heartedly inquired,
“I know you say you rest a lot, but, child, you look pretty tired.
Feel free to let me know if I intrude too much or am not being fair,
But I’d be very curious to hear how you spent last year.”
At first, I rapidly began to shake as backless stool on which I sat started to wobble,
And timidly inquired: “Am I in some kind of trouble?”
Then, I could really not control myself and loudly began crying,
While desperately shouting: “Please just tell me: Am I dying?!”
“How can you die,” she said, “when you are yet to be alive?
I don’t know just how on so many lies you, humans, tend to live and, at times, even thrive.”
For so long I was, motionlessly, sitting on my folded leg — I started feeling pins and needles,
I thought: “I like her, but I hate when she speaks in those stupid riddles.”
I don’t know what profound message she thought she was sending,
To me her smug demeanor simply sounded condescending.
I told her that I worked from nine to five, fed hungry, paid my taxes,
Went to the gym, bought weekly flowers, endured monthly waxes.
As I went on I thought my soul is speaking to me, holy moly, what an honor.
Besides she was so pretty, such a little stunner.
As I was sitting there thinking how this whole encounter was surreal,
She stopped me: “Cut the bullshit, give me something real.”
“Fine, I obliged, I will now honestly address your question,
So many times this year I completely lost sense of direction.
I preach humility, yet I’m an undercover bragger.
The world sees Queen, but on the inside I am still a Beggar.”
And when I lie in bed at night I always ask one question,
“Why from this life I gather, oh so, very little satisfaction?”
I keep my mouth shut, yet desperately want to shout,
And ask myself: “For how much longer will I walk through life with my hand reached pathetically out?”
She said: “Well, let me ask you a simple question,
Why don’t you try and take on full control of your life’s true direction?”
I promptly let her know with, on my part, no hesitation,
That there just needed to be made way too much due consideration.
I said: “If one has an artistic vision,
It certainly cannot be treated as a rushed decision.
Will I make impact, will I leave a trail?
Or, worse yet, what would happen if I fail?”
“Easy for you to say,” I said, “you’re not a human — you’re divine,
No bills to pay, no honor to protect, no memories to shrine.
Your energy’s so high the way you see the world is, frankly, kind of trippy,
And not to make it obvious, but you don’t even have a body, which I, personally, think is kind of creepy.”
“Well, tell me,” she inquired “what is it that you are so afraid to loose?”
“Something is wrong with me.”
“You’re fine,” she smiled, “we just only need to loosen up some of your mental screws.”
That moment, for the first time in my life, I saw that just as I have never truly had a thing, I also could loose nothing,
At first I cried, then, uncontrollably, have started laughing.
If I had nothing, in the first place, what was it that, for so long, I was afraid to loose?
That thought in an instant blew out all the remnants of my mental screws.
I looked at her: “What happened to me, I no longer care,
I now know that the world of me will always take the outmost kind of care.
Have I gone mad, I don’t feel even an ounce of fear?
I am so happy and I sense some kind of end is lurking very near.”
She came uncomfortably close to me, hugged me so tightly that my body almost twisted,
“Now I can finally return,” in both my ears at the same time she, somehow, ethereally whispered.
Ran dainty hands through my long curly strawberry blond hair:
“You might think otherwise,” she said, “but you should know that life is always fair.”
“You always get what you believe, not what you think deserve,
If ever you’re not happy in an instant any situation you should leave, as nothing in this world of your unhappiness is worth.
I urge you to speak up, don’t be afraid to use your voice,
No matter what it looks like on the outside, my dear, you do always have a choice.”
“Remember, we as souls, despite of what you humans think, are not at all elusive,
It’s just that, usually, emotionally wounded human body for the soul’s residing’s simply not conducive.
Not able to take full control and lead the way, we quietly and patiently hover around.
Please let me in, with me inside you’ll never lose again, but will be infinitely found.”
Before she fully leapt into my heart — was gone without a trail.
She whispered few more things I couldn’t hear well, I just remember she looked very pale.
As she was slowly disappearing — frail essence of her silhouette thinning,
“Is this the end?” with full acceptance I courageously inquired.
“No, my love,” she whispered, “we are just beginning.”
A.B. Wisely, 2022 ©
Music to accompany this poem:
The Ambientalist — Unexpected Emotion
