Soul Work
1 min readFeb 21, 2020
This body is my home. For over 60 years, it has followed my directions, mostly without complaining. I’ve asked it to do foolish things. I’ve treated it like an enemy. I’ve made it carry my heavy load of shame up a steep, impossible slope, hating its burdensome density. I wanted to escape. I wanted wings and lightness. I wanted to be ethereal. Ephemeral. To fly above suffering. I wanted to be at peace, but peace was a puzzle with too many missing pieces, so I gave up on it.
This body is my home, and I have learned to cherish it. How can the soul do its work of incarnation without a humble and willing container? How can we shine, translucent, without this constant polishing?
LBM 2/21/2020
