A human, speaking.
Souloist: Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and the light of knowledge hovers in front of my tired eyes just to wink at me before singing me to sleep. And when next I wake up I have a message that I must give on to the world. And last night, when I slept, the light of knowledge woke me up and whispered to me to tell you that the soul is young.
The soul is a wind in each of us. A current, a buoyancy. In at birth. Out at death. A helium in our life’s balloon. Recycled to play again. Because the soul is made of play. Play like the spontaneous games of childhood, to run to jump to tag to flip to fly to punch and embrace The soul is always innocent of its action because it is nothing but vitality. Potential to kinetic energy.
The soul is an eternal child. Time and time and time and time again of experience makes a soul rich and broad and intricate like a being. But souls are always new. Always curious. Always reaching the hand toward the hot stove, so eager for the fresh baked bread, never imprinting the consequences.
The soul is forward momentum. The maker of live. But the soul has no and suffers not judgment. And this is how souls can be light or dark. Because even horror and wrong action are engagement and action. The soul is young. Lovable, un-blame-able, un-school-able puppy. Your engine. Your fire. Will you forge something with it, or burn it down?