“Nothing stains the spirit and soul of a woman who is pure, who is in harmony, who is master of her life, whose soul is ONE with the soul of all.”
– Bhagavad Gita
I miss my soul family.
I miss the Spanish man who devoured books on leadership and development like they were required for his very functioning, and who gazed out at the lights of Las Vegas with me chain smoking cigarettes on a balcony barely large enough for one. I miss his warm embrace, his fluctuating energy and his dedication to film.
I miss the Mexican man whose lungs became gills and whose feet became webbed. I miss the kiss of the sharp rocks that we climbed over to paint murals in abandoned houses by the sea front, late night cooking sessions in a kitchen crowded by strangers with stolen kisses and riding shot gun on his bike past multitudes of fruit and veg vendors.
I miss the Guatemalan man who read my palms and kept his mouth shut, whose eyes were portals to my soul, who acted like a man and like a child and whispered French poems in my ear, who harmed himself so often that he bled booze in the daily markets.
I miss the wild woman I met in myself who spent her entire birthday barefoot, who conquered her fear of breathing underwater, who salsa danced in the street with strangers… who would smile at everyone she saw and gave herself permission to move through this world unabashedly herself…
Soul family, soul family… Where are you? I miss you. I feel lonely here. Surely some of you exist in this town? I call to you…