Sala's Internal Monologue

Is this what life has come to? This dreary dull existence? This body is not my body, just a vessel, a conduit for my eternal soul. When this one grows old and withers away, my soul will be born again into a new one. Come into a new being. I watch myself crossed legged in front of the alter, calling upon the ancient powers and I am aware that my life is not my own. It does not belong to me; I am merely a soul manifesting new realities that are never quite right. I hover above myself, watching, studying. The sharp cut of jaw, the highness of cheekbones, the fullness of lips, full eyebrows and thick eyelashes, and hair that lays just right... All the things this human world covets so dearly, but it is of no importance to me, I do not want it. This vessel us all of these things, yes, and it garners me attention unsolicited, but it is not mine. If only they all understood the fleetingness of this life, that the soul defies time, takes up space, cannot be wholly confined to the barriers of a container. Sometimes I overflow, my essence spilling over, my soul energy too much for... this. I wonder if they can see it; I feel it in the deepest reaches of my being. There is no end; just the never ending process of contents spilling over into the vast pit of everything until the time comes to tether to another earthly vessel.

I have been born and born again, and with each new birth, I become more and more aware, and less and less surprised, by all that surrounds me. In every lifetime, each reality, it is always the same. Them, wasting away with frivolous, inconsequential musings, and me, bearing witness to it all, helpless to stop it. Wanting desperately to reach into their minds and reveal to them the true meaning. So that they may see without the haze of filter that ruins their eyes. But such things are forbidden because they are not ready. Perhaps they once were, long ago when humans drank from the springs and found nourishment from earth. When they allowed the power of the earth's core to flow into their bodies through bare feet on bare land, and come out of them in the most enchanting magic that could be wrought. But they do not do this anymore. Too consumed with their own folly they are, to even begin to understand the magnitude of where they went wrong. If they could find their way back to rich beginnings, then perhaps they'd be ready to know all I have to share. Their minds are far too fragile, they would descend into madness, chaos. I fear they will never be ready.

I watch them day in and day out, exchanging pleasantries and passing time until their souls return home. They crave connection, but they are not connecting, not really. Only in superficial ways, not in the ways of old. True connection is an exchange of energy, an elevation of consciousness, a teaching, unlearning, and relearning of sacred ways. What they do... is not that, it is not right. I summon all the energy I can to nudge them in barely noticeable ways, hoping they will wake up and be ready. They may already be too far gone...