Where did I come from and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
This poetry. I never know what I’m going to say.
I don’t plan it.
When I’m outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.
-so, I had forgotten about Rumi, but then this exquisite post woke me up again.