Soul does not cower
It does not apologize for its boldness, its downright gritty city-street rawness.
It shines out, a frothy sea, it moves f*cking fearlessly.
Soul does not tiptoe or placate.
It does not shut up or tone it down.
It is unafraid of its own jeweled majesty.
It does not live to be liked or show off or impress.
Dripping, oozing, overcome with ripe-berry thickets of with neon life.
Soul does not know how to censor itself.
It only knows how to be.
Is that moment when you’re dancing naked outside
And the electricity from the grass pours into your legs
And you’re overcome with rapture that you have no name for.
Soul is magic. It's mystical. But it's no mere gossamer thread. It's f*cking real.
It's the realest thing in the entire world.
Soul does not cower or turn away
It shows up and moves closer
In tough moments filled with tears, soul sparks to life, a divine force of a transformational firework.
This well of infinite power within us, this empowerment
Could be the framework
For our life.
What would it be to live and breathe from the glittering depths of our soul rather than what we're expected to be?
To have everything radiate from the unstoppable divinity of that gorgeous center?
Soul does not cower, shake, silence itself, turn away.
It shows up
Speaks the gaping, unvarnished truth.
Soul only knows
How to be radically
Everything else is the lie.