i dance to remember.
it comes from dancing to forget so much it sticks.
and then you don't think "wow, i felt so bad that day." you think "wow, i felt once. i remember what it was like." though the feeling itself is long gone.
- - -
i believe in multiple lives, and i'm almost positive that this is my second to the last one before my soul has learned all it has set out to.
my reasons for believing that include:
* i've met a lot of kindred spirits, like i'm collecting parts of myself. (more later regarding my thoughts on the tapestry of souls.)
* i not only love and respect but find myself studying those people who accomplish amazing things in this life. those people who shine in multiple aspects of what it means to be human. those who touch the lives of others. the ones who have that glow. i think those are last-life souls, those who've experienced the full spectrum of humanity and are reaching out to share what they know with the world. musicians. philosophers. artists.
i study them and try to replicate. perhaps i'm preparing for my next life.
* i see a whole lot of potential in me, like a whole lot of puzzle pieces i just can't seem to put together. i can almost do things just right. like there's a mold for my soul that i almost fit.
- - -
sometimes when i'm standing at a corner, waiting to cross the street, i wonder if people think i'm a prostitute. i've been mistaken as a prostitute before. do i look like a prostitute?
anyone could theoretically be a prostitute, so, when one sees a person on the sidewalk, what signals do they use to determine the status of the person as A. a prostitute or B. not a prostitute?
and what about me would make someone put me in category A?
does it matter what street i'm on? people can live on a hooker street without themselves being hookers.
does my clothing make it obvious that i'm poor, so you assume i'll want money?
is it that i'm a female walking by myself? maybe i had to get some milk and toilet paper from the store.
did you see i was carrying grocery bags and assume those were my possessions?
i just don't know.
i don't know why i look like a prostitute, but i suspect that i do.
this isn't the olden days, after all, where hookers wear "hooker make-up." the economy is bad these days, hookers can't afford make-up.