When I die, when life has relegated me to nothing more than a lifeless host, I want to be
cremated. There is a quote, one I cannot seem to remember quite accurately but I'm presently too lazy to search for it. However it expands to something of the effect:
“You do not have a soul,
you are a soul.
You have a body.”
“You do not have a soul,
you are a soul.
You have a body.”
In this very moment, I feel as though our bodies
are more of a cage than a companion to our souls. We spend our days full of
worry and misplaced excitement over the preservation of our bodies. All its wants and selfish desires. In this moment, I feel as though our bodies often offer us unnecessary wars. And the weight of these wars lay heavy on souls that are merely trying to exist in joy. In this moment I feel as though even in on our good days our bodies are often not in the business of being a humble parallel, a home to our souls.
Most nights of my teenage years have been spent contemplating the actuality of freedom, the reality that it is indeed a fleeting notion and the value it holds when placed in the same sinking boat of our survival. I try to think about freedom in its truest sense. Have I? I am unsure.
By physical and scientific definition I am 19 years old. The science says that my body is 19 years old. But I have come to know enough of myself in the past couple of months that my soul feels far older.There is a silent hint of familiarity that I can often taste in my tea on nights when the stars and my heart can't find the right amount of light to offer.
I have come to believe that freedom is always fleeting. It is not something you stumble upon gracefully, it is not something you fall into like love, unaware of your thirsting. I believe that freedom is all the blood, sweat and tears of our choices. It is the badger of our beliefs. It is the flinting coursing through our veins in the face of resistance. Freedom cannot be stumbled upon. It is not the pretty or the hidden away of lighter things, those that soothe souls on Sundays. It is to be fought for. Everyday. It is the good fight for that good culture, that pure vibes. It is the god fight on the days when the tears can no longer hold secrets.
It is the choice. The passion to choose and the bearing of the lacerations that come with such a choice. Freedom is not the ability to choose but it is the choice. Everyday, there is a fight waiting to be fought. Your freedom is waiting for you at the finish line, in the company of that authentic Jazz music and the spirit of the poets.
When I die, I want to be cremated. I want my soul to be free, without the bother of a prison like body that is more enemy than friend. I want my soul to be free. I want my soul to be free, be embraced by the wind and make up for all the battles that I have failed to conquer.But while I am still breathing, I want to be free in such a way that I leave the choice as my legacy.
Most nights of my teenage years have been spent contemplating the actuality of freedom, the reality that it is indeed a fleeting notion and the value it holds when placed in the same sinking boat of our survival. I try to think about freedom in its truest sense. Have I? I am unsure.
By physical and scientific definition I am 19 years old. The science says that my body is 19 years old. But I have come to know enough of myself in the past couple of months that my soul feels far older.There is a silent hint of familiarity that I can often taste in my tea on nights when the stars and my heart can't find the right amount of light to offer.
I have come to believe that freedom is always fleeting. It is not something you stumble upon gracefully, it is not something you fall into like love, unaware of your thirsting. I believe that freedom is all the blood, sweat and tears of our choices. It is the badger of our beliefs. It is the flinting coursing through our veins in the face of resistance. Freedom cannot be stumbled upon. It is not the pretty or the hidden away of lighter things, those that soothe souls on Sundays. It is to be fought for. Everyday. It is the good fight for that good culture, that pure vibes. It is the god fight on the days when the tears can no longer hold secrets.
It is the choice. The passion to choose and the bearing of the lacerations that come with such a choice. Freedom is not the ability to choose but it is the choice. Everyday, there is a fight waiting to be fought. Your freedom is waiting for you at the finish line, in the company of that authentic Jazz music and the spirit of the poets.
When I die, I want to be cremated. I want my soul to be free, without the bother of a prison like body that is more enemy than friend. I want my soul to be free. I want my soul to be free, be embraced by the wind and make up for all the battles that I have failed to conquer.But while I am still breathing, I want to be free in such a way that I leave the choice as my legacy.
Love, Light and Freedom
-Kerry-Ann
-Kerry-Ann
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