I’ve been putting my soul face on in recent days. Away from my family for weeks, thrust into a relentless road schedule, I’ve found that slipping into the persona of the person I’d like to be has led me closer to actually being that person.
Your soul face is the face that makes merry at funerals, celebrating the deceased.
You know what face it is? The face you use when playing with a puppy. The face that breaks out into a smile when cradling a baby. It’s that face that lapses into frequent grins at the merest of pretexts.
It can’t contain itself, that face, because it is the bubbling surface reflecting the springs gushing up from below.
My soul face is the face of understanding.
I’ve put it on too many times to count in recent days, as mishaps and scheduling intensities threatened to overwhelm my sense of this world is a very cool place to be. It’s the face that knows that all (seeming) kinks work out in the most amazing ways if you allow yourself to go there mentally first.
It’s worked. That soul face thing. I’m feeling soulful . . . I’m feeling soul filled. Little delights are piling up. Unexpected wonderfulness keeps breaking out . . .