Sliced and Diced and Still Rolling

Though they had their hands inside me, there is something that the doctors never touched: my soul, the soul that is me. (At this point I will use the word "I" to designate the soul that is me, that is the center of this being continuing to follow its destiny, not this physical corpse-ulation that continues to motor about, not the ego that smacks its lips in continuous consumption of self-display.) I was never touched by the physical manipulations, though extensive.  I was touched only by the energetic auras, the souls of those around me. And even then, I remained unswayed.

It was my physical body that felt impugned upon, sliced and diced. And still does, though that is receding. I am soul that is embodying. Not body that is ensouling. I have my priorities straight. And clear.

Four times this past year, for several days at a time, my body was held captive. My soul remained and still remains free. No one can capture the soul of me unless I imprison it myself and hand it over to a jailor. Hasn't happened yet and won't happen. The Baptists could not jail me. The Marines could not jail me. Societal norms could not jail me. Academia could not jail me. Jobs could not jail me. Chopping me open gave me pause but could not jail me.

On the road again. Where I have always been. And ever will be.