Note: A free-verse poetic reflection on a recently and serendipitously recalled childhood memory of a family trip to a tiny house on the outskirts of the small town of Paris, Missouri, the homestead of Carrie Belle Crump Hoard, my maternal step-great-grandmother, and what I, a St. Louis city-boy, fleetingly discovered in the darkness of a country-night, launching a quotidian, life-long unto my dying day quest.
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Darkness impenetrable surrounding. Squinting eyes, sightless, searching for light. Even a hint – the moon, in forbidding cloud, masked – absent. All brightness remanded to shadows inhospitable, held in the custody of the next too-long-to-come dawn.
And I, unable to detect, save by imagination, the wiggling fingers of my hand spare inches from my face, felt mortally empty, ghostly incorporeal.
Yet, for once, for first, I sensed the real ever-illumined, inextinguishable presence of my eternal soul.
Thus, I believed, though seeing not, that I was whole.
© 2021 PRA
#beingandbecoming #trustinginthepresenceandpowerofsoul #asoulfulrevelation #faithknowswithoutseeing #lightwithinthedarkness
occasional observations of mind and heart, soul and spirit 
Ok wow!!! Does it get any better than getting a sense of your soul?? I don’t think so!! To this day I’ve had some amazing experiences of being in the dark!!!
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Yes, my dearest sister, having a sense of having a soul, my soul was…is a grand thing. And so ironic how this awareness or, rather, re-awareness arose (became conscious) via a sudden glimmer of a memory of that moment so long ago. In this, I find a blessed counterbalance to my general self-awareness of my vast reservoirs of brokenness.
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