On Soul

I wonder where it is. Is it in my heart? My hands? My lungs? Is it in the light as it reflects on my shoes as I get home from a long day of work. Is it in the water I drink, the air I breath, the sweat I sweat. Is in the the phone calls I make. The phone calls I get. The dishes I cook. The dishes I eat. It is certainly not in the dishes I order. Is it in the sounds I make, the burps and farts. Is it in the questions I asked, the unanswered. Is it in my parents, unified, when they are divided as of now. Is it in the things I own, the books I buy, the sunglasses I see. Is it my desires, my ambition, my fear, my regrets. Is it Aretha, Otis, Parliament, Etta. Where is it and where does it go. Does it change, evolve. Is it mad at me? Can it hear me? Do I move with it or does it move with me. Where can I find it? Where do I reach it? Can I call it on the phone and say, hey, what do you think about this? Does it judge me. Does it listen to me? How do I know that I am following its wishes? How do I know that I am not succumbed by it. Where will it take me? Have I stifled it. Will it still speak to me. How long do I have to listen?