i remember being told how much people despair or relish the occasions of the past, worry and expect on the offers of the future. a soul, if it exists, would most likely just pass on, perhaps ever evading the only known fact of life that the body dies, and a soul, if it exists, would just move on. from one life to another. or one dream to another.
dreams are supposed to be the place where the soul wanders when you are sleeping. the soul sometimes relives what the body experienced and sensed, what the brain perceived and interpreted. at times, the soul merely fathoms the bits and pieces of what your life is made of - memories, wishes, thoughts, feelings. at waking, we forget. there are times when we remember.
mine was a dream sequence of a bohemian soul. in four disjointed parts, separated by moments of apparent wakefulness.
the first, surrounded by a throng - cubs, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, cousins, friends - of tigers. the second, the soul seeing its life connections - mother, father, sisters, brothers, relatives, a soon-to-be family - vanishing their grip from the dream reality. the third, playing four main casts of four broadway musicals singing the four main songs, wearing the four different costumes, and acting the four main roles, at the same time.
the fourth. a soul which looked similar to me was alone inside a dense dream forest.