Pulse of My Soul The soul is that quietest pulse which keeps beating even when everything around pretends to have already stopped. It is not a light that switches on and off. Rather, it’s the faint vibration left in the wood long after the last note has faded. It still remembers the touch of wind on skin from seven years ago, the taste of salt on lips after tears no one ever saw, and the smell of rain on asphalt that no longer exists. It doesn’t live inside the ribcage – it is rather the space in which the ribcage sometimes, for a moment, ceases to be.When you are truly, deeply silent, it is not you who is silent. It is the soul breathing through your closed lips.Sometimes it resembles a warm lake at dusk – the surface perfectly still, while slow, invisible currents continue to circle beneath. You cannot fix it. You cannot lose it. You can only forget it for a while – and that is when it becomes the loudest.And always, even in the blackest night, it still carries within itself that one stubborn, incomprehensible to anyone but itself small, warm direction.more