Soulmates.

Soul…mates, soul..mates, soulmates!

The raillery of humans have caused much obfuscation in the vicinity of this topic.

How often we mention this ornamental word in a hope to hide our baseless motives! How forcefully we compel ourselves, our shredded consciences to surrender in the lure of our elusively unattainable showoff-trait and allow us to use this cheesy word for flavouring and adding spice to our tasteless and tenuous affections! How vigorously we influence this word to garnish the unpleasing, unattractive bonding that we’ve roasted, with not a firm willing hearty need but in the hunger of our desires and how silily we mortify the sanctity of this holy word! Tell me, aren’t you a contributing element in the “we”, I am presently ranting about? Dear Human, don’t you dare utter about souls. Do you even know what does that mean, of how this concept does actually work?

My Dear, soul is the real yourself, soul is what starts where fleshes end. No! No, the beautiful eyes of your beloved that attracted you can’t satisfy as a reason of her being, your soulmate. Soul is unseen, untouched, intangible. Soul doesn’t die. Soul is the purest, and no dirt of cruelty or vulgaris step on it could pester its purity. Soul can’t be destroyed by any scientific means, by any tools ever invented since the evolution of mankind. Soul is your inner self, soul is the sole reason of your life, of your living.

You say you love the soul of your beloved and not her/his body? My Dear, tell me if your beloved comes to you with a changed voice, with a different body, with another temper, attitude which isn’t her habituĂ©, could you even recognise her; forget about love, love is an unreachable aim here. But tell me can you even recognise her? Tell me if you get blind in your eyes and your beloved stops breathing, could you even distinguish her without touching and point out the direction of her presence.

You, my Dear, even fall short of your ‘forever kind of love’ and lose your temper if there’s even an inch variation in the waves of the behaviour of your significant other human. Accept it, accept that you just fall in love with curvy cutout fleshes attached to a skeleton with blooded veins and organs inside or attitude or habits, their choices, their smell, the charm of their skin or their talents, and not exactly the soul. You pragmatically don’t fall for their souls, and forget falling for, you even don’t know an inch of the zist of this very word.

 

Soulmates. You say, and keep the searing word on your tongue yet also keep on fighting for matters of addictions, for the way they dress up, or the dinner mannerism that they lack. You get problems with your soulmate if the design of his outfit or the shade of her lipgloss doesn’t please you!

Oh Dear, soulmate should be your aura of peace, your other half, just an extension of yours. How could you complain about it?

And then, people get married to an unknown head of their caste and avow them in little span of time as the -best soulmate ever. Yes, ‘the best soulmate’! Nevermind. But mentioning your life partner with such a sugarcoated word will never authenticate your relationship, will never fill the little hollows of dissatisfactions that are created with the pinning differences that stand between the both of you, curving into a path that only increases distances between two hearts.

How childishly, we the Humans, get excited about our similarities with one another but never have we respected the dissimilarities in equal. Dissimilarities, that are our identity-etching gadgets, and are bound to have an existence, although intruding but a compulsion. Dear Human, will you please ever understand that we all are filled with our individualities due this very dissimilarities?

And that, these mismatches are least harm giving. And will anyone ever understand that similarities and dissimilarities are vigorously associated with our bodies and not the soul? Dear Human, soul has no categories, it is shapeless, colourless, ineffable. And our bodies, our bodies are just means of communication for our eternal souls; these are the platforms to meet, gateways to reach up to one another. Our bodies are nothing but journeys, that souls ride. And then, one day, they unfurl themselves, from these one-kind-of outfits, from these unchosen outfits of theirs, yet not exactly ‘theirs’, yet not exactly of anybody’s, except of a coffin or a grave or the soil or a vulture or a fox, or of microorganisms, or even not completely of those; & leave for their awaiting relentless pleasant walk. This body in particular, is never ours. But then we only fall for the same, for our own or another and then sheet it with a layer of fragrance by terming it soul and the person as our soulmate.

Love turns unenviable when we start loving a body, which means not really lesser than loving materials; ’cause this body like all other stuffs, has an expiry date. When the heart of our beloved stop beating, we relinquish our hopes and conclude it as the death of our love. But, my Dear, love isn’t mortal, it’s the attachment of love to the body that mummifies; for if you love the soul for true, then my Dear, your love will turn immortal and live till eternities, and breathe infinities. And if some infinities are bigger than other infinities, then for an unostentatious lover, this infinity would be the biggest and truest amongst all.

 

And such a kind of love is the one that ties soulmates together, even if their bodies are surviving in farther unreachable lands, the souls remain inseparable. No matter how impure your body turns, nothing can hamper your true self. We are the characters of our own play, of our own stories which aren’t actually our own when realism strikes. We play as per the script ordered to us by the fate, in exchange of our respiration, and then one day we wash our makeovers (our bodies) and return back to a ensconce in a realistic universe, where there ain’t any hedges of muscles, any caging jails made up of bones. Then, there, we are free spirit, jubilant and giant and invisibly beautiful and jollily elated. We will no more be slaves, or the prisoners chained with blood vessels and tissues. Although we always are wildly unprocurable, soaked in freedom; only we are too drunk in worldliness to clarify and rejoice on the realisation of truth. But then, in such a swathe of truism, we could find our other-half, naked, bodiless, blissful, unsullied, unbruised, unaffected, undestroyed, unwounded, our unfalteringly soulmate, our soulmate. The soulmate, that wouldn’t any more please eyes, because there’ll be no retinas to sight, only a soulfulness to feel, to recognize and to get affectionate and not attached, and to fall in an immortal love with that same soul on loop, maybe!

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