So, I just finished writing (literally, just now) a new song called Soul, and, oh, am I all about moody songs right now.
You know the kind: the beautiful and terrible poems set to music that elicit visions of nostalgia and fear, of joy and hatred. (If you need artists, reference Damien Rice, Patty Griffin, or pretty much any artist on the Garden State soundtrack.) I’m not sure if my songs live up to this, but it is certainly something to aspire to.
I’ve noticed that humans have a gross tendency to scrutinize each other to the point of weakness. Where the line of fair expectation and ugly realism meet is where life seems to get really blurry. It’s a mess, really. We all carry the paradoxical weight of expecting idyllic behavior from everyone we encounter while gladly giving ourselves free passes to behave however we see fit.
I don’t claim to understand this instability, but I am certainly repulsed by it, especially in myself.
To me, everybody who inhabits this strange planet has roughly the same amount of “broken,” and to expect something less or more than that is simply foolishness. Remembering that isn’t easy, though.
Somewhat conversely, I think everybody also has the same amount of “soul” — the passionate essence which comprises the “who” of “who we are.” Most of us spend more time burying, hiding, suppressing, repressing, or ignoring that soul than we do trying to release it, but it’s in there.
I know it.