Though I am Here: A wandering soul

“We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.” -Anaïs Nin

My soul is a wanderer, traveling to faraway places that I have never been before. My mind follows along on these trips, embarking on adventure initiated through portals of closed eyes or distant gazes. And once mentally there, my heart grows captivated by these unknown cities, obsessed with its aura, drunk in cultural ecstasy, in love with foreign strangers. 

My body is but a mere vessel for a nomadic soul, and when my feet can’t keep up, my soul, unable to reconcile this limited mode of transportation to the boundless opportunity that awaits in each corner of the world, sometimes feels compelled to jump ship.

And thus, abandoning the weight of human baggage, my restless soul trades feet for wings, catches the wind and takes flight.

A wandering soul


When my surroundings become too repetitive, my wild soul drifts across oceans and through deserts. Climbs mountains and explores forests. While my body is confined to financial, temporal and human constraints, my soul lives unbridled, discovering new places that I have never been. My soul knows these places before my flesh does, speaks a language I have never learned, and dances to a native song I’ve never heard.

A traveling soul has no regard for man-made borders; it just goes to where there is beauty. It intimately and spiritually pursues the idiosyncratic allure of indigenous charm. Sometimes, as I am spiritually traveling, goosebumps prickle my skin, having felt some distant breeze, that my soul sends back as a subtle souvenir. And I am there, though I am here.

A traveling soul finds a home everywhere it visits, corresponding via blissful postcards, syndicated as abstract dreams, with the mind it is connected to. I close my eyes. And I am transported to that place I’ve never been, just beyond the horizon. Blanketed by one universal sky, I admire the same moon that glows over my soul’s refuge, and bathe in the same sun as its retreat.


I remember cobblestoned streets that I’ve never walked. And sands I’ve never felt between my toes. And flowers I’ve never smelled.

Though my passport may reflect otherwise, my nose knows the fragrance of Japanese cherry blossoms. My knees have buckled before Christ the Redeemer. My heart has sailed along the Amalfi Coast. And my mind has raced through the rows of lavender in France.

My thoughts have cruised the floating markets of Bangkok. My adrenaline has rushed alongside creatures of the Serengeti. And my breath was lost, in awe of the majesty of Everest.


And from all of these places, I have acquired mental souvenirs, postcard reveries. Abstract maps from which to guide me, when my body can join the adventure. Already rich with little tokens of familiarity with places and people to whom I’ve never been introduced.


Although, in reality these places remain unchecked on an infinite bucket list, my spiritual passport has its stamps.

For though I am here, I am there.
Where does your soul travel when your mind wanders?


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