Malleable

The soul must be malleable. Is it my vision that makes it rigid and painful? It is my interpretation that creates my reality (thank you Master Psychotherapist James Bugental. I still smile thinking of our brief friendship and his gentle, in the moment teaching methods.) as there is no abject reality. What holds me in this envelope ... oh no, I hate the stereotypical. But I am locked inside, with that large, dark, hollow, echoing. So I guess it's is yelling, for help. for direction and guidance, for human touch. For reassurance. It's not there though. I know a God is. It is hard to feel companionship even of one so mighty, able to be all encompassing, compassionate. I am mad. Is this what I signed up for? What is worth all this pain. What? What is the point? I suppose I am so wrapped up in useless emotion that I don't hear the message. Self-loathing, yuck. Yuck.