after Ruth Stone, “Train Ride”
The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts.
—Marcus Aurelius
The soul is stained,
is stained with red
from wishing things were different—
dark plum of longing,
burnt umber of craving,
the rubicund ache of desire.
Is it true, the soul is dyed
by the color of its thoughts?
Or perhaps the hues
are shed like veils,
shed like flimsy gossamer shifts,
and the moment we see
that they are thoughts,
they drop away
like robes that have lost
their clasps, yes, drop away
like silken shawls
that slip from naked shoulders.
But of course it’s true
the soul is dyed with the color
of its thoughts—takes on the blue
of avarice, the sticky green
of fear. Becomes the shining
golds of bliss or the navy folds
of loss. Or is it this—
the soul just seems
to don a colored dress,
like the pale rose wrap at dawn
that’s here then gone,
and the sky itself is clear.
Sometimes I feel soul stained
through and through.
Sometimes I shed even
the darkest hues,
like veils, like gossamer shifts.
Oh so beautiful. I will be contemplating this, wondering at the hues of my soul today.
thank you, Heidi–i really enjoyed contemplating it, too!
You’ve captured me in your provocative question….is my soul stained, and by what, and what can change it, and how do I cast out some thoughts so new ones can enter? (That’s one our politicians need to entertain!)
right?? I love the wondering about this … thanks, Carol!
An interesting interplay between dyed and stained, with each having its own associations.
right!? the ambiguities there are so rich …
Is it a case of, “The [soul] has no clothes!”?
this made me laugh so loud!
What a soul beautiful poem. If only we could choose to clothe ourselves in vibrant colours of hope, love, light and joy, and resist the darker hues that might indicate sadness and loss.
thank you, Joy–I love that quote. And it was fun to play both sides of it. Hugs to you.