Free Writing - Take 17

I love the rain. Like DeNiro said, one day a real rain will come and wash all the scum off the streets.  I like rain, because so many see it as a hindrance.  Tonight I heard the drops hitting a piece of metal outside my window.  It became harder and harder than then soft again. I went outside.  A steady mist.  I love that feeling.  The feeling that everything bad is being washed away.  Like a hot shower, it cleanses the soul, or whatever lays within us, trying to get out.  It's dawned on me that religious types believe that when we die our soul ascends to heaven or retreats into hell.  To me, our soul is trying to get out every day.  When we do something that makes us happy, it's our soul, that thing inside us that is dancing.  When we are sad, it's our soul that cries while we stay strong on the outside.  When we are angry it's our soul trying to leave us, trying to escape and attack all that is evil.  When we are bored, it sits and waits and wonders, where we are going?   We hear of lost souls, hopeless, depressed, sometimes worse.  Maybe those are the ones whose souls escaped already, those sad few who are already dead inside.  Whose souls couldn't dance, couldn't cry, couldn't do anything but sit.  Maybe they have left for better things, tired of being trapped inside a living corpse. Or maybe they have just gone to play in the rain.  Some people say rain is depressing.  I'd like to think those are the ones whose souls have gone out to jump in puddles and only come back when they know it's safe.  I don't believe in souls, but if I had one, it got it's feet wet tonight.