Have you got any soul?” a woman asks the next afternoon. That depends, I feel like saying; some days yes, some days no. A few days ago I was right out; now I’ve got loads, too much, more than I can handle. I wish I could spread it a bit more evenly, I want to tell her, get a better balance, but I can’t seem to get it sorted. I can see she wouldn’t be interested in my internal stock control problems though, so I simply point to where I keep the soul I have, right by the exit, just next to the blues.
Why do we look back at the thing we just tripped over, both literally and symbolically in life? Is it some kind of reality check? Do we do it to make sure the object is there to certify we stumbled over *something* and not just our own clumsiness or wrong actions? Whether it’s a broken sidewalk or a broken love affair, we almost always look back— often more than once. — Jonathan Carroll