A Souls Desire

I remember the day when 20,000 pieces of paper fell from the clouds with the grace of crisp fresh snow. Before then, the only type of magic I believed in came from a pen’s first glide across a new ivory sheet of paper. Yet there I sat with a Moleskine journal full of mistake-marked pages in my left hand and a fresh 100 dollar bill in my right. The sound of shuffling papers tantalized my ears as the hum of the city ceased to an awe-stricken buzz. As the world around me rubbed its eyes with disbelief, I realized I couldn’t tell who was lying: the sky or the state of my mind.

The sky erupted with outstretched hands accompanied by a lack of regard for a simple who, what, when, and why. America’s only unified vice, falling from the sky from days on end. The realization that the dollar frosted asphalt offered more wealth than the corporations they belonged to could ever promise them provided a temptation you couldn’t ignore. People washed over the streets in defiance of any order to do otherwise, hungrily aiming to catch a sum of the anomaly. Adults dived into piles of money like dogs as if this new reality were scheduled to end within the hour. Turned out hats spilled with bills as they rose towards the sky, entangling with purses stretched open beyond capability determined to obtain more.

Eventually, a pile of money was just another thing to step in along your morning commute. As poverty vanished, desire satiated, and needs were met, the world slipped into a nail-biting daydream. Though everything seemed better, everyone was worse. Some felt they had nothing to strive for, others lost themselves to the sirens of consumerism, and most just seemed to mistake the meaning of life for a new pair of designer shoes.

The dollar. Once so significant now given no regard. Yet somehow, it still managed to stuff everyone I knew with an artificial satisfaction fed by yachts and oversized couches. As the world stepped back into an insignificant hush of luxury, I found myself with no-one and nothing but that same Moleskin notebook but with one last ivory page.

Money rained from the sky and uplifted us all into a financial status we’d never thought we’d see yet; it wasn’t enough. Everything we ever needed came with the unexpected side effect of inadequacy with oneself. In a refusal to be satisfied with contempt, the souls of earth bellowed out into the silence of a worry-free mind, demanding that our focus turn inward and beyond the comforts that surrounded us.

I couldn’t say what that meant for other people, but in my case, nothing made my soul sing louder than filling in an ivory page with ink. I had everything I could ever want, yet the most valuable thing I owned was a Moleskine journal full of mistake-marked pages. I had everything I could ever need, yet I still longed for the breakthrough of a writers’ block, the rush of a melodic sentence, and the satisfaction of plotting the final period.

Even with money peppering the streets, there was still certain magic out there for everyone that seemed to reign superior. If you were anything like me, nothing could compare to that of a good pen and an even better notebook. Though our definitions of magic differed there was one thing on which we could all agree, despite the abundance of money to our names, there was no value greater than what a souls' desire for more could produce. Our souls always told us what we needed, yet only those who could genuinely listen would succeed in finding a bountiful level of freedom that money could never achieve.