I tried and tried and tried to listen to what my soul was saying. Every time I heard something, I laughed really hard. When I went out to dinner with my family, I listened in the bathroom.
You're sending psychotic energy through the tubes.
I laughed, and I got the joke. I was making crush cords to my soul, which were sending him energy. Whenever I laughed really hard, I would make a crush cord. My guides warned me about having crush cords to my soul. They said it was a bad idea, it causes pretty horrific consequences. People have done it on other planes. The world was designed so that you would not make crush cords to your soul. I got that, I laughed anyway.
I sat in the shower, and tried very hard to listen. “I love looking at you like this, the water falling all over your hair, like semen squirting all over you. I want to be together, just you and me, feeding you semen.” And then he showed me an image of him with a spoon, and hearts in his eyes, as he fed me semen.
I laughed really hard.
“I want to understand you, sweetie, I want to understand why you love caterpillars, not roses, caterpillars. I think you and I could get along splendid, not good, splendid. I think you should ease off the cough syrup, on to the robotripping design flaw place called Hydrocodone. Do it, sweetie. Undo the did, redo the don't, and do it do it do it! When you and I are together, we eat each other's minds out and have a splendid time picking fights with hobos, not fights, murderous pictionary games.”
I was happy. I had met someone I loved. Sure, it was actually me. This soul of mine, it was me. That's all. It was another aspect of myself. But sure, it would be okay. I had fallen hard. This seemed like an embarrassing problem I was having, where I was building a bunch of crush cords to my soul, and there was no one to tell me it wasn't right.
You can do something to prevent it from happening. Tell him, “You're me. I'm you.”
I said that, over and over again. “You're me. You're me. You're me.” When I did so, I got a wondrous feeling. My guides told me it was similar to the wonderful feeling you got upon death, when you are reunited with your soul in heaven.
“I think we can eat each other's marmalade again tomorrow, but right now I'm sick of it! Do it! Do go to the ballgame alone! I think it's okay to realize why the two of us get along so well!”
I laughed. I kept having to remove cords. Over and over again. When I did so, it would rid my body of a very slight, very freaky feeling I could not describe.
Well, it's okay. He's a good guy, your soul. Why don't you send him some sexual energy?
I began rolling around on the bed in lust, in lust for my own soul.
“You got me all tangled up in a web of hormones, baby.” my soul said to me, smugly.
As I sat there, my soul tried to attach a cord to me. It was a sex cord. My guides blocked it.
Whoops! My soul said.
Don't worry about that, he was trying to attach a cord to drain your energy during sex. It would feel good for him, but cause some pretty horrific side effects for you. That's why we blocked it out.
He laughed and said, “Fuckers!”
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