I have a stranger living in me, one who has been with me my whole life. Heís always a part of me. Not sure what to call this stranger, is it an "it" or is it a "he?" What is this stranger that lives inside of me? It has no real name and contains no physical matter. Itís presence is only known because of the manner in which it operates, the effects it produces. When it gets fired up, its presence is made clearly known. I've not introduced myself to this stranger before, this fascinating element in my being. We're starting to learn a bit about each other and are forging a real friendship, I think.

Iím starting to detect the presence of this ďotherĒ that lives inside of me. Itís not me, but a part of me I've not even realized was in existence. Mentally I was cognizant of the existence, but rarely is it on my mind. Iím just now learning to separate the Truth from this other inside of me.

This stranger and I arenít all that different. It has a mind all its own, rising up with its own willpower to impact every fiber of my being. It hears what it wants to hear and has a memory that never forgets. It remembers everything that has happened with a type of memory that is beyond my grasp. It takes the course it sees best. I just have to learn to deal with his moods, I suspect.

Iím learning this stranger in me has an attitude problem. He subjects me to moments of tears, tears that I do not want. The tears surge forth from the depth of his emotions, saturating my being through and through. He leaves me with this wet stuff all over my face, something that cannot be hidden from others outside of me. Then this other inside of me turns on me, becoming an enemy to me, injecting shame into me for the very thing he forced me to do: cry. Is this rising anger about my crying a part of him too? Did he just covertly manifest as anger? First it makes me cry, then it feels hurt that turns to anger, then I begin fighting these waves of shame that emanate out from it. All this dumped on me, or should I say ďin me,Ē because it had to have a cry using my eyes as its springboard for tears.

I sometimes hate him. It can be such a bandit. This thief steals my joy, infuses me with guilt, and makes me feel so horrible. Iíll fight him, thatís what Iíll do! Iíll stand up for the Truth, ignoring him even though he is inseparably within me. When I fight, when I look straight into the Words of Life, then it does an about face and states that heís happy when I crush his own shame and guilt. He effervesces peace into my body. How can he fight me, love me, guilt me, and shame me, all the while rejoicing over Truth and Love yet resist Truth and Love at the same moment in time? Who is this malleable stranger within? What is this multifaceted being that coexists with me, is within me, but is not me. Or is he me? Am I more than he is?

When threatened, it fights back. That didnít always happen. Actually, he didn't fight back against the true enemy until the last few years. He would just sulk in the background, sad, feeling sorry for himself. It sure made me miserable for years.

Iím not him. Heís part of me. Iím going to remind him of that, too. If he doesnít behave, Iíll take him and thrash him a few times around the block real good with a deeply cutting sword. Iíll fight him to the death, the death of me. I donít have to be its subject, it will subject itself to Godís Truth as I wield the sword against him.

I have chosen to submit to The Eternal One in my life. Iíve decided to take the reigns and force everything I am, have, and exist as, to be subjected to Truth. One moment this other side of me is unhappy with my decision. Heís relieved. Itís also threatened, realizing his facade has been revealed. No more hiding! Iíve caught the scent he releases. I can now detect itís presence.

Itís fighting against me one moment, then thanking me for killing it the next minute. Go figure. Double minded bastard. How dare he turn on me! I hate him!

Did you catch that? Did you see it? He just made an appearance! He even emerges in moments like this when Iím writing out my thoughts. They are MY thoughts, yet it just slides in, undetected, surfacing like an enemy sub. He has this ability to stir me up and get me to say things I donít really have in my truest heart to say. This reality within slips outwards at the most inopportune moments, moments just like this one, where Iím digging for the treasure of Truth. Even in my quietest moments, he confounds me with his most unusual ever changing display of morphing emotions.

What is this wonderfully fearfully made bizarre essence alive in me? I question its loyalty. It fights me while being my best friend. Who or what is this most unusual stranger within me?

Now that Iíve caught wind of this substance within, Iíve decided to go deep, to his abode of existence. Iím requiring this foreigner inside to reevaluate it's outlook on life. He's actually been enjoying this drink of fresh water. He's come to this warm fuzzy conclusion that there were good memories and great things about life that I didn't recall for many years. How come I canít recall the good with the bad? He sure reminds me of both more often than I like.

My memory is not his memory. He has his own rules of memorization. I recall data, he recalls feelings. I see with my physical eyes patterns of light, he sees with his own separate intangible eyes the realms of emotions. I have a will and will power, yet he steals my will from me and uses it against me. Then it does an about face and wills into existence the most amazing choices, actions, and words. He blesses me! He curses me! It fights me! It loves me! Weíre best of friends as he hurts me again. He grieves with me over the very hurt he keeps propagating on me.

I am truly perplexed at this multifaceted organism that has been operating within me my whole life. I make choices in life, he does too. I sometimes find that I am clashing with my set of choices and his. Iím trying to operate according to a God-man who lives 2,000 years ago. It operates according to a rough pattern of deeply worn ruts that were etched into its surface, a scratched record stuck in a clicking repetitious pattern. Completely irritating.

Is this how the God-man who died for me really made me to operate? Do I really operate according to the whims and wishes of some poorly defined thing alive inside of this individual? Am I to be subjected to the whimsical traits of some subsistence buried underneath the soil of my heart?

He will suddenly lash out before I can even realize he's going to. Then he hides behind my face, leaving me to face the mess that is left over from his own actions. He feels bad when he does that. How do I separate this other from me?

This intangible alive part of me, this stranger living within me, is a powerful active dynamic entity. He rages when he's ready, sleeps when it's ready to sleep. He cries when he feels like it and takes over my conscious reality when it is good and ready to do so.

Maybe it IS my heart? Maybe not. Maybe my heart is contained within it? What is this animating and essential principle within the sinews of my being? Should I give credit to the thoughts, emotions, and actions of an immaterial entity?

I cannot deny his existence any longer. I am continually stunned at the beautiful and complex powerful individuality of Ö

My Human Soul

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Now to Him who is able to do, immeasurably more, than all we could ask or imagine