My Buried Soul

When I began college I did not know where it would take me or where I would go. I happened to choose an anthropology course trying to see the different sides of humanity's source. Social, Cultural, and Physical Anthropology could hold no candle to the rapture of Archeology. When you've been digging in the ground and know others were standing in that spot thousands of years ago. Then as you shave a layer of dirt so thin finding an arrowhead, spear point, or just a bead to begin. Oh, the thrill of seeing that small piece of the past makes one introspective of how long things can last. It was a blessing and a curse I will sometimes mull the day that I cut through the top of someone's buried skull. An unknown being thousands of years from the past had by my handiwork been uncovered at last. A person who had lived in a different period and age whose knowledge I sought so to make men more sage. It was still in the ground where it had been since death having not seen light again or able to take a breath. Things in my life never seemed right after that time until the curse and blessing could combine in this rhyme. For my penance of bringing that poor soul to light it was predestined that my calling would be to write. It was not fear or courage that brought me then but the ethereal hand of an ancient soul that brought me the pen. Why was I chosen to write of this now having no knowledge of the why or how? These are questions I have asked myself many times when I hear the wind softly speaking to me in its chimes. I only know that it was something I must do to try to soothe my soul by relating this all to you. Still, I do not know if it is the balm that will heal my soul and let it be calm.