I have gone into the waste lonely places

Should we say the self, once perceived, becomes the soul?

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go.

So much of adolescence is an ill-defined dying, An intolerable waiting, A longing for another place and time, Another condition.

Over every mountain there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley.

(I measure time by how a body sways.)

And I rejoiced in being what I was.