Somewhere between male and female the soul lives unstirred by the memory of childhood. Somewhere between the Destroyer of Obstacles and the Goddess of Fortune the soul lives in a state of constant hip hop guided by a white flashlight. Somewhere between now and now the soul lives possessed by the certainty that it is always in transition and will always live in between the present and the present. Somewhere between Terminal 2 and Terminal 3 the soul lives in a million humans who will pass through life in the third person. Somewhere between the Real Shiva and the Statue of Shiva on display at the Art Institute of Chicago the soul lives in every person. In between the clowns and grapefruits. In between the yellow bus driver and the happy waiter. In between the zoo and the opera house. Between life and death. The soul lives light as a father. Or feather.