Naked Soul

I

To see a soul laid bare — means to look through layers, through fear, through lies. Not what is said, but what remains silent. Not the mask, but the pulse behind it.

It is not the nakedness of the body, but the nakedness of truth. It does not offer itself to the eyes, but to the silence between glances.

But few truly see it.

From the very first day, we are taught to be something — beautiful, smart, desirable, acceptable. We learn to conceal, to choose the safe parts of ourselves to show, while hiding the less lovely ones. Roles become identities. And the baring of the soul — becomes a threat.

Because the one who truly sees us, can reject us. The one who touches our core, can hurt us.

So we hide — behind words, behind humor, behind the body.

True intimacy, the spiritual kind, terrifying in its rawness, doesn’t happen often.

It’s not an exchange of touch, but an exchange of truth.

It doesn’t ask for the body — it asks for courage.

It demands presence without performance, closeness without embellishment, a gaze that doesn’t flinch at pain or ugliness.

But the world today values the body more than truth.

Loves the form more than the essence.

Appreciates the image more than the soul.

That’s why this kind of intimacy is rare.

And because it demands so much.

Because you won’t be able to experience it until you bare yourself — to yourself.

Until you look into your own darkness and stay there —

present, awake, without running.

And the saddest thing is this:

That millions of people go through lives, bodies, relationships —

Without ever experiencing this nakedness.

Without ever being seen as they truly are.

Not because they don’t want to.

But because no one ever taught them it was possible.

Tea Franca