Hello again. I was reading or watching something the other day (I know, sorry- blame the overabundance of content or something) and one of the characters said the following: “What am I going to do with a soul anyway? Souls are boring.” It might have been Succession. Feels very Succession-y, no? I’m not certain though, so apologies and feel free to reach out and set me straight.
Anyway, like a good deal of content I lap up, I laughed and then I thought. Quite a bit actually.
There are so many different perspectives on the soul, right? The soul is defined by an individual’s own thoughts and feelings, their religion, or upbringing, and/or experiences they have that shape their view. For argument’s sake, or just the sake of this conversation, let’s pretend that the soul is the spiritual core of a human. The inner juice, if you will.
I would get into the whole immortality business but I know that would rankle some of you, so I’m going to steer clear. Instead, let’s talk about this whole fundamental element business. That’s not controversial at all, amiright?
I know, it is. Jokes. We all could use a laugh right now, don’t you think? I do. I’ve been nothing but straight up melancholy and morose lately, so I’ll take a chuckle wherever I can get one. Actually, it’s the sad business that I’m planning on exploring, so buckle up. Or bail, depending on your tolerance level at this moment.
I’ve been thinking quite a bit about souls and consciousness and consciences. I’ve been pondering what we are made up of as humans and how we make decisions and how we live with them and what that looks like in the greater scheme of a life.
Often when someone has done something really shitty, we share sentiments like: “well, you’ll have to live with yourself in the end” or “hope you can sleep at night.” We have this thought of a human who has done terrible, no-good things and as punishment, the universe has rendered them tortured and sleepless. They will likely have a serious of bad-luck events befall them and, in the end, they will find themselves unhappy and regretful.
Sigh.
We know that’s not how it works. It is unquestionably not how it works, or every single fucker who is still fighting gun regulations in this country would be aggrieved and despondent and exhausted. But they aren’t. Nope. They are offering lots of prayers. And love. And thoughts. Thoughts of not giving a fuck. Thoughts of blaming other issues, like mental illness or well, immigration, or gender identity.
I try and stay away from politics, but there are some events that are so heinous, so catastrophic, that I fear I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t find my voice in a very real and profound way.
I don’t want to get into the debate about gun regulations, because I’ve found that many on the other side of the argument just regurgitate the same shit about squashing their rights (and by their rights, I mean the shit they think they were promised when we were still using feathers to sign documents) or destroying their lives or taking over everything. I will fight every misnomer and bullshit thought that comes out of that camp with cold, hard facts, but right now, I’m too tired. Right now, I’m too sad. Right now, I feel, well, kind of hopeless.
My lack of hope, or waning hope, has less to do with anything and mostly to do with the lack of soul connection.
We all have different lives, different wants, different wishes, different access. However, I have this insane feeling that deep down inside, like really deep, we are all made of the same junk. Cells, spiraling curls of DNA, blood vessels, bone, muscle, hair, nails. There are all these parts that make us human. And yet, so many of us seem to fail to recognize this very basic fact. So many of us disassociate from that which connects us, in favor of the sort of solitariness that supports and breeds selfishness and rage and hatred and destruction.
I find myself confused lately. Genuinely perplexed. This is not about the age-old battle of good versus evil (whatever the fuck that even means anymore). This is about the notion that some of us have peeled our physicality away from our souls like a wayward shadow we want to shake loose. A paradigm has been created where the soul is unnecessary.
Actually, it’s worse than that. I’m mis-categorizing in this moment. What I’m really talking about is this painfully blind allegiance to an ideology above all else. Above safety. Above love. Above compassion. Above kindness. Above human life. And when human life is chosen, it’s only the sort of human life that aligns with the overall messaging of the ideology. It’s not any or all human life. Oh no. It’s the perfect sort of human life that fits. Well, until it’s not. Until there is something revealed about that life that renders it unworthy. And then, fuck it. Nobody cares anymore.
The thing is, all these people with all their fucked ideas are sleeping just fine at night. They are not tossing and turning. They are not contemplating the fiery inferno awaiting their human form when they depart from their earthly flesh cannister. They are not wondering where they went awry or thinking about how they might get themselves back on track. Oh no. There is nothing like that going on.
This is a sort of cult-like reverence for a thing that rips us all to shreds. We are separated and angry and justified and relentless. We are the kind of relentless that causes the deepest kind of sorrow. And in the face of that possibility, we close our eyes and hum until the thought of it passes.
Let me share with you the problem—everything. It’s all a problem. Lack of gun control, lack of attention to mental illness (oh, and the stigma we still attach to it), lack of willingness to have patient conversations about what the fuck is going on, lack of empathy, lack of love. A total and utter lack of love.
That’s the problem. Those are the problems.
The soul is not boring. The soul is the very thing. Nurture and connect or ignore and destroy- that is the choice. Let’s stop pretending it’s anything but that, okay?
I dedicate this post to all the beautiful souls who lost their lives needlessly because some other folks have spent too much time thinking their soul is tedious and dull.
I dedicate this post to the people with so much anger and hatred in their hearts that they’ve lost their way, because in the face of heartbreaking madness, they still clock in a solid eight hours at night.
I dedicate this post to the small seed of hope that I replant from time to time and try, in vain, to water, in spite of the emotional drought our society is plagued with lately.
Let’s try again, shall we?
X
L.
thepathtoworthy.com 