I imagine that when I was small, I was
confused-intrigued-terrified
of my heart beat. Thump, thump, thump,
reverberating inside this body, this shell.
Did I even know I was housed inside a vessel?
Our ancestors walking out of Africa perhaps
wondered the same. I imagine their ears pressed against the
chests of their companions, their eyes open in
wonder-fear-curiosity.
For most of human history, we must have believed
in our duality, a spirit or a soul
housed-locked-imprisoned
inside this flesh and blood contraption
with its appendages and holes.
We covered our mouths when we yawned
to keep the evil spirits from entering
and taking over our vessels,
pushing our own spirits out.
We tried to measure the weight of a soul
by determining the weight change at death
with our imperfect measuring devices, with no result.
We opened up cadavers to see wherein
the soul specifically may be found in a body, with no result.
Claims of astral projections didn’t stand up to scrutiny;
even the subjects were surprised that the images
on the computers they saw in a distant room were incorrect.
Science has undermined the mystery of the soul,
it being simply the functioning of our brains.
We know better, but still we persist.
We speak of soul mates and reincarnation
and life after death. We talk about following our hearts,
but no one says follow your brain.
We ask, what does your spirit tell you?
Not, what does your brain tell you?
It’s comforting, this fiction.
I think, as my body ages
and disease envelops me, that,
yes, my spirit is still strong.
