There are some who believe that the cognitive functions of the brain can somehow be abstracted out to computational processes, that science can define the activity of thought as sets of sequential effects. That this is a good measure to explain our experience of life.
But is it?
The model of the brain as a biological computer fails to account for certain states of being that people appears to be subject to (or the subjects of). The reductive arm of science might have us take the experience of love for example as a sequential mode of bio-chemical and bio-electrical stimulation.
“But I love her.” I say.
“It’s your neurochemestry, besides, she’s just a canvas of your projections.”
But is she more than that?
What about my experience?
Is anything ever just ‘just’.
The soul of a person is as much a product of the physical world that we sense as it is the thing that does the sensing. For what would we be without that which we observe in the world. Without it we would be void, would we not?
And this thing that senses being, this thing we call ‘I’, the totality of it; remembered, recalled, forgotten, embedded – this is what I mean when I say Soul. This totality of being has it’s own agenda, it is the you behind the mask, the you who you do not always see, that sometimes your forget, but that always walks beside you. You can never see it’s entirety, but it whispers to you, it drops hints. Sometimes it creates a crisis to try and wake you up to yourself.
Also, I believe, it carries with it something within the code that seeded us, as it did our predecessors, spiraling back through generations. Diluted? Yes. Determined? No, but impelling.
Our Souls fill the gaps between the world we perceive and the internal dimensions we create to make all the disparate aspects of it appear as a coherent whole.
More than this, because, like Venn diagrams, there are areas where our souls overlap. Areas where we share interpretations and perceptions. Whether these exist in an etheric medium, or whether they are the consequence of the structure of the way we organise information in the brain I’ll leave for you to decide. But the effect is there. Myth is one of it’s evidences. And if you begin to look for your soul in the soul of the world then be prepared for what you might find looking back at you.
As a final note I’ll share an example:
The sun, the solar deity, the eye of Horus (the eye of god – the sun of god – the son of god), father of all things, bringer of life, upon returning to the underworld that is night, steals our ability to see the world.
Without the sun we are left in the dark.
While the sun rules earthly affairs the night holds an alternate truth for our senses.
“Here you are.” Says the silent vastness.
“This is where you really are. Look.”
And the depth of night stare back. At least it did. Once.
When the sun returns at dawn we return to the day with new found knowledge; new understanding of the world and our place in it. The routine of the day continues, as it must, but our place in the world is now shaped by our perception of the world’s place within the cosmos. We have returned with a deeper understanding of both the world and of ourselves.
The sun, often connoted with the ego, represent earthy concerns, principally because it’s light gives shape to the mundane world and obscures the stars. In the same way our own concerns can obscure our ability to comprehend the scale on which the concerns of our lives are conducted.
What happens to a culture and the psyches, the souls, that inhabit it when the night is stolen by artificial suns. What happens to people when they loose the memory of the true brightness of the stars. What does the world become when it’s darkness is taken from us?
all material © 2014