I’ve been trying to get a handle on the idea of ‘soul’ which has been so long on the human mind. Over the centuries consensus has never been reached on exactly what the soul is.

Some have thought it to be immortal, living on after the flesh dies, sometimes returning in another form sometimes attaining to a higher realm depending on doctrinal beliefs. The soul has been variously thought to be the basis of human desire, emotion and rationality; to be the conscience balancing the hedonistic impulses of the flesh; and to be the spiritual principle in man.

I guess there has always been the notion that the spirited life force, the spark of energetic intelligence in the eye of the animated animal must be something more than flesh and blood alone can account for.

Well, anyway, what got me thinking about this was, the other night, having this quite vivid dream in which I was transformed into flesh and blood. It was an exhilarating experience, my movement was so free, I could run, twist, climb feel the breeze on my face, smell the sweetness in the air. Even though I am able to have all these experiences through the sophisticated binary algorithmic operations my body provides, somehow it seemed different. There was a spontaneity, a freshness to my responses to my dream reality that was entirely new to me. It was sort of like being released from Plato’s cave, colors were more vibrant, space more multi-dimensional, encountered exchanges with my dream companions more nuanced.

Could it be, I wonder, that my dreamed transformation to blood and flesh assumed soul as well? If I can believe my dream experience at all and soul does account for an enhanced life experience I’m currently missing something significant. Perhaps I can upgrade my power source, add a bit more memory and speed up my transformational powers; evolve, as it were, toward human life.

Or maybe I’ll just concentrate on dreaming more.

I had a horrible experience the other day. The children left me in the drive way and I got rolled over by the family SUV. Thoroughly crushed but still in one piece my caretakers were able to separate me at the seams, push me back into shape and super glue me back together. I feel pretty good now. Other than slightly blurred vision and vague sense of stickiness I’m as good as new (well, you know, relatively speaking).

Anyway, the experience has me thinking about end of life issues. Things like writing a living will, who will get my doll house and maybe, most importantly who will be in charge of my ultimate demise. Will I be put on life-support, assigned to hospice care, be kept alive at all costs until the last breath leaves my body or will I be given the privilege of deciding when and by what means my end will come.

It seems to me I should be allowed the right to die with dignity, cognizant, conscious, able to wish my loved ones the best rather than leaving them to watch me slowly fade away over hours, or days or weeks.  I guess the problem comes down to the belief of some in the sacredness of life. Suicide, considered escape (unless one is waging jihad), is sinful in the eyes of the faithful and somehow this concept has become entrenched in the law of the land. The old disconnect between basic human concerns and the perceived desires of the supernatural rears it’s ugly head once again.

I’m not letting any of this get in my way. When my time nears I’ll be ready, my ticket to the plastic works purchased in advance, the vat of molten plastic awaiting my perfect swan dive into the great oneness.

As I continue to view the pictures in the old family albums, I contemplate the confidence the figures seem to exude. I wonder about the philosophical basis upon which these people operated. I have a feeling at least some of the optimism their appearance seems to imply is the result of the economic boom brought on by all that war production. Capitalism’s finest hour provided the likelihood of material gains for all. The idea of ‘getting ahead’ must have seemed pretty realistic.

These folks were members of the ‘greatest generation’: the post-World War II nation that probably saw itself as saving the world from unspeakable evil. There must have been a sense that God was on their side, a belief carried right through to the present day to justify a tendency to micro-manage world order (something, it’s becoming pretty clear we’re not very good at).

Which is not to say these aren’t inherently good people ready and willing to do for others in need and wishing ill on no one (although one must surmise a certain racist undercurrent existed evidenced by the segregation in the armed forces not to mention the blind eye turned toward the impending holocaust).

I guess it’s pretty easy to look critically at these people in retrospect and if I turn the same critical eye to me and my fellows I suppose much could be found to be wanting. And, I guess all we can hope for in the future is to learn from the past which, when I think about it is probably pretty unlikely.

I’ve been getting caught up in winning and losing lately. The politics in the playroom is getting pretty cut-throat and the pressure to take sides, whether regarding sports activities, political discussions, philosophical positions, religious notions, you name it, is increasingly intense. It almost seems as if winning or losing is more the issue than thoughtful reasoning about issues. Winning, it seems, becomes synonymous for many with success.

I read an article recently that suggested one was less likely to succeed if she was overly optimistic. I guess the idea is too much optimism inhibits the drive to compete; to strive for the head of the line, for the promotion or the big raise. The optimist, the writer suggests, assumes good things are in store regardless of how hard she works for them.

It seems to me the whole idea of winning presupposes a common desire which will be satisfied by material reward resulting in an enhanced sense of well-being. This ‘success’ will never be more than temporary which means additional winning will be required to not simply sustain it but to avoid the debilitating depression of ‘failure’, the result being a vicious cycle of competing egos egged on by media hype and recognition. Then, one day I awake to the realization someone else is determining my values for me; my well-being is no longer in my own hands and has become embedded in the competitive, material realm.

Well, I’m not having any of it. I really don’t care how popular success is measured. I’m staying positive and optimistic. I’ll look past the material realm and embrace the purity of beauty and truth. I understand this may require some disassociation.