A Host of Questions

Is the body a manifestation of the soul? Is the mind?
Is the mind a permutation of the soul? At the point of death, does the soul say to the body and the mind, here’s where we part company—here’s where I continue on and you gotta give it all up, despite all the hills those old feet climbed, all the trails traveled on horseback? Despite the vegetables that spoon-holding hand turned in the wok, the bok choi and all the other chois, straight from the backyard garden. Despite the soil those sturdy hands turned and the covers it pulled up chin high, the brows the lips kissed, the lips. Despite the days and the nights the body gave, the children it helped raise. All those tests taken, the buildings drawn and built, the before dinner prayers said and the meals shared around the table, the making of family, the lingering in the bounty of family, advice offered. Despite the untarnished, down right devotion for your wife and love for your kids. Despite all the goodness (ah, and the trouble) it gave, now’s the time to give the body away. No need for the cowboy boots; no need for the handshake of welcome, nor the embrace, for bike rides with a grandchild.

Is this what the soul says? As it leaves the body, does it tip its hat goodbye? Or was the soul never in there, in the first place? From birth onward, does the soul hover around of like a bunch of bees at the honey hive? Like breeze through the window, pushing the curtains about—you know the kind—late afternoon, on a still day?