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We Have a Body. We Are a Soul.
Not the other way around
My earliest memory was, oh, more than half a century ago. I was in my crib playing with a toy cash register, and I remember it like it was this morning. As I was playing, I shoved the toy between the crib and the wall, and it left a little mark. I was thinking I was going to get in trouble. But I didn’t. Not sure if anyone even noticed.
Looking back at that mundane happening, I realize that I am still that same person. I mean, my soul is the same. Oh, those cells in my body have regenerated thousands of times over, but I am the same. My soul has remained constant, as I remember how I felt and what I thought that day in the crib, all these years later. I feel like the exact same person — because, well, I am.
I’m happy to have that memory of that ordinary event, and I like to plug into it when I need reminding — we are a soul, and we have a body.
Yep, this meat suit I’ve been lugging around for fifty-something years has been through the wringer. I’ve been lucky though — besides some scars and lingering injuries and aches and pains, my body is still here — giving home to my soul in this existence as we know it.
Someone very special to me donated a kidney to his brother, just this week. Will the donee take on characteristics of the donor since he is now…
