On the first day of class, my Anatomy professor told us that whatever affections, feelings, or emotions we’ve ever felt towards another comes from the brain. He assured us the heart doesn’t do anything but pump blood. I was about to ask “what about the soul?” but I wasn’t courageous enough.
But I’ve felt my soul. I’ve felt it in my heart. When I ask it a question, I feel reverberations throughout my chest and my body. It’s where I am. It’s who I am. It is me and I am it.
I believe my soul—and, therefore, myself—is from God. The reason I can’t get a grasp on my soul is the same reason I can’t get a grasp on God. There’s an infinite depth in my being that can only be described by a relation to the divine, to source, to God. My soul will always be with me but I’ll never fully understand it. I believe the same is true with God.
So I don’t give a shit about what an old pharmacist says about Me. He doesn’t know me. I don’t even know me. So good luck trying to understand me, Doc.