I’m not religious. I used to be somewhat pagan in my belief system yet I find myself lacking in belief more and more every day. I envy those that have religion, something they can truly believe in.
I want to believe in something. I want to believe in anything. I want to believe in myself.
Yet I still can’t shake that feeling that there’s something more out there. There has to be. I absolutely refuse to believe that all that makes a person who they are, their thoughts, memories, experiences, feelings all just cease to exist when the heart and brain die. It doesn’t make any sense. We all have legs and arms that unless by accident or by birth are different generally work in the same way, ditto with hearts and kidneys and thus I totally accept that when the body dies, it dies.
Yet limbs and organs don’t make a person. They make a human, not a person. They say we’re all individuals so what is it that makes us so? That makes one person like apples and another bananas? That makes one person fall in love with someone whilst someone else hates that person? That makes one person write and another draw? That which translates our emotions and thoughts?
The only answer I can find is our soul. Yet where is it? what is it? through time science has dissected humans into pieces yet never have they found a soul. Some would say if you can’t see it, hear it or hold it it doesn’t exist. I k now many people take this same logical line of thinking with God(s), Aliens and Ghosts. Many atheists believe that once you die, you’re dead. Gone. You become nothing.
Where does the soul go? What happens to the soul? The very essence of a person can’t just evaporate. A person is far too unique and complex to just die.
I once read that souls don’t recognise each other by the way we look but by the way they feel. Have you ever felt irrevocably drawn to someone? A strange attraction? Some inexplicable familiarity or sense of belonging? Even if the person outwardly for all intent purposes is a mere stranger?
What if some of the emptiness or incompleteness we feel in life is because we haven’t found them yet?
Is a soul even whole? Are they made of two parts that simply travel through time in existence waiting to be reunited? Are they made up of pieces, that long to be collected?
If there is no soul, what are we? The narrators in our head? The copious chapters or our heart? The effect and affect upon others? our experiences, hopes, dreams? How is that explained merely by organs and limbs? The fact and reasons we’re not the same?
How can that just disappear? How can that just, die?
I don’t understand and sometimes I doubt i’m even meant to.