The Seat of the Soul is Your But. . .

 

         It's another gray morning as I sit at the dining room table struggling with a New York Times crossword puzzle.        

         "Boss do you ever think about the soul?" Ben the Ficus says suddenly. Where did this come from I wonder.

         "Um, occasionally, why do you ask?" I reply a bit startled. Ben is silent so long I think he's asleep again, but his leaves rustle and I hear a thoughtful sigh emerge.

         " Oh I was musing on that book Gary Zukav wrote,"

         "The Dancing Wu Li Masters?" I hope so, because I actually know one of them.

         "No The Seat of the Soul," He says, still in a distracted state.

         "Oh that book is horseshit," I dismiss to cover my surprise that a house plant can read.

         "Yeah I suppose, but what is the soul? He gives out a small snort. "I don't know, I'm just a plant," he says with finality. It's not like him to give up on a debate, although this is deeper than the usual discussions about the news, social chaos and how badly the next Batman movie will suck.

         "Oh no, you can't drop a philosophical grenade in my lap like that and walk away, pick it up buddy," I challenge him.

         "Ok I think mystics and physicists are talking about the same thing, but from wildly different frames of reference," he says at last.

         "Go on," I can't wait to see where this left turn goes.

         "Look at Shamanism vs. Science. One is focused on rituals to understand the altered states of consciousness, while the other sees reality in a purely materialistic way. But there seems to be little mention of the soul as a source of existence."         

         "I think you're on the right track, spirit and consciousness get thrown around interchangeably. Scientists have a hard time seeing a mind, body connection and metaphysics tend to use spirit instead of soul, because the word is favored by religious sorts. They are talking about the same thing,"

         "Why are scientist so afraid of that concept?"

         "Because, like the existence of God, it can't be proven empirically."

         "So the existence of the soul is seen as an article of faith?" he says, dumbfounded.

         Well this is going to take some time to answer. I go to the bathroom- the best place to contemplate such things and of course there is a knock at the door.

         It's Gwen the plant lady come to check on Ben and my other plants. She let's herself in while I fuss with my drab blond hair. I emerge to hear her talking.

         "I'm sorry what did you say?" I ask.

         "I was talking to Ben about his roots," she answers, as if this is obvious.

         "You can hear him?" I thought I was the nutty one here.

         "Honey I work with plants all day, remember?"

         Oh right, the Wise Woman in disguise. Maybe she can answer his deep questions, cause I sure as hell can't.

         She's happy to report the plants are in good shape despite my floral neglect.

         "That's because Mister Snooty here will cough and wheeze melodramatically that he's dry so I end up watering all the plants. I don't know why I put up with him," I inform her in exasperation.

         The ficus plant is really a small tree. It's fickle about lighting, doesn't like change, requires attention in watering and . . .hmm, I'm seeing the affinity here.

         Gwen gives me a curious look.

         " He's a lesson for you," She says with meaning.

          A lesson in what? Am I the student? I thought she was the teacher here. As I watch her tend to a palm plant I feel my temper rise in direct proportion to my sinking self esteem and struggle to control my resentment.

         "I'm not going to gain enlightenment from a fucking plant," I sneer in disdain. Gwen merely smiles and shrugs.

         "No dear, you're the teacher," she replies and the other plants thrum in agreement.

         I am stunned into silence and remind myself that I need to listen to that small inner voice when it tells me to shut up and listen.