I knew I had a soul when I was six years old. Yes, me, I knew it. This green-eyed, recovering hero of the family and false extrovert, recluse wanna-be, I once knew I am more than this glob of flesh and pasty emotions. I knew with 100% certainty that the life I currently occupied was not the end nor the reach of my existence. I believed clearly that “this” wasn’t it for me; I felt no fear of death, and I was aware of the pure fact that I was expansive beyond my human form. The best way I can describe the knowing is that it was inborn–a part of me. I knew to my core that my soul was eternal and that when I die, my spirit would continue in its subsequent life–as it did before this one.
My spirit was not boy or girl, it was light, love, and passion. Put simply; I was aware that I was born with the parts that could grow a baby. I learned that meant I was a girl. But my spirit was neither boy nor girl; my spirit was more significant than the body it currently inhabited, and it couldn’t be defined or labeled. Being in touch with that part of me felt so free and lovely; then, life just drove it out of me.
No one told me that I had a soul or that my spirit was eternal–I could feel my soul. It was such a powerful divine presence that bodily death would never snuff it out. When I knew this, I tried to imagine my spirit dying. I tried to feel nothingness to know if a complete end to the magic inside of me was inevitable. No. It was impossible; a total end to me was impossible. There was no way that the fire inside me would go cold when this body could no longer house it. The fire would move on and continue its journey in another life, another place, and time.
It’s not like my death was a topic of conversation; however, either was my life; it was simply as strong a knowing as hunger or thirst. And, of course, I was so young there was no way I could have articulated these feelings; hell, I’m having trouble describing it now at age fifty-two.
As a child, I was often amidst the arms of the forest. I could smell the earthy moss and decaying fallen trees, all that die and return in a non-emotional, non-violent revolution of nature. The air was crisp and clear, and the sun sparkled between clouds of leaves above me. My soul bloomed here at one with nature, barefoot, loved and accepted unconditionally by the earth.
Lately, I’ve been reminded that humans have a soul while driving to and from my new, most hectic career endeavor. I use the travel time to listen to podcasts; Oprah’s Super Soul, Dear Therapist, and Glennon Doyle. Everyone keeps talking about mind, body, and spirit. “Yes,” I said. “I used to know this.” And then I wonder, “Did I know this? Or am I more intelligent now and know the truth?”
No. I used to KNOW I had a soul. I knew it. And if anyone had asked my six-year-old self, I would have pledged my word and life on its fact. That is how strong of a knowing it was. I remember. It was a beautiful feeling. So where did that knowledge go? Sadly, I’ve lost it somewhere along the way.
I can speculate why I stopped knowing. So many reasons–worry, anxiety, fear, survival, and other human catastrophes. And now the work to know again begins.