The Facsimile

“Wake up!” she cried, slapping his cheek.
A lifeless head, still, limp.
“I am here.” Startled, she slipped.
Taken aback.

A facsimile? She turned to this galley slave,
His half body standing out from the grave,
Shovel over his shoulder, insolent gaze.
Smooth as tarmac.

She looked back at the lifeless soul,
His red lips, green eyes, etched into cuneiform
Across his sinless face. Cold, but warm.
Hair jet black.

“That part of me is now dead,” snorted the renege,
He shovelled deeper and deeper as he digged,
Raining black moulded loam, his arms a drilling rig.
Dirt track.

“A grave for who?” He disappeared,
His pride, his vanity, the hubris all engineered
His futile end when his soul was auctioneered.
Memorial plaque.

On The Identity Of The Soul: Do ‘I’ Exist?

What does it mean to have a soul? Is the soul an immortal bridge that enables passage between the material realm of space and time toward an eternal life, or as said by Homer: “[m]any a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures.” Or is it a part of the fabric of consciousness that vehicles experience beyond passive observations, the very terrain that uniquely identifies ‘you’ aside from the social and environmental influences that determine your character? Does the soul actually exist within an indefinite continuum where the death of our bodies is merely transiently corporeal, or is it an epistemic system that attempts to articulate a criterion that draws a singularity to the fundamental question of being?

It raises a number of questions about individuality contained within a complex nucleus and temporal situatedness of an external world. Socrates believed the soul itself is cyclical and demonstrated by an immortality where the very ‘I’ in individuality or the consciousness remains despite re-embodying to a new material form; knowledge can awaken as though we are recollecting a pre-existing intelligence. Socrates assumes that knowledge precedes sense-perception, whereby in the Republic he elucidates two types of a singular mind when discussing Beauty,[1] an ambiguity in our perceptions of the external world that stands midway between being and non-being where the purity of the phenomena exists but impossible to firmly conceive. Read More