The body is from the earth and inherits a physical culture, not so for the soul. Studying genealogy or cultural history is like looking for life in a graveyard. The things of note in such places are those which live, the moss clutching carved rock, the birds pooping on stones! It can be fun and an interesting diversion to explore the body’s past, but one is left after such studies with the realities of one’s own life, here and now. The past might provide some advice but what’s much more useful is the advice of those who live well now. A lilac tree in a cemetary is a living miracle, intoxicating, transporting, inspiring. Drawing life from carved stone, moss inspires miraculous thinking: life is a wave on the seething ocean of matter. I, myself, am such a wave. The energy of the wave is the real me, the soul. The bird flitting from tomb to tree sings and dances, grabs grubs from under the roots of the tree, or nips moths from their shadows beneath the mausoleum steps. The whole earth is a graveyard draped in shimmering veils of life. The energy of that life is the soul. The only worthy geneaology is “Whence came my soul, that which I am?” The only worthy history is, “What noble enterprise brought me from Spirit to this moldy churchyard of earth?”
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