A friend tells me that, if there is no soul, There is no clash of body against mind. I hate to be contentious, but I find The case is rather different, on the whole.
For flesh and mind are clashing all the time; The flesh says “eat!”, the mind says “lose some weight.” The mind cries “run!”, the flesh drones “vegetate,” The soul is no wise guilty of this crime.
Am I the athlete who desires to run, Or else the slugabed who yearns for quiet? Do I crave food, or would I rather diet? The I that speaks is both, and neither one.
When flesh and mind contend with shouts obscene I place the soul—the self—smack in between.
The body and the mind are the two hands that weave the self between them, interplay a dialogue that may change day to day creates consistency. Self understands
what neither flesh nor mind can apprehend yet is a fiction and a referee yet needs to be reined in. So fluently its guesses become fantasies and end
in things we cannot know, that are not there -God, Hell and Heaven—all ways to deny the simple tasks life gives us. Mortify the flesh, confuse the mind. Hope and despair.
The self’s a servant. Use it, never let it rule, or you will die full of regret.
Rationalist sonnets about being a person
7 sonnets and some comments
A friend tells me that, if there is no soul,
There is no clash of body against mind.
I hate to be contentious, but I find
The case is rather different, on the whole.
For flesh and mind are clashing all the time;
The flesh says “eat!”, the mind says “lose some weight.”
The mind cries “run!”, the flesh drones “vegetate,”
The soul is no wise guilty of this crime.
Am I the athlete who desires to run,
Or else the slugabed who yearns for quiet?
Do I crave food, or would I rather diet?
The I that speaks is both, and neither one.
When flesh and mind contend with shouts obscene
I place the soul—the self—smack in between.
-----smallship1
that weave the self between them, interplay
a dialogue that may change day to day
creates consistency. Self understands
what neither flesh nor mind can apprehend
yet is a fiction and a referee
yet needs to be reined in. So fluently
its guesses become fantasies and end
in things we cannot know, that are not there
-God, Hell and Heaven—all ways to deny
the simple tasks life gives us. Mortify
the flesh, confuse the mind. Hope and despair.
The self’s a servant. Use it, never let
it rule, or you will die full of regret.
-----rozk
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