Soul Mate

What Is a Soul?

Trying to define soul in nonreligious terms, devoid of “God-talk” eliminates great insights found in historical masterpieces such as Dante’s The Divine Comedy (2003). The Divine Comedy philosophically references life. It was difficult to relate to Dante’s philosophy. My life’s experience included unforeseen surprises making me giddy with joy or devastated by pain.

Dante thought love was the pathway to God and espoused love as the power that heals. Yet in The Divine Comedy, seeking love amidst pain perverts love yielding sinful outcomes.

Upon study, Dante (2003) provides clues:

To a greater force, and to a better nature, you, free, are subject, and that creates the mind in you, which the heavens have not in their charge. Therefore if the present world goes astray, the cause is in you, in you it is to be sought. (p. 284)

I construed this to mean I was on my own dealing with life’s tragedy. Finding ways to heal was up to me. Hoping to express “felt love” positively, I needed to resolve “felt pain.” Creating a soul became a survival strategy used to resolve my “felt pain.”

Today, the concept of soul becomes intertwined either with neurophysiology, associating the soul with the human mind, looking for governing neurons and synapses, or with Jungian psychology where the concept of soul rests firmly within the unconscious. Eastern religion teaches that the concept of soul develops when individuals, seeking guidance, learn to walk a spiritual path.

My personal meaning of soul emulates Frankl’s (1988) psychiatric concept termed logotherapy. Frankl was a German psychiatrist interned in a concentration camp during World War II. He survived the Holocaust by repeatedly delving into his inner core; finding spiritual roots to establish meaning and hope. After the war, he established a therapeutic approach based on his conviction that the need for a spiritual dimension is intrinsic within us. He thought this a basic tenet of the human psyche:

Logotherapy does not cross the boundary between psychotherapy and religion. But it leaves the door to religion open and it leaves it to the patient whether or not to pass the door. It is the patient who has to decide whether he interprets responsibleness [sic] in terms of being responsible to humanity, society, conscience or God. (p. 143)

Being responsible for healing myself, using my innate spiritual dimension, Frankl theorized finding my soul would be a therapeutic maneuver. Is a soul created?

A Soul Is Created by Walking a Path of Spirituality

Dean H. Hammer, PhD, a behavioral geneticist, builds on Frankl’s supposition and, from studies in neurobiology, describes an innate biological process that might prove an evolutionary advantage. Dr. Hammer, a Harvard Medical School graduate, former National Institutes of Health fellow, current Section Chief at the National Cancer Institute, identified a gene, VMAT2, which plays a critical role in his controversial theory (2005). Perhaps scientific studies may prove a biological basis supporting the role spirituality plays in human endeavor. Always aware of biological forces, I knew from my nursing education and years of clinical experience that patients who practiced their spirituality experienced their illness less stressfully.

Not relying on the esoteric, and not astute enough to ponder the science, I came upon my soul as follows:

Being stripped raw emotionally awoke the need to invoke my innate spiritual makeup. I needed solace as I attempted to find meaning in having a severely developmentally disabled son like Kenneth. Why did we allow this to happen? Why? Why? Why? The thought that life acts randomly or “accidents happen” did not provide enough gist to quiet my mind.

The human condition requires we “make meaning” out of our experiences. Before we understand or comprehend, we must make meaning. We perceive, recognize, and attribute meaning to our experiences before responding or reacting.

When the world, as one knows it, no longer makes sense and when one is unable to comprehend what is happening, overwhelming anxiety immobilizes action. Within this state, it is impossible to function coherently. Only by integrating what happened to Kenneth into a greater frame of reference, one congruent with my understanding and beliefs about the world, could I heal from this tragedy. Much about Kenneth and my experiences with him resonates within me to this day. To resonate means to find meanings congruent with those previously held—meanings congruent with an understanding of the world known. Such synchronicity establishes the foundation from which to expand meaning, gain comprehension, and become aware of previously held but unrecognized knowledge.

Resonating feelings fed and expanded my love for Kenneth. This love was held in the place I established as my soul. The locus of my knowledge of Kenneth and the experiences derived from caring for him were posited there as well.

Such feelings also fed my heart, another elusive organ often associated with the soul.

My solar plexus was the physical location of my soul. I knew this because my breath was knocked into absentia, replaced by gut-wrenching pain as we encountered the unspeakable truths about Kenneth.

With a child like Kenneth, searching for meaning, one yearns for a transcendent place. Where could I find the stability, the sustenance to go on, if not by generating hope and faith? This was Frankel’s conclusion dealing with the horror of prisons camps. This was my conclusion dealing with the horror of Kenneth’s brain damage.

It is interesting that the soul’s historic definitions merge at this point. One needs to develop an inherent spiritual dimension to keep one’s sanity, to keep neurons and synapses bathed in sufficient amounts of serotonin.

Conceiving my soul was mine, not Kenneth’s developmental task. I did not need to believe in the supernatural to find my sacred path. I did need to still my mind and be at peace with myself if I was to find my way. Moreover, I perceived Kenneth as my soul’s mate. Encountering untoward skirmishes such as self-inflicted mutilating behavior, Kenneth found ways to expand the capacity of my soul. As painful as it was, love guided our way together.

Yielding to my definition of soul gave me the faith and conviction to turn Kenneth over to a higher power. I did not pretend to be in charge of variables interwoven in Kenneth’s delicately balanced life. So I trusted. My trust was invested in what I came to term my higher power.

God?

Acknowledging the birth of my broken baby, I grounded myself in reality; accepting my inability to change what happened. I achieved this acceptance with professional psychiatric support. Unable to change what happened, I had another choice to make, whether or not to accept Kenneth as he was, or turn away.

It took awhile, however; by accepting what I could not change compelled me to accept Kenneth. Extra energy, left over from banging my head against reality, was redirected and invested in my concept of a higher power. Using my mind to create a higher power, I turned over experiences of which I had no control. I came to realize I controlled very little.

Shocking some at Kenneth’s annual Individual Program Plan (n.d.) and Individual Education Programs (n.d.) conferences, I would remark, “God takes care of Kenneth.” My remark usually brought all professional conversation to a halt. Kenneth often broke the silence by squealing with delight.

Alcoholics Anonymous (n.d.) teaches strategies for turning concerns over to “your higher power,” to “let go, and let God.” Eastern religious paths to spirituality direct those wishing enlightenment to practice “mindfulness,” to live fully in the moment. My controlling and “can do” nature prevented me from understanding the true meaning of these teachings until my life with Kenneth began.

It comforts me to name my higher power, God.

My usage of the term, God, stands for the overpowering forces of nature I experience but do not understand. These forces often buffet me about. It is the term I use collectively, to account for that I do not understand and cannot control. This is especially true when I am unable to make sense out of what is happening to my family or me.

I cannot grasp much. My life, as experienced, is rich with love, beauty, and mystery. I trust and have faith but do not believe in the supernatural or an afterlife. I read the Bible as literature and as a philosophical text.

Respectfully, I always capitalize the word, God.

I celebrated my soul’s presence in ways congruent to my belief. Acknowledging my emerging spirituality, I endowed my belief system with eclectic external symbols. Friends tolerated my symbolism, offering me change to purchase candles in various churches and cathedrals. Candles for Kenneth were lit in Russia, Poland, China, Norway, Finland, Sweden, England, France, Italy, Spain, and the islands of Sicily, Malta, and Corsica. Whenever or wherever a church appeared, I would obtain a candle, find a match, think of my soul, Kenneth, their care, and light a flame to venerate my faith.

Lighting candles became an experience in itself. Confronted with light switches instead of candles in a Barcelona chapel, I cringed at using technology to honor my spirituality. In St. Petersburg, not understanding Eastern Orthodox religious practices, I mistakenly put out the Virgin Mary’s eternal flame. My unintended act of sacrilege incurred a thorough scolding from an elderly woman wearing a babushka. I apologized profusely.

Nature nourishes my spirit. Located in the Sierra Nevada Mountains along the south fork of the Tuolumne River under redwood, pine, and dogwood trees, our town’s camp with its kids, swimming hole and dust, enhances my soul. The stillness of a redwood forest and sandy beaches with pounding waves are places I go to “sit and think,” my way of meditating. In these places, I clear my mind; let it be, floating free. My soul’s need for nature’s respite feels as an ingrown hunger.

Unexpectantly, Kenneth died after an outing in nature, not a spectacular state or Federal Reserve but a golden grassy area with Black Oaks surrounded by rolling hills and a manmade lake. The federal Bureau of Land Management administered this obscure lake and campground. Camping overnight in our van, Kenneth slept happily between us. In the morning sun, we dressed, cooked a camp breakfast, and then drove home.

Kenneth died while taking his afternoon nap.

Since my spirituality was a matter-of-fact, nonflamboyant sort of thing, I attributed to Kenneth a like spirituality with a preference for a down-to-earth experience, in a campsite with limited grandeur, as he prepared to meet his maker.

Creative thinking and imagination are vital to my interpretation of soul. The loss of my beloved son, my soul’s spiritual expression, left me bereft. Taking refuge in eclectic acts still fosters my soul.

A song I sang off key to Kenneth was titled “Pennies From Heaven” (Johnston, 1936). After his death, I would happen upon a penny in the most unlikely places. Using found pennies as pennies from heaven, a sign from above, I would take a moment, check my soul, reaffirm my love for Kenneth, pick up the penny, and tuck it away.

Finding pennies from heaven is the way I keep my spiritual path open and accompany Kenneth on his timeless journey.