Who Gets to Have a Soul Without Having a Body by Dishita If gender is ultimately incidental to the Self, why have we made it so consequential in the world? A riddle, to begin; What is washed and dressed, disciplined and displayed? What ages despite all the suncream, bleeds, hungers, softens, spoils? Our lives are spent oiling it, and yet we are told, it is not really us. The body. And now a question: Is your soul a he, she or a they? “Open it,” says the teacher. “What do you see there?” “Some very small seeds, sir.” “Open one of those small seeds. What do you see there?” “Nothing at all, sir.” “Truly from what you cannot see, the whole fig tree grows. That is Reality, from where you are spun. That is Atman. That art Thou.” That Art Thou. You are that. Perhaps we’ve been on the wrong pronoun roulette. The rishis will envision a trunk, branches, split fruit sticky on the tongue, leaves, all the shade a tree will one day cast. Nothing visible, and yet they know everything is ...
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