I’ve always been fascinated with the principle in Quantum Physics that bonded particles remain bonded even when separated. I recall an experiment where two completely separate particles were observed to have no reaction to each other’s existence until they touched. Nothing more, but from this they became eternally bonded – regardless of the distance between them. Even when separated by a thousand miles, if particle A was spun to the left, particle B began to spin in the same direction. The implications of this experiment are mind-blowing, and the ramifications are truly infinite.
Equally as enthralling to me, is the notion of a human soul. And a fascinating thing about the soul, or what we perceive to be “the soul,” is that most hard science doesn’t believe in it at all. Science has long ago dispensed with the 21 grams conjecture. Instead, we know that the neurons in the brain electrically unite with other neurons to create who and what we are. One neuron on its own doesn’t count for much, but once they start communicating with others – bonding, that’s a whole different story. Some people think this Borg-like network of neurons creates the soul – makes it unique, and probably contains the essence of who we are as individuals.
But alas, as neurons die (initiated by our death), the electrical impulses begin to stop, and along with it, the communication between them. The soul follows suit, as it predictably appears to blink out and vanish. First law of Thermodynamics not withstanding (energy cannot be destroyed), there’s no apparent location for what we call our energy; for what many of us assume is our soul. These neurological electrical bursts, small as they are, must go somewhere. Enter religion, I suppose. Or the paranormal, because when there’s not an explanation, there is definitely faith and belief. But all is not lost, fellow soul survivors.
There’s a scientist by the name of Hofstettler who feels that we give pieces of our soul away constantly – that this unknowable energy simply is transferred to other humans. Think of it as a furnace. You can remove fire and heat from the furnace at will, and as long as there is fuel, it will continue to burn – continue to regenerate itself. The fire is a lot like living, and when we run out of fuel, the fire dies. But what of all those pieces of the flame that have been taken, and continue to thrive elsewhere – warming the hearts and minds of others, if you will? What of those?
Perhaps those infinitesimal pieces of our soul – our fire – are literally why ET lives in Elliot’s heart and mind. Through our words and deeds, our creations, our successes and failures, and in all the ways we have touched one another, we’ve deposited these tangible, tiny pieces of ourselves within others. On a quantum level, of course, so they are completely undetectable, yet they possess great power and influence. We are indeed, attached. Bonded. Forever.
Interesting concept, and while these examples are not the good Dr. Hofstettler’s, I think they make the point. But I ask you, if I am alive and well and living in the depths of your mind; your heart, then who is to say I am not truly a part of you? That my soul is in many others as well, and that everything I was, is still unnoticeably alive and sharing what you are and will be. Much like the particles have touched and remain constantly bonded, would we not also be forever together in a similar way?
And if you look for me when I am gone… If after my demise, you record a voice that seems for all the world to actually be mine… So much so that you feel it with everything you know, then who’s to say it is not? It forces us to contemplate whether these voices; these windows into forever, might possibly be coming from within us?
It’s clear that we touch one another in varying degrees during life. It is only reasonable to think it continues. And perhaps that which haunts us, doesn’t haunt us at all. Perhaps, it’s just that connection – that coldly, scientific, simple joining of mere particles, that somehow manages to fill us with the desire to find one another after death. Always looking for what has always been inside.