The ancients thought that a human was essentially a special mud activated by some god-given magic. Even after cells were discovered, people believed we were made out of protoplasm that could be activated or reactivated by electricity or prayer. Death was a knife switch condition that could be reversed with the correct impetus.
Mostly, there was corporate flesh, an amorphous collection of limbs and organs, and the spirit which inhabited and animated this conglomerate. I admit I still intuitively feel that way. My mind seems to float well beyond my aging body.
Medicine, however, advances and examines and has now found we are each composed of some 37 trillion cells. I have trouble understanding beyond 10, certainly get lost over 100,000. 37 trillion busy little chemical factories just doesn’t seem right. And any of them at my age can go horribly wrong. My true mind still refuses to accept a direct connection to them.
That’s the real problem. With the astonishing knowledge of the modern truth, I still think as the old superstitions dictate. Beyond those 37 trillion, it still seems there should be something more. An astounding number, that, but just a number.
I’m certainly a numinous trillionaire. But I can’t quite grasp what that means. Perhaps it is better that way.
HuntingtonHarborThoughts 