Soul Searching

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There are those of whom it is said (they) have lost their soul. This is of course impossible. Everybody has a soul for it is a universal diktat of all known religions. What people really mean is that a person who has lost their soul has a disinterest bordering on disdain for what said people believe to be important. For example, I have little time for cats—therefore a cat-lover may think I have no soul.  Hamiltonians go further: not only do they not think I have a soul, they think (and hope) I shall rot in hell.  Another case in point—the annual Fashionistas in the Field at Ellerslie Races. I acknowledge some may be interested in the parade of pretty young ladies and equally pretty young men vying with each other for the attention of the media and each other, but I am afraid it leaves me cold—even if, as is the case this year, an acquaintance of mine won it, and, whatever else I may feel, it is churlish not to share in her deserved delight.

But, beyond that, I have no interest in style and therefore no soul.

What I am interested in though are those who in a heightened way at this time of year attempt to save souls. That is very commendable, though less so of those churches placing a bounty on each soul saved, by way of tithing or through infomercials. 

But there are other, less mercenary, organisations for which soul saving is very much a secondary consideration. They are the most commendable because they  have a belief in the intrinsic sanctity of the soul and can therefore concentrate on doing good work without tying or tithing it to soul-searching: City Missions is one, Salvation Army is another. Both do wonderful work all year round, but particularly at this time of the year. For them there is no tangible reward—no year’s supply of sunglasses or night at Sofitel; there is just another mouth and family to be fed and another tomorrow to face.

Yes, I know it is indeed specious to some to link the glitz and glamour of Ellerslie Races with what goes on under Grafton Bridge—and possibly unfair as well. Fair enough; comparisons are odious. But when I read the Herald and watch the news with pictures of all the pretty young things in their finery at Ellerslie I cannot help but cogitate upon true beauty—beauty with depth and soul— being elsewhere.