The seat of the soul is the juices in your brain. I know this because science tells me so. Science tells me that imbalances in my serotonin levels can cause problems with mood. Science tells me that good diet, regular exercise, and clean living can make live a healthy, happy life. Science invented pills that are supposed to make it all better.
What science forgot to say is how seriously fucked up a person get without even realizing. What science never mentions is how a person stops being a person and turns into a machine for eating, sleeping, and shitting, when those little "imbalances" happen. That a formerly human being can crawl into a hole and die, and no one will notice. That there are animals in human form walking among us, barely living, barely aware, simply existing in a tunnel of raw suffering, surviving from day to day. Nobody notices. Nobody cares.
How many of us are really, truly happy? How do you know you're not deluding yourself into thinking you are, but deep down, you know you aren't as human as you think? That you have failed to reach that sublime level of harmony, that near unattainable state, where all is well with the world? You can't achieve that state without shoving your head up your own ass, because even if you find internal order, all you have to do is look at your fellow "human" to see that the world as a whole is fucked.
All because we have failed to master the juices in our brain.
It has never been mind over matter. Never. Everything that you think and feel, happens because of chemicals seeping in the collection of fatty tissue encased in your skull. Your logical processes are affected by the levels of hormones floating about your bloodstream. You can truly have moments of stupidity, not because you are stupid, but because you are a tenuous consciousness in a flawed vehicle.
And what happens when your body suffers little shocks, over and over? It adapts. It adjusts. You ignore the filthy hobo in the street every day, until he just stops registering on your optical nerves. You know your friends are depressed, or on drugs, or even mentally disturbed, but you just can't help them. You can barely help yourself. You take your pills in the hopes that tomorrow will be a little brighter, but really, what are you doing? Painting sunshine on a jail cell wall. Because the world is fucked.
We are fucked.
The seat of the soul is juices long gone bad.