RED DUST, GOLDEN LIGHT
As told to Sophia Bell by Professor Wang Ming
Chapter 4: The forensics of the mysterious (3) | Excerpt
From the skeptical lens of a scientist to an awakening to Eastern mysteries,
this book is a journey in search of truth amidst the fragile boundaries of life, death, and steadfast faith.
(…)
A Perspective Beyond the Physical Body
Master Mo calmly poured tea for us into small, jade-green ceramic cups. The pure, gentle fragrance of the tea filled the air, blending exquisitely with the scent of old paper and dried herbs characteristic of the room, creating a feeling that was both tranquil and somewhat solemn. He did not rush into an explanation, but only took a small sip of tea, his gaze seeming to drift with the thin wisp of steam rising from his cup, settling amidst deep layers of thought before condensing into calm words.
“To understand what happened to Old Man Wang,” he began, his voice still as deep and slow as before, “we perhaps need to temporarily set aside the perspective that focuses solely on the physical body, which your modern medicine is accustomed to.”
He placed his teacup on the wooden table, then looked directly at me. “Professor Wang, as I understand it, you often view the human body as a highly complex biological machine, is that correct? The heart is seen as a circulatory pump, the brain as a central processing unit controlling all activities, and other organs perform specialized functions. When an important part of that machine ceases to function, the machine is considered ‘broken’—that is, dead.”
I nodded slightly. That was indeed the very basic and common approach of modern medicine.
“But,” he continued, his eyes full of contemplation as he looked at me, “what made that ‘machine’ start in the first place? What truly created consciousness, feelings, the stream of memories, and the unique personality traits—all those invisible things that make up a real ‘person,’ and not just an assemblage of cells and organs? Your medicine might call these the complex functions of the brain, the result of countless chemical reactions and sophisticated neural impulses. But is that the whole story?”
He paused for a moment, letting the questions hang in the still air of the room.
“From the perspective of the ancients, and those today who are still on the path of understanding the true nature of a being’s life, beyond this tangible body, each of us carries a core spiritual self. It can be called by many different names, depending on the culture or school of thought. The most common and easily visualized term is probably the soul. Some who go deeper into the path of cultivation might call it the Primordial Spirit, referring to the true self, the most original part of a being. Sometimes people use the term ‘consciousness’ to describe its aspect of awareness and perception. Though the names may differ, they all refer to the invisible, subtle part that is not matter in the conventional sense, and cannot be weighed or measured by your scientific instruments. Yet it is the very core of life, the place that truly holds each person’s unique self, past memories, latent wisdom, and the deep imprints from very distant lifetimes.”
“Soul? Primordial Spirit?” Qing Ling softly repeated the words, her eyes lighting up with clear curiosity and interest. “I have also come across these concepts in books and cultural documents.”
Master Mo nodded gently. “That’s right. Although the term ‘soul’ in folklore has sometimes been cloaked by people in too many layers of superstition. Try to imagine it this way: our physical body is like a tangible horse-drawn carriage, and that soul (or you could call it the Primordial Spirit, or consciousness) is the invisible driver controlling the carriage. When the carriage becomes worn out, dilapidated, or has to stop for some reason, that driver can still continue to exist, waiting for a suitable opportunity to set out on new journeys, with other carriages.”
I tried to visualize what he was saying. The idea was not entirely foreign to me; it existed in many major religions and ancient philosophical schools around the world. But hearing it presented so calmly and coherently today by a man with such a profound and erudite appearance, it carried a very different weight, a different kind of persuasiveness.
“So, death… from this perspective, what is it, Master?” I asked.
“The death of the physical body,” he replied, his voice still even, “is the moment the soul has completely detached from that body. The connection between the ‘driver’ and the ‘carriage’ has been permanently severed. At that point, the physical body will begin the process of decomposition according to the laws of nature. But the soul does not ‘die’ in that sense. It will carry with it everything it has accumulated during the process of ‘driving the carriage’—and from even more ancient journeys—to enter another state of existence, to begin another journey.”
He looked at both of us intently and then continued, “And one of the most important things that every soul carries with it is karmic force.”
“Karmic force (Karma)?” I frowned slightly. I had heard this concept a few times, and it was often associated with Buddhist teachings.
“That’s right. Karmic force, in its simplest sense, is the invisible flow of the law of cause and effect, where every thought, every word, every action of ours in this life—and even in past lives—is quietly weaving the threads of fate that our mortal eyes cannot see. Kind and good actions create good karma (also called virtuous karma or blessings), while evil, wrongful actions create bad karma (or karmic debt). This karmic force never just disappears; it accumulates, attaches itself to each person’s soul, and largely determines their destiny, life circumstances, and what they will encounter in the future, even after they have left this current body.”
He explained with great clarity, showing no sign of proselytizing or imposing any belief on us.
“It is like an invisible river; every action, every thought of ours is like a drop of water added to it. That river flows on, carrying both the sweetness of good deeds and the bitterness of evil, and sooner or later, we will have to taste the very water we have contributed.”
Here, he paused for a moment before returning to the story of the old carpenter Wang.
“The case of the carpenter Wang that you heard about is indeed very special. When he suffered the sudden heart attack and was subsequently confirmed dead by the clinic’s doctor, it is very likely that his original soul, carrying all the karma of a lifetime as a carpenter, had indeed left the body according to the normal process of life and death.”
“Then why was he able to ‘come back to life’ afterward?” Qing Ling couldn't help but ask immediately.
“This is the complex and rare point of the matter,” Master Mo said, his voice lowering slightly. “There are extremely rare cases where a body has just become ‘empty’ because the soul has departed, but the body itself has not yet begun to decompose. And at that very moment, under a highly sophisticated and complex convergence of fated factors, of time, space, and the invisible flows of karmic force, another soul—perhaps because of some unpaid karmic debt from a past life, or because of an ancient vow or mission—finds its way and takes over the newly vacated body.”
I was almost stunned. “You mean… the phenomenon that people in folklore call ‘a soul returning in another’s body’?”
“That is the folk term,” he nodded in confirmation. “But its deeper nature is likely still closely related to karmic force. It is very possible that this new soul is carrying a great karmic debt that needs to be repaid right here, or perhaps they have a special mission that was unfulfilled in a previous life. ‘Borrowing’ a body that has just been abandoned by its former owner is a possibility, though it is extremely rare and requires many complex fated factors to converge at once.”
“Could that explain why Old Man Wang seemed to have become a completely different person after coming back to life?” I asked, beginning to see a glimmer of logic in this seemingly irrational series of events.
“It is entirely possible,” Master Mo nodded. “The new soul, upon entering, would bring with it all of its own memories, knowledge, personality traits, and karma. It has no memory of the carpenter Wang’s former life, so its failure to recognize his children and grandchildren is understandable. It might also carry knowledge or special abilities from some distant past life—for example, knowing how to read and write classical Chinese, or being able to compose poems about the Tao of cultivation. It might also possess certain special abilities brought about by its karma or cultivation from previous lives, such as being able to sense things that are about to happen or see the hidden illnesses within others’ bodies.”
He sighed softly. “However, this ‘body borrowing’ is often never perfect. The connection between the new soul and the old body may not be entirely compatible, which can lead to states of daze, moments of lucidity and confusion, or other strange behaviors that are difficult for outsiders to understand. And more importantly, this soul will still be governed by all the karma it carries, as well as any residual karma related to the body itself.”
Master Mo's explanation seemed to open a completely different door for me to re-examine the whole event. It did not deny the biological signs of death I was familiar with, but it added a whole deeper layer of meaning, another dimension of existence—that of the soul and karmic force. This explanation, though it seemed incredible, could explain the highly irrational points in the story of Old Man Wang that our modern medicine was completely at a loss to address: the miraculous "revival" and the complete change in personality, knowledge, and special abilities afterward.
Although the inherent rationalism of a scientist in me was still full of questions and doubts about the authenticity of these things, about what concrete evidence could be verified, I could not deny that this explanation seemed to touch upon aspects of the event that our modern medicine could not explain.
I glanced at Qing Ling. She was listening intently, her eyes wide, fixed on Master Mo. With her background in Eastern culture and philosophy, I guessed that these concepts of soul and karmic force were probably not too foreign to her, though this might be the first time she had heard them presented so vividly and connected to a specific case.
The room fell silent again, with only the soft simmering of the teapot and the light breathing of the three of us. Master Mo’s words still echoed in my mind, not as a complete explanation, but like the first sketches of an immense painting, a worldview I had never imagined before.
(…)
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