Soul. Self. Origin. Departed.

These four words came to me the other day, and I haven’t been able to shake them off. They feel connected, but also contradictory. Almost like they want me to sit with them, not solve them.

The thought deepened recently when one of our close family friends suddenly passed away. I found myself sitting quietly in the funeral, watching the rituals unfold — the prayers, the fire, the tears, the silence that seemed heavier than the words spoken. In that space, these four words — soul, self, origin, departed — hovered in the background, each carrying its own weight.

Soul is what we often reach for in moments of loss: “may the soul rest in peace.” It gives shape to continuity, to the idea of someone traveling onward. Yet Ramana Maharshi would remind us — the soul, too, belongs to the play of life. It may appear eternal, but it is still not the final truth.

Self is different. Not the personality we loved, not the stories we shared, not even the spark we called “him.” The Self is deeper — unmoving, untouched. When the mind quiets, when grief pauses even for a breath, the Self reveals itself as what has always been here.

Origin belongs to stories. Where he was born. How he lived. What paths he walked. All of that has meaning in the human sense. But the Self itself has no origin. If it had a beginning, it would also have an end. The beginningless cannot be traced.

Departed is a word we use because something arrived. The body arrived, and so it departs. Memories arrive, and so they fade. Even the soul, if you hold to that belief, may depart. But the Self — never arrived, never leaves.

Sitting in that funeral, I felt the reminder. These four words — soul, self, origin, departed — help us grieve, help us make sense of endings, and carry us forward. Yet beyond them is something untouched. The silence Ramana pointed to. The Self. Always present.