Dispute Between a Man and his Body

[ Dispute between Ka and Ba. ]

[ About 20 lines are missing from the begining. ]

I spoke to my body, to answer it,  “What a difficult day, my body   disagrees with me. It cannot be exagerrated, he has deserted me. But I will not let him go, I will force him to serve me. I will bind him with rope, preventing his escape even on the day of judgement. My body deceives me, but I refuse to listen. He drags me toward death before I am done, pushing me to the fire. He should be clinging to me, on my left, like a mourner. But he foolishly dismisses the sorrow of life, pushing me to death before I am exhausted. The Sunset will be sweet, coming without difficulty. Life passes, trees fall. Forget evil, forget misery. Thought will judge me, Marooner will defend me, the writings will justify me. The Sun who flys above will hear me. Isis in the sanctum will protect me. My needs are crushing, I plead with the gods, make my body light."

Then my body said to me, "You are not a man, but at least you are alive. You should think hard about life, think like a rich lord."

I said to my body, "I'm not dead yet, nor done. But if you run away you will be uncared for, at the mercy of kidnappers. But think, if you die, your name lives on. The other side is the resting place, the heart's desire. The Sunset is the resting place, the final goal." 

If my body listens to me without corruption, his heart in accord with mine, I shall flourish. I will ensure he reaches the sunset, like a successful corpse whose burial is well managed by his family. I will build a house for my corpse, to make the other bodies jealous. This house will keep him cool, the envy of the other bodies which are hot. I will drink at the oasis, in the shade, and the other thirsty bodies will be jealous. But if he dies suddenly, that will spoil the journey. Be patient my body, my brother, until the heirs arrive with offerings, guardians of the tomb, on the day of burial, preparers of the crypt in the graveyard.

My body answered me, "If you obsess over the end, their is only heartbreak and the tears of the grieving man, evicted from his home, thrown up high, but not high enough for Sunshine. The builders of granite, the makers of the best tombs, elevated to gods, now they are plundered, like a shipwreck with no survivors. The flood is calculated, and the path of the Sun as well, even the swarms of fish. Listen, it is good to listen. Feast on Saturdays, do not worry. A man plows his plot, and loads the harvest on the barge, shipping the grain to the feast. He sees the darkness of the North wind, alert in his boat, watching the Sun set, his wife and children drowning in a lake infested with crocodiles. At last he can rest, and thinks, "I don't weep for my mother. She is always in the sunset, coming again, always. I weep for the children unborn in her eggs, who see the face of the crocodile before they have lived. A man requests an early meal, but his wife tells him to wait till dinner. He goes outside for relief, but when he returns he is like a different person. His wife rebukes him but he doesn't listen to her.  He forgets about his household."

I said to my body, "Look, my name stinks more than bird shit on sweet spring day. My name stinks more than a rotting pile of fish under the hot Sun. My name stinks more than a vulture, more than a reedy backwater, more than fisherman, or their fishing ships. More than crocodiles, more than a gossiping wife, more than a healthy baby born a bastard. My name reeks more than a capitol riven with sedition. Who is trustworthy? Brothers betray, friends lack love. Who can I speak to today? Heart's are selfish, everyone steals from compatriots. Kindness dies, insolence rises. Evil is tolerated, goodness is thrown away. Those who should outrage instead bring laughter. One steals, everyone is a thief. Friends are criminals, brothers are enemies. The past is forgotten, the helpers are disregarded. Comrades have become evil, strangers have become trustworthy. Faces are without expression, every man turns against his brother. Hearts are selfish and unreliable. No one is good, the land is overtaken by criminals. Friends betray, the anonymous complain. No one is happy, peers have fallen. I doubt even my friends. Wrongness walks the earth. Death is before me like a failed recovery, like an eviction after hospitality. Death comes smelling like myrh, filling the sail, smelling like lily blossoms, like I'm drunk. Death comes like a well worn path, like returning from battle. Death arrives like a clear sky, like overcoming ignorance. Death comes like homesickness after captivity. Were I to live like a god, punishing criminals, sailing true like the Sun, raining down blessings. The wise man speaks direcly to the Sun."

Then my body said to me, "Throw the complaints on the woodpile. You used to be my comrade, my brother.  Whether the sacrifice is on the fire, or the altar, or the word, love me now before the Sunsets. After arriving in the west your body will make landfall, and I will be there when you are weary, then we will live as one."

So it ends, from start to finish, as found in writing.