I was leading a retreat not long ago, and among the participants were several men and women who had lost loved ones in the past year or so. I spoke to them about living a soulful life and how the values of the deep and complex soul are different from those of the practical mind and the often perfectionistic spirit.

One woman said she was trying to "let go" of her husband, who had died recently, but no matter how hard she tried, she was still feeling sad and lost. I encouraged her to talk about her husband, to go into her feelings rather than try to overcome them. "But eventually we're supposed to let go, aren't we?" she said.

"You haven't heard that from me," I replied.

One interesting difference between soul and spirit is that while spiritual people often speak favorably of independence, detachment, freedom, and solitude, the soulful person understands the importance of dependence, attachment, involvement, and intimacy. If you find yourself judging yourself or someone else for not being able to "let go," maybe it is the spiritual part of you that is the critic. The soul hangs on, remembers, and wishes for the past. It may even gild it. That is the soul's proper task, and an important one.

Ancient philosophers said that it is the soul that makes us human. The spirit is important for keeping our sights high and our vision transcendent, for moving on and not getting stuck. But the soul gives us our humanity. I often say that very spiritual or intellectual people may be impressive and worthy of admiration, but you may not want to have dinner with them. Our earthy humanity is as precious as our spiritual purity.

"Who knows how long you should remain attached to your departed spouse or friend?" I said in that group. "Is there a time limit?"

Maybe the soul enlarges and deepens from the sheer room it takes to be sad and to nurse precious memories. Maybe it even makes sense for us to talk to our departed friends and somehow to keep up the relationships, without any bother from the intellect about how such a thing may or may not work or whether it's sentimental or self-deceptive.

I have a new friend whose granddaughter was recently killed in an automobile accident. It has been more than six months, and tears still come when my friend thinks of her granddaughter. Perhaps, as she allows herself her sadness, her heart will get bigger so it can contain even more painful emotion, and then her heart will take action, manifesting new meaning for the tragedy. Her daughter, she said, is already helping other parents deal with similar losses.

The spirit in us is a wonderful thing. It keeps us alive and creative. It sustains our ideals and vision. But it is sometimes a terrible thing, too. It can be judgmental, too pure and perfectionistic, cold and cruel. The history of religions shows both sides.

In our interior lives, too, the spirit can be uplifting or it can be hard and critical. It may chide you for feeling too much, too long, and in the wrong fashion. To live a soulful life, you have to learn to deal effectively with those spirit judgments that come from within and without. You have to be clear about the values of the soul and their importance. You have to give yourself to the soulful life and not let it slip away because of criticism.

When people at the retreat I was leading talked about their sadness at having lost a husband or wife, I thought I heard two voices simultaneously. One admitted to profound and lasting sadness, while the other objected that such depth of feeling was inappropriate. By now, I'm used to speaking for the soul, and so in a flash I supported the deep emotion. I have no doubt that when the strong, tenacious feelings are accepted and incorporated, the person will become more complicated, in the good sense of the word, with deeper emotional capacity. I have no doubt that such a person will move ahead in life while holding the memory of the spouse or friend. People can do both at once; it isn't an either/or choice.

A big part of soulful living is receiving and holding what appears. If sadness comes along, you take it on and own up to it. You let it reveal its timetable rather than subject it to yours. You don't anxiously look for outside controls or standards. You let life flow through you, making you more and more human. It's more important to become a real human being than to do the "right" thing.

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Thomas Moore's latest book is Dark Nights of the Soul: A Guide to Finding Your Way Through Life's Ordeals. He is the author of Care of the Soul (www.careofthesoul.net).

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