I've shared this elsewhere. It's a poem a friend of mine wrote that really hit a chord with me and so many others. I hope you enjoy it also. It shines a light on the nature of man.
The body falls
The soul does stand
Which was it first
The Soul or man?
If what we see, our spirit sees
Does not it have autonomy?
Of its nature, much is spoken
We see not more than just a token
Is all we glimpse, or think, or feel
More than a shadow of all that's real?
The body breathes, the Spirit leads
A symptom of duality
With sight uncommon
Or soul unbound
With vision clear
Or symbols found
The story known, though cast unborn
As from a Book, from pages torn
If then what will is known and still
Where do we find such that is Will?
A subject matter much debated
With answers great, and masticated
A simple truth might simply be...
The choices made of Will that's free
Do plant the seeds of all to be.
As story told, from symbols wrought
Of stones unturned, of dreams not sought
A choice is made from those then brought
From rainbow hues, of color not
Of food that's given, and hunger stayed
Of doors once locked, and keys then made
Of path that's walked, and price that's paid
Of faith thus kept, and doubt at bay
For though ones self be self assailed
The One does guide them to prevail
For those about, and those at rest
Ones self made known, as though undressed
From rooms within, with windows closed
To keep that in thus unexposed?
For missteps made along the way
To see ones self and unafraid
The sight made clear, the Spirit dressed
With raiment white, and oil pressed
With insight sought, from lands diverse
With face unknown, they all converse
The bond is made, though hand not given
From need thus shared, with souls thus shriven
What will to come, er soon or late
Does differ from the feel of fate?
On road ahead, a few must stand
On path thus trod, on lines thus manned
The what is clear, the where not bidden
As with a horse, with rider ridden
What will to come will come at will
As with the hounds at riders heel
The body falls
The soul does stand
Which was it first
The Soul or man?
If what we see, our spirit sees
Does not it have autonomy?
Of its nature, much is spoken
We see not more than just a token
Is all we glimpse, or think, or feel
More than a shadow of all that's real?
The body breathes, the Spirit leads
A symptom of duality
With sight uncommon
Or soul unbound
With vision clear
Or symbols found
The story known, though cast unborn
As from a Book, from pages torn
If then what will is known and still
Where do we find such that is Will?
A subject matter much debated
With answers great, and masticated
A simple truth might simply be...
The choices made of Will that's free
Do plant the seeds of all to be.
As story told, from symbols wrought
Of stones unturned, of dreams not sought
A choice is made from those then brought
From rainbow hues, of color not
Of food that's given, and hunger stayed
Of doors once locked, and keys then made
Of path that's walked, and price that's paid
Of faith thus kept, and doubt at bay
For though ones self be self assailed
The One does guide them to prevail
For those about, and those at rest
Ones self made known, as though undressed
From rooms within, with windows closed
To keep that in thus unexposed?
For missteps made along the way
To see ones self and unafraid
The sight made clear, the Spirit dressed
With raiment white, and oil pressed
With insight sought, from lands diverse
With face unknown, they all converse
The bond is made, though hand not given
From need thus shared, with souls thus shriven
What will to come, er soon or late
Does differ from the feel of fate?
On road ahead, a few must stand
On path thus trod, on lines thus manned
The what is clear, the where not bidden
As with a horse, with rider ridden
What will to come will come at will
As with the hounds at riders heel