We are these little blobs walking around on a solid slab of material. We are composed of cheap material. Our bodies are replaceable. We are mere creatures. We own nothing. We create nothing.
But we are not nothing.
We are more than the color of our eyes and the tone of our voices. Our potential lies beyond the strength in our legs and the tow of our arms. Beyond the form of my body, I exist.
I think. I feel. I love. I doubt. I yearn. I lust. I hurt. I trust.
The limits of humanity are defied by my soul.
Yet my soul behaves with human likeness.
My soul may be "downcast within me" and "weary with sorrow" yet "thirst for God" where, and only where "my soul finds rest". "My soul yearns, even faints" "is consumed" with the splendor of the King. With my soul "I will sing and make music" praising the one I adore. This tender soul "yearns for you in the night" while "in the morning my spirit longs for you".
Only by comparison to my imperfect human descriptions can I attempt to explain the intricacies of my soul.
By nature the soul's realm is ethereal, by contrast it defines humanity.
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