Now You See It

What, then, is a spirit? Whence the wafting wisp? And is a thing ethereal really real? How concrete the conscious? Does sentience have substance? Tell me, really, truly, what’s the deal? “Long ago, immortal ages past, Eons yet lay heavy on his brow; Bestirred himself, ‘midst space’s frosty blast To form and frame a temporal, called ‘now’. “Focused he the forces of his will; Marshalled now the makings of his plan; Shaped of clay a figure cold and still, The outer tent, the trappings of a man. “Then opened he his heart, the heart of God, And broke off living pieces, pure and fresh; That heaven might be clothed in earthen sod— Shards of God now sheathed in human flesh.”