Invictus: Becoming the Master of your Fate & the Captain of Your Soul
- Alan Lowis
- Jul 17
- 18 min read
By Alan Lowis
Life is a gift—dazzling, chaotic, breathtaking. It comes wrapped in blessings and burdens, in triumphs and trials, in love, loss, and love again. We are offered moments of staggering beauty—and seasons of piercing pain.
And yet, beneath this dance of seeming opposites, there lies a quiet, powerful truth:
If we learn to navigate life—truly navigate it—we can transform even our darkest nights into sources of light.
Not because we control everything—because we don’t.
Life will take us through storms we didn’t choose, to places we didn’t ask to go.
But if we choose to believe—if we decide—that everything serves…
The joy and the grief.
The victories and the heartbreaks.
The answered and seemingly unanswered prayers.
If we can look at all of it—not just with acceptance, but with awe—then every moment becomes a teacher. Every storm becomes a forge.
When we can steer, we steer.
And when we cannot, we anchor in faith.
We trust that even this—especially this—will serve something greater in the end.
That’s when we become something more than passengers in life.
That’s when we rise from victims to visionaries.
That’s when we claim what has always been ours:
We become the master of our fate.
We become the captain of our soul.
This idea is not new. It is ancient—etched into the hearts of mystics, warriors, poets, and prophets across time. But perhaps it has never been spoken more clearly, or more fiercely, than in William Ernest Henley’s immortal poem: Invictus.
The Poem
Invictus By William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
🎵 A Song to Remember Who You Are
Inspired by Invictus and all it awakens, we’ve written a song to help anchor this message deep in your body, breath, and being.
This isn’t just music—it’s a tool for transformation.
Let the rhythm steady your focus.
Let the melody lift your spirit.
Let the lyrics guide your thoughts back to truth:
You are not the fear. You are not the storm. You are the one who sails through it all. The master of your fate. The captain of your soul.
A Journey Through the Darkness—as the Light
“Out of the night that covers me”
Henley opens with a line that pulls us directly into the heart of a universal experience:
The night—not literal darkness, but emotional, spiritual, existential shadow.
This night is sadness, confusion, despair, suffering, and fear of the unknown.It covers me—surrounds, envelops, immerses.And yet... the very first words hold something extraordinary:
“Out of the night…”
He does not simply report being lost in darkness.
He declares that he is emerging from it.
There is motion here. Intention. Resistance. Hope.
Emotions and Darkness Are Like Weather, Not Identity
Across cultures, language itself reflects a deeper truth:
In Irish, emotions are not “felt.” They are “upon you.”
Tá brón orm — “Sadness is upon me.”
In Spanish, one does not say “I am scared.”
You say “Tengo miedo” — “I have fear.”
Or “Estoy triste” — “I am (temporarily) in sadness.”
These languages understand:Emotions come like waves.
Like storms.
They rise and fall.
They drench—but they do not define.
And they cannot trap you—unless you abandon the helm.
English Language and the Identity Trap
In English, we often fall into a subtle but powerful psychological trap:
“I am angry.” “I am sad.”
“I am scared.”
Each of these fuses a temporary emotion with permanent identity.
We don’t just feel fear—we become it.
We don’t just experience sadness—we name ourselves by it.
But there’s a liberating shift available to us.
Try instead:
“I feel anger.”
“I notice fear.”
“Sadness is moving through me.”
These slight shifts in language separate who we are from what we feel.
They transform emotion from a fixed state into a passing wave—something we witness, ride, and release.
Emotions Are Messengers, Not Masters
Emotions are not who you are. They are messengers. Visitors.
They arrive carrying signals—
a need unmet,
a boundary crossed,
a truth ignored,
a change beginning.
They are meant to:
Arrive
Deliver their message
Be acknowledged
And move on
Problems arise when we confuse the guest for the house—when we let emotion overstay its welcome,
or worse—move in and redecorate.
As the mystic poet Rumi wrote in The Guest House:
“Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows...
Each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”
You are the host.
The soul.
The spacious, sacred home.
Most emotions are guests—important, meaningful, but temporary.
And Not All Are Meant to Leave
Some visitors are not passing emotions.
They are your essence returning.
Love
Gratitude
Courage
Compassion
Patience
Peace
These and all of the most empowering emotions are not weather, they are truth.
They are not passing, nor momentary—they are the core of who you are.
And when you feel them,
when you dwell in them,
when you speak them
“I am love.”
“I am peace.”
“I am gratitude.”
You are claiming your essence and stepping into your power.
You stop chasing calm… and become the calm.
You are no longer tossed by the waves—you are the one who rides them.
You don’t resist the storm—you harness it.
You become what this poem evokes so powerfully:
The captain of your soul.
The Soul Can Steer Through Darkness
The night is not evil, quite the opposite.
It is sacred adversity. A forge.
A gift sent not to destroy you—but to reveal your light.
And even when the stars are hidden, the soul—when conscious, courageous, and filled with trust—still knows how to steer:
It rides the wave.
It guides the vessel through fog and storm.
It moves forward, even if only by inches.
And eventually… it emerges.
Out of the night.
The Deeper Truth
We are in this world, but we are not of it.
We may at times be surrounded by darkness—but we are not defined by it.
We are the light within it.
This is not just poetic. It is transformational.
Because even in the worst of nights—especially in the worst of nights—the soul remains capable:
of motion
of rising
of choosing
And when you whisper, even softly—
“I am moving out of the night that covers me…”
—you’ve already taken the helm.
You’ve already remembered:
You are not the storm.
You are the navigator.
You are the captain.
Black as the Pit from pole to pole
This line expands the metaphor and takes us deeper into the night.
The night is so dark, so all-consuming, it stretches across the world, from pole to pole. It is everywhere.
In the Bible, the Pit is Hell—a place of despair, isolation, and torment.
In the Psalms, it’s the "pit of destruction."
In Dante, it’s the Inferno—nine descending circles of suffering.
In Joseph’s story, it’s where he was thrown by his brothers—only to rise later and save them all.
Across time and culture, the Pit is not the end.
It is the place of testing—not of destruction, but of transformation.
The Pit is where false identities and fears are burned off.
Where clarity is forged.
Where courage is unleashed.
Even when life surrounds us with chaos—when pain, fear, injustice, or heartbreak appear to be all-consuming—even when it’s “black as the Pit from pole to pole”, we keep sailing.
We hold the helm.
We remember who we are.
We are not the darkness.
We are the light within it.
Storms will come.
But they cannot claim us—unless we surrender.
And so, we don’t.
Instead we choose to take the helm. We choose to claim our place as the commander of our vessel. As the Captain of our Soul.
I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul
Here we find the ultimate answer in life: gratitude.
For who and what we are. For the one thing we are born with and never lose: An unconquerable soul.
We were not made to avoid adversity.
We weren’t made to simply endure it.
We were made to transform from it, to rise though it and to become more because of it.
What We Don’t Control… and What We Do
We do not get to command the world.
We do not get to command fate or chance.
We do not even get complete command our own bodies which in the end—give way to old age and death which can be delayed but not escaped.
We have and can exert influence over all of these things, but attempting to control them is folly.
But we do without question get to command one thing:
Our inner world.
Our choices.
Our soul.
That is the one domain that no Pit, no betrayal, no loss, and no storm can ever reach—unless we hand it over.
And so in this poem he gives thanks—not for being spared adversity—but for being built to endure and grow through it.
Pain Is Inevitable. Suffering Is Optional.
Yes, we bleed. Yes, we ache. Yes, we fall.
But we do not break.
Because inside us lives the light that cannot be extinguished.
The unstoppable
The unshakeable
The invincible
The unbreakable
This is what we thank the gods for—not circumstance, but capacity.
Not what just the external gifts we are given, but what we are made of.
The Forge of Circumstance
“In the fell clutch of circumstance / I have not winced nor cried aloud”
Even when the storms surround us—when the pain feels inescapable, and hope feels distant—we are reminded:
There is a strength within us that does not break.
There is a stillness within us that cannot be taken.
And that part of us… remains unshaken.
The word “fell” in Old English means savage. Deadly. Merciless.
The clutch is not soft—it is a grip that tightens like a vice, like jaws around the heart.
Together, the fell clutch of circumstance is life at its seemingly worst:
When we are caught in something that feels brutal, sudden, painful, and beyond our control.
It’s the moment when everything collapses.
When the diagnosis comes.
When the person you trusted betrays you.
When you lose what you thought you couldn’t live without.
And yet… the poem says:
“In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud.”
This is not bravado.
It is not denial.
It is not ego.
It is sacred discipline.
It is the vow: I will not give my power away.
We still feel pain—sometimes deeply.
But we refuse to let pain become our master.
We do not flinch. We do not plead. We do not collapse.
Because there is something inside us that is:
Deeper than pain
Stronger than fear
More permanent than circumstance
That part of us stays centered - our unconquerable soul.
You do not wince—you do not shrink.
You do not cry aloud—you do not beg the world to stop.
Because somewhere deep inside, you remember:
Life is never happening to you.
Life is always happening for you - even if you can’t see how in the moment.
Even when it feels senseless.
Even when loss feels cruel.
Even when you can’t see the purpose yet—the universe is shaping you for something greater.
Because here’s what time shows us:
Our worst days often become our best.
The heartbreaks become healers.
The fires become forges.
The chaos leads to clarity.
The challenges leave us with gifts we never asked for— but now wouldn’t trade for anything:
Strength
Compassion
Wisdom
Growth
Grace
And so we remain—not untouched, but unbroken.
Not unscarred, but undefeated.
Because what lives in us—the soul—was made not just to survive storms, but to weather them… and rise stronger because of them.
Ships are safe in the harbor.
But that’s not what ships were built for.
We were made to sail.
To face the unknown.
To feel the wind, brave the waves, and keep our hand on the wheel—even when the sky darkens and the sea roars.
And when the waves hit hardest…
That is when we remember who we are.
Not passengers.
Not victims.
Not drifters.
We are the ones who navigate.
Who endure.
Who learn.
Who become.
We are the Captains of our souls.
Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed
Here we see a powerful truth: Life doesn’t always make sense in the moment.
The blows don’t always come with warning, or logic, or fairness, and the gifts they bring are often hard to see at all in the moment as well.
We often connect the dots only by looking back.
“Under the bludgeonings of chance…”
He doesn’t say battle. He says bludgeoning—seemingly brutal, random, disorienting force.Life sometimes hits hard, without a clear reason.
It feels like chaos.
But is it?
Reframing Chaos
At first glance, the chaos seems senseless.
But we know better.
Nothing is happening to us.
Everything is happening for us.
Even when we can’t see the reason why—there is a reason, and that reason serves us.
Even when the pattern appears invisible, the shaping continues.
Because what looks like randomness is often refinement.
Growth Only Comes Through Challenge
You already know this truth. You’ve lived it.
Muscles only grow when they are pushed beyond comfort—when they’re torn and rebuilt under pressure.
The mind only sharpens when it wrestles with difficult problems and the unknown.
And the soul? The soul thrives when it chooses to walk through fire—when it does the thing that is hard, but right.
As JFK said when the United States embarked on seemingly impossible missions in the 1960’s:
“We do these things not because they are easy, but because they are hard.”
We are not here to live small lives.
We are here to grow, to rise, to become.
And growth only happens in the places where we are stretched, broken open, and reassembled stronger.
🩸 Bloody, But Unbowed
“My head is bloody, but unbowed.”
We don’t pretend we’re untouched.
Yes—we bleed.
Yes—we’re bruised.
Yes—we get tired.
But we do not bow.
Not in fear.
Not in despair.
Not in defeat.
We hold our head high.
Because something inside us burns more powerfully than the storm outside us.
Because we choose to remember that Pain is not punishment.
It is often weakness leaving our bodies.
It’s preparation.
And often, pain is the price paid for becoming.
Wrath, tears and their true meaning
“Beyond this place of wrath and tears / Looms but the Horror of the shade
This world can, at times, be place of wrath and tears.
But these are not curses.
They are proof that we are alive.
That we are awake.
That we are being shaped by something deeper.
Wrath as Correction, Not Condemnation
Wrath is often misunderstood.
We associate it with rage or punishment—but its true deeper meaning is far more sacred.
In divine terms, wrath is not blind anger.
It is the painful signal that something in us or around us is off course.
It is sacred resistance to disconnection.
It is the soul’s pain when we veer off course.
It burns not to condemn, but to awaken.
It is what we feel when we betray our own integrity.
When we remain silent in the face of injustice.
When we act from fear instead of love.
When we forget the path we were born to walk.
It is sometimes the pain of temporarily being misalignment—a compass snapping us back to purpose.
It is sometimes the forge meant not to destroy us—but to refine us.
And in those moments, when we are burning, broken, or lost, we often ask the most human of questions: Is this all fate? Or do I still get to choose?
There’s a scene—quiet and unassuming, but also unforgettable—from Forrest Gump that speaks directly to this tension.
Forrest stands at Jenny’s grave, talking aloud to her from his heart. And then Forrest says something astonishingly true:
“Jenny, I don't know if Mama was right or if, if it's Lieutenant Dan. I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floatin' around accidental-like on a breeze…
But I, I think maybe…… it's both. Maybe both is happenin' at the same time.”
That simple line carries a universe of wisdom.
Because deep down, we know it’s true.
We are carried by something greater—by grace, by purpose, by the unseen threads of life.
But we also steer.
We choose.
We rise or fall by the decisions we make in the storms.
We respond to wrath with either bitterness—or realignment.
We take the pain and use it as fuel—rather than letting it break us.
We are not passengers in life.
We are the creators.
We are the masters of our fate.
We are captains of our souls.
💧Tears as Sacred Release
One day, a man sat alone on a bench overlooking the beach.
He was in pain. His life had felt heavy for a long time.
His eyes filled, and then spilled, and for the first time in a long time, he let the tears fall freely.
He thought he was alone.
But then… a little girl, no more than six or seven, suddenly appeared from nowhere, walked up to him and asked him sweetly,
“Mister… do you know why we cry?”
The question startled him. He shook his head, unsure how to answer.
She smiled—like she had a secret the world had forgotten—and said:
“It’s because there’s so much feeling in your body… it has nowhere else to go.”
Then she giggled and ran back towards the beach —leaving the man there, stunned, tear-streaked, and somehow… lighter.
That child’s wisdom lingers.
Tears are not shameful.
They are sacred.
We cry in pain, but we also cry in joy. We cry for many wonderful reasons.
Often, we mistake the tears for sorrow when they are really something deeper: Release.
Relief.
Freedom.
Sometimes, we cry because we are healing.
Because we are finally letting go.
Because something inside us is rising up and remembering our light.
Tears can be the sacred washing that reminds us of who we are.
The Shade Is Not the End
After all the pain… all the struggle… all the storms weathered—there is something waiting… “the Horror of the shade.”
In ancient times, shade meant the land of the dead—a gray, uncertain place…where the soul, stripped of body and name, entered the unknown.
And yes—death can seem like a horror, a shadow, a great void.
But the soul knows something deeper.
The shade is not an end.
It is a return.
Not into darkness, but into origin.
Not a vanishing, but a homecoming.
If we live with courage, with presence, with meaning— we don’t need to fear the shadow.
Because what meets us beyond it is not horror, but wholeness.
We are not swallowed by the dark.
We are embraced by the light behind it.
Courage in the Face of the Menace of the Years
And yet the menace of the years / Finds and shall find me unafraid.
Time waits for no one.
The years press on, wave after wave, each one pulling us closer to the final shore.
This is the menace of the years:
Not a monster that roars, but the quiet certainty that death comes for us all.
But if we are the captain of our soul—
If we navigate with courage, love, and presence—
Then death is not a terror. It is a harbor - certainly better delayed, but a destination that awaits all of us eventually.
A return.
A homecoming with sails full of stories, and a legacy written in the hearts we’ve touched.
The menace only holds power when we forget the truth:
That our worth is not measured in youth, perfection, or worldly gain.
It is measured in how brightly we keep the soul aflame.
Mortality gives meaning to life.
It is because life is fleeting that it becomes sacred.
Yes—the body changes.
Yes—there is pain.
Yes—things come and go.
But no amount of darkness can extinguish the light within us.
The soul does not grow dim.
It grows deeper. Brighter. Truer.
We walk through time not as victims of age, but as witnesses to grace.
We do not give our soul to fear.
We give it to purpose. To presence. To light.
Pain may strip us.
Time may weather us.
Life may challenge every fiber of our being.
But the essence—the light within—cannot be erased.
That is what it means to be invictus - indefeatible and unconquerable.
And so we face the years—not untouched, but undaunted.
Not immune, but unbreakable.
Because the soul within us knows the truth:
Whatever comes…
“…finds and shall find me unafraid.”
The Final Declaration - Claiming your Power
It matters not how strait the gate / How charged with punishments the scroll
These lines echo ancient truths.
The “strait gate” is the narrow way—spoken of in scripture, walked by saints and seekers.
It is the path of discipline. Of difficulty. Of sacred demand.
But the Captain does not tremble before it.
You don’t resist the narrow way; you choose to walk it, not from fear or obligation, but from alignment and devotion.
You embrace the journey because it’s your path—your chance to grow, refine, and become your best self.
You say: It matters not how strait the gate.
Not because the path is easy.
But because you have already chosen it.
You have said yes to the soul’s true journey.
Yes to the stormy seas and the trials that will refine you.
Yes to the challenge.
And yes to navigating life with strength and integrity.
The Punishments of the Scroll — and the Soul That Stands Tall
“It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll…”
When you live with integrity—
When you sail your vessel with courage and truth—
When you rise after falling, and take responsibility for the course you’ve chosen…
Then no human judgment can break you.
And whatever gods may be—if they are just,
if they see with clarity—
they will not punish a soul who has walked the right path.
Even when you falter—
if you are accountable, if you make things right, if you meet each moment with honesty and humility—then the gate, no matter how strait, will open for you.
Not because you were perfect.
But because you were faithful.
Because you took the helm.
Because you refused to let fear, or shame, or outside judgment steer your course.
The scroll may list your errors.
Let it.
It may carry the weight of consequences.
So be it.
But when you have faced yourself—fully—
When you have chosen what is right, even when it cost you—
Then the scroll holds no threat.
You do not cower.
You do not plead.
You walk through the strait gate not in guilt, but in grace.
Not begging for mercy, but bearing the lightness of a soul who did the work.
For in the end, it matters not how charged the scroll, or how narrow the passage—
When you walk in truth, when you steer your life with honor, you become the one thing no false threat of punishment can touch:
The master of your fate.
The captain of your soul.
🖋️ About William Ernest Henley
William Ernest Henley was more than the author of Invictus. He lived its truth.
Diagnosed with bone tuberculosis as a child, Henley lost one leg below the knee at age 17—and nearly lost the other in his twenties. It was during this painful and uncertain time, recovering in a hospital bed, that he wrote the poem that would echo through generations.
He was only 26 years old when he penned Invictus—a young man staring down suffering, disability, and mortality.
And yet, he endured.
Henley went on to live nearly three more decades, becoming a respected poet, literary critic, and mentor to voices like Robert Louis Stevenson and Rudyard Kipling. He walked with a limp—but stood tall in spirit.
He lit a fire that would carry across time and continents, burning in the heart of Nelson Mandela, who drew strength from Invictus during his 27 years in prison.
It is a fire that still burns today—in every soul who refuses to surrender,
in every heart that chooses purpose over fear,
in every life steered with courage, integrity, and resolve.
Henley proved a truth deeper than poetry:
You don’t need to control the storm to command your soul.
You simply need to take the helm—and choose to not let go.
The Captain and the Storm: Understanding the Role of Emotion
Emotions are not the enemy, even ones we often call negative.
They are part of your crew.
Each one has a voice, a message, a role to play.
But you are the captain.
When you are centered—in gratitude, love, integrity, and presence—emotions speak clearly and serve wisely.
But when you drift from center, they can rise like mutinying winds, grabbing the wheel and steering you into chaos.
Let’s meet the core three:
🔥 Anger
Anger, at its best, is passion with purpose.
It rises to protect, to set boundaries, to right a wrong.
But when it takes the helm, it becomes rage—
blinding, burning, often wounding the very soul it meant to defend.
Captain’s Wisdom:
Anger’s energy can fuel action.
But you choose when and how to direct that fire.
Never let the flame consume the ship.
🌊 Sadness
Sadness honors what was lost.
It slows you down to grieve, to feel, to soften.
But when it controls the voyage, it becomes depression—
a fog that hides all horizons and tells you there's no wind left nor destination of value.
Captain’s Wisdom:
Let sadness teach you serenity.
Let it be the still water where truth is reflected.
Then lift the anchor—and sail again.
🌪️ Fear
Fear signals danger. It heightens senses, warns of cliffs and storms.
But most feeling of fear is not life-threatening—it is life-shrinking.
And when fear commands the vessel, it becomes terror—
paralyzing, silencing, shrinking your soul to focus on surviving instead of thriving.
Captain’s Wisdom:
Use fear as a map—not a jailor.
When the danger is real, respond with wisdom.
When it’s only uncertainty, steer forward anyway—with courage and faith.
🧭 The Compass of Centeredness
When aligned with your soul, these three emotions return to their sacred roles:
Fear becomes excitement at the edge of growth.
Anger becomes passion to protect and build.
Sadness becomes serenity—depth, empathy, wisdom.
But this only happens when you lead from center.
From clarity. From gratitude. From joy. From purpose. From love.
The Captain’s Reminder
“Emotions are messengers.
They can whisper or they can roar.
But I choose who steers this soul.”
Let them speak.
Let them guide.
But don’t let them drive.
You are the master of your fate.
You are the captain of your soul.
⚓ Daily Alignment Check-In: Who’s Steering Your Ship?
Your emotions are messengers—not masters.
They were never meant to captain your soul—only to inform it.
Each morning—and anytime fear, judgment, or doubt arises—ask yourself:
“Am I steering from fear, or from truth?”
Then pause.
Breathe.
Feel the answer in your body—not your mind.
If fear is at the wheel, gently take it back.
If shame and doubt are whispering, listen—but don’t let them steer.
But if you find truth—quiet, steady, and clear—follow it.
And if you are in command—
Centered. Honest. Aligned—
Then sail forward with calm conviction.
The sea may shift. The winds may rise.
But your soul is at the helm.
You are the master of your fate.
You are the caption of your soul.
If this message steadied your course today— pass it on and share it with someone.
You never know who may be weathering storms in silence.
Share this page with someone who might need a reminder:
They are not alone. They have power.
They still can choose to be the the captain of their soul.