art of the healing art

The perpetual edge I find myself upon...
Tip toes on the tip of 'I've got it. I'm there.'...
Forever at dawn.
Into breaking light, I stare...

Finding a key and unlocking a door...
We enter to find just ten thousand more...
Creation in life, the constant metaphor...
Unparalleled beauty, and yet always more...
I find myself dumbfounded by each truth I explore...
Reminding us to remember what exactly dreams are for...
The brush has that painted from the very earth's core...

The selfsame hand has sketched our souls...
Written poems in the sky, in medicine, in all beings born...
A loosley tied bow holding life's fragile form.

All it takes is a gentle breeze...
Someone to sneeze...
And the next mystical mystery is released...

I let my mind swim towards the enigma and try...
To quench this insatiable thirst for the "why"...
Clarity so clear, yet so clearly awry...
Abstractions in the science of why birds fly...
Lessons abounding that beg us to try...

Books written... songs sung... prayers chanted...
How could anyone ever take this life for granted?

The elation of creation.

We are creatures of this magnificence upon an unseen canvas ball.
It is the prophetic, anonymous poet who is writing the ALL.
With gratitude and awe, on this earth, my tears fall

But does the "why" even matter?
For that's all we are anyways, right?
Just matter.

So, know that YOU matter.
You ARE matter.

the perpetual pun is probably intended.