self perpetuation

sickness betokens gladness for its overwhelming bar elicits our unknown truth to expand beyond whatever limits the form can create, becoming indifferent to that impediment, going beyond the extant physical reality to be that which is not limited. the pain is lost in the joy, the truth present in the act of being free. in body and mind we are the lower realms inhabitant, in spirit, we pierce the veil and see the light beyond imagining, luminenece without peer in the sun or the moon, such sacred splendor, we are taken by its luster and imaginings that have no meanings only wonder. starry nights and starry eyes combine and beyond universes coalesce to touch the shining divine we are beyond knowing. inside our confines, we fear the open night, wonder in a paralysis of fear, the creator of such might and beauty that we are such a tiny part of. is there any who has not wondered why or how, yet that is just a drop of water to the ocean of truth unknown. be not dismayed at no beginning and endless life, for what is death but the clock reset and the game begun once more. the play is the thing and the score is forever nothing yet what diamonds we behold in the emptiness of time. inside the clock is ticking, beating like a driven heart to push you into fear, that time is the destroyer and man the sickened prey, stumbling through lifes infirmities, a burning pyre floating or pine box lowered into clay. this morning, this very day, is reason enough to stop the turning hands and bench the teams desires, let winning end and losing become the master for what is lost is the self's perpetuation and the opening to the truth of nothing and all that allows.