Road to Holy

Asking "Who am I? Why am I here?"
Is not so much a sign of ignorance or confusion,
As it is a standing up to the Universe,
A demand for answers.
Not an “Is this all there is?”
But an “I know there’s more!”
Each question is my motivation:
A pinprick,
An alarm clock,
A hair shirt,
My reason to get up in the morning.
Emerson:
Life only avails, not the having lived.
Power ceases in the instant of repose . . .

Of the universe don't be afraid to ask.
From the universe don't be afraid to accept.
At night, I can walk out and look up and see
Numerous points of light and a clear sky, a clarity,
Presaging a beautiful day for the morrow,
And I feel good.
Or, I can fall backwards in giddy wonder
On the same ground,
Under the same star-filled sky,
And instead see, in every blazing jewel above me,
An untold number of promises of the riches
To be found in Humble Awe.
Everything about this earth astounds me.
Everything about this earth tempts me to believe
That there's nothing I understand.
And everything I want to.
The tramp of a good pair of walking shoes
On distant soils
Stirs up the dust of a lot of questions.
I suppose it might be asked, "Why leave town?”
“Why stretch?”
Temptations, like bacilli, live everywhere among us.
And I suppose the answer could be-
"That's just who I am."
When I first considered,
"What makes life holy?"
I knew
I had to add in everything.
Whatever it took,
Wherever it took me.

A grateful perspective shapes our ends.