The goal of alchemy was to create the philosopher's stone. This magical stone was supposed to be endowed with miraculous powers. Possessing such a stone is the equivalent to having "heaven on earth." Achieving the stone is an arduous, frustrating enterprise that simultaneously gives meaning and purpose to life.
Just short of a miracle
And were I to tend my body as if it were
A fragile piece of heaven
Sole to soul
And see in my most desperate hour
The sun shining through the night
Then...
And were I to silence insistent voices
Whose ears are deaf to all others
Other than their own
Only to hear amongst the squabble
A silent syllable I'd never heard before.
Then...
And if I should love someone I've never met
Shower them with prayers and blessings
So that a smile came upon them unexpectedly
Then...
And were I to mind each moment
As if it were my first, my last
And meet an lovely old lady
Who shares her secret recipe with me
Then...
I'd multiply these examples by a thousand
Times infinity
And then still come up
Just short of a miracle
But then, even then
It doesn't matter.
To come this close to utter delight
I can no longer decipher day from night.
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