Thanksgiving Now

This planet is the farthest flung outpost, of what? We know we are the verge, the utter outer rim of everything else, yet direction and point of aim around the edge of the immeasurable are as meaningless as depth without surface, The Center of the incomprehensible has promised us that we are the very pulse of all that is or ever will be. We are not lost in space, or any construct of time, we're just stuck in the mathematics between beginnings and endings. Nevertheless, thank you for showing up.