Why is it that man feels himself among the leaves, the bark, the wasting prairie? What can be found in the beauty of flowers which cannot be found in the beauty of engineering, the product of cold mathematics? Perhaps this beauty is grounded in a sense of wonder, a sort of envy beyond the limits of skin, muscles, and tissue. Just as there is wonder in the fingertips of a maestro perched atop his piano, there is wonder in the wings of the hummingbird. We see something we cannot fathom ourselves performing, we envy, we dream. Intent on that beauty, we train, we search, we experiment. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it also has killed much of our wonder about the distant sands of Mars, proving the liquid spring of life also resided there once. Yet, though Mars missions are now commonplace, they have not yet been relegated to the mundane. We can understand something without killing our wonder, we can wring it out from a understood, mechanistic universe. With the lens of science inserted in our microscope like minds, there is only more opportunity to find wonder through experience. The ball of gas overhead; spherical, eternal, is only more wonderful in context of the sheer pressure and probability it needs to shine. Though it is not eternal, only possessing relative longevity due to our fleeting minds, its lifespan is a fraction of an even more enrapturing story. We seek wonder to survive, to ensure, to profit, simply to know, to imagine, to educate, to delight, to share, to wonder. There is a sense of belonging and wonder in nature because immersed in it, man is among a similarly wonderful balancing act.
Is the connection between parents and their offspring in fact a noble ruse engendered by evolution? Let us assume that the world runs with a sort of nihilism, chaotically jumbling along with no greater purpose. To endure the endless revelations of meaninglessness, and the resulting flood of disappointment, a mind creates a perspective based in emotionally charged beliefs. Minds can create perspectives, but as philosophy has proven, perspectives are ridden with holes which they can be torn asunder. As such people seek companionship to corroborate their perspective, for connection cements one’s existence. If a person feels wanted, they feel validated; they feel as if they exist. If they exist, then surely their eyes do not deceive them, their feet walk on solid earth, their perspective gained from their eyes and their body is true. Sadness is associated with nihilism because a mind without certainty is a mind of panic. If the near future cannot be predicted, one’s chances of survival must fall drastically, it reasons. People seek companionship for stability, and the bliss it provides through its ignorance. Bringing a child into the world is just another way for people to endure their struggles, by connecting with another who struggles as well. The connection between mother and child, father and son, parent and siblings, is enviable, sobering, enduring, fragile, tragic, hope.
It is hilariously saddening that liberalism and conservatism exchange their dominance in the political consciousness of the people every generation. The generation that sees their fathers and mothers work to forge change in the name of rising above their current, despicably contradictory reality becomes disillusioned once they fail. The generation that sees their fathers and mothers work to save what can be saved through a mindset best applied in situations necessitating damage control becomes disillusioned once they succeed, questioning the cost of the success. Honorable, crushing failure follows bittersweet success. Two sides of a coin endlessly flipping, advancing, propelled by the inertia of emotion.
I have a habit of riding my bicycle prior to beginning my nightly shift as a wordsmith. The cool whipping wind annoyingly ruining my swept back hair tickles the mind, as does the sight of the metal mushroom-like building across the highway. Every trip I take, I round the turn and view the fungal metal planted in the distance, and my quivering mind is magnetized before it, launching into tangential streams of thought. Whether it be deconstruction of the day prior or conceptual construction of the day after, the pleasant strangeness of the thing never fails to set me off. Though I am curious about it, I neglect following that curiosity, mostly because of sloth, but partly because knowing what the thing is for would ruin its triggering effect; something badly needed to start half-baked thoughts later committed to paper.