Meaning comes from Man

The other day (actually 4 years ago, but I'm the same me as then, so it's still just "the other day"), I was sitting at Barnes and Noble, looking out the window and listening to Mark Knopfler's "Golden Heart"—and it struck me that I got pleasure from the complex patterns of green out there.

I pulled out the old notebook...

Sharp edged tree trunks, sparkling green leaves in the golden afternoon sun. Impossible complexity of living flecks, resting easy against the blue sky, unaware of their phenomenal nature. Mandelbrot knows; the leaves don't.

No trumpets blow, no spotlights flash, no magnificent voice says "Behold!" — unless I do.

Wonders are relative. Man is the measure. God's eyes don't count -- only ours.

Nature tosses off its marvelous unconscious shards of pattern. She's oblivious of their stature — so they have none. Except from us. It takes a person to see the passionless truth, to give it significance, to connect it with intentional life and thus bestow upon it splendor and merit.

Meaning and majesty come from the soul of Man.

Nature without Man is just scenery; Our passionate eyes give it value.

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