January 22, 2007
Wonders
“Never question the truth of what you fail to understand, for the world is filled with wonders.” Somebody said that, and I’m glad they did.
For me, to understand something is for it to have meaning, maybe to grasp an edge on its purpose even if its purpose is merely just to be. There, I went and said “merely” without realizing even that that in itself is a failure to understand, an insult to whatever wonder whose wonder and truth I may be failing to see. And that is for “wonder” not to have meaning for me. Which is not so and about the silliest idea anybody could ever have, anyway.
Wonder and curiosity make the world turn, mine especially, and are a reasonably good yardstick for the maturity. Folk who aren’t curious are noticeably short a few cards in their deck, particularly when they end up in positions of leading the rest of us sometime lemmings somewhere.
The miracle of being is itself perhaps the world’s chief wonder, one of the ultimate mysteries, the conditions for it, we’ve learned, so delicately balanced out in the space/time continuum as they are. How careless we’ve become with it all.
We’ve another lot in our hood being razed to make way for another house, hence, more traffic, and all with no attention either to the access to or the condition of the streets — here and beyond. This particular lot was the remnant of what was once a few years ago a magnificently wooded hill that housed a scout camp and numerous other of nature’s critters who’d made their homes there over the years. A couple of great horned owls who occasionally gave a hoot to each other. A fox or two and a coyote who helped wandering cats and dogs watch their Ps and Qs more carefully. And some hawks who kept the squirrels and rabbits in in order.
I can’t imagine what possesses so-called “planning” commissions who seem to plan more where their next tax buck is coming from than to have any concern for the truth of what they don’t understand. Indeed, are they wonders whose truth I seriously wonder about.
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